My liver and I have officially survived a week in Barcelona. There was a day in there somewhere around the third bottle of wine when I was sure the liver wasn't going to make it, but it pulled through with flying colors.
I'm kind of craving a bottle of rioja right now. Can one become an alcoholic in a six days?
Full details (and pictures) to follow when I'm better rested. For now, I will say that this was possibly the best birthday I've ever had.
I am off to the wilds of Barcelona for a week to celebrate my very first quarter centennial. Frankly, I consider it an toast-worthy accomplishment to have somehow avoided accidently offing myself over the course of the previous 25 years. Cheers!
Pictures will be forthcoming with all the alacrity displayed in posting the photodocumentation from my Morocco trip.
And when I return it will be time to plan the next vacation, as I will have only one upcoming trip on the books and that is simply unacceptable.
Palace gardens in Marrakech.
Spice seller in Marrakech.
Tannery in Fes. Mmm, smelly.Sorry for the non-updating there, but I was too busy having fun. The fun, it was overwhelming: the few times we were at the apartment with some downtime, we were drinking. And as everyone knows, you should never drink and blog.
So here I am, back at the office, with 60+ emails and a full voicemail box and only a little bit of nausea to remind me of how fabulous the last two weeks were. Mmm, nausea.
No one else is in yet, and while I missed my friends the most (as usual), part of me wants to sit alone in my quiet little corner and pretend that I'm just waiting to hop in the car to visit the crazy ex-pats in Fes. Le sigh.
Still, I'm not so nostalgic that I'm lifting the Moroccan restaurant ban any earlier than I had declared. There is, in fact, such a thing as too much kefta, and I have looked it in the eye.
I had so. much. fun. in Fes. Anyone want to move there and open a riad with me? The ex-pat community is charmingly eccentric and everything is cheap.
The weekend trip to Fes was so wild and insane I really can't do it justice in this post: somewhat because the stories require hand gestures and voices, but mostly because I'm so damn exhausted, having walked in the door about half an hour ago.
At least I no longer smell like goat. God bless showers.
I am not even going to attempt to tell the stories here- you'll have to ask me yourself. We'll split a bottle of wine: stories like these require alcohol. Hint: if you've ever seen Absolutely Fabulous: The Last Shout, it was exactly like that, except I didn't get sold into white slavery.
I have not yet purchased a carpet, but the acquisition is imminent. I may not have a couch when I get back (see my second post in this blog), but I'm going to have a hell of a lot of interesting interior furnishings. Rugs, poofs, lamps: oh yes.
Off for cocktails/dinner/collapsing. A demain!
Just a heads up: we're going to Fez this weekend, so communication will be pretty much impossible. I still love you!
Fez! Exciting! Let the shopping begin. Who needs a rug?
Jealousy is not an emotion I feel often; I think the last time I had an overwhelming wave of jealousy was... I actually don't remember. That's a product of my life being totally and completely awesome, I guess.
But I'm totally jealous.
Someone please step in and remind me that a career in the foreign service is probably not what I want to do with my life. Remind me of the stupid rules and excessive regulations and that I'd have to study a lot for that big, scary exam. Do NOT remind me of all the awesome adventures I could have, or all the really smart, cool, interesting people I would work with.
Because right now? If I were offered a position? I'd take it in a heartbeat. This is the coolest thing ever. So. Totally. Jealous.
Besides lamenting my horrifically boring life, I spent today wandering around solo. Mo had a diplomatic lunch (boooooring), so she gave me a quick orientation of her neighborhood and the house keys.
Casablanca is fun! I mostly poked around stores and an open air market (clothes shopping: moderately interesting; open air market shopping: guaranteed interesting) and settled into a lovely lunch at a street cafe. Thank god I know French, even as poor as my skills are: I wouldn't have a chance in hell of managing all of this otherwise.
Tonight: dinner and jazz with Mo's friends, which should be fun. Given that the people I have met thus far are unreservedly awesome, I am psyched to meet more of this crowd.
A Side Note: I notice that while I have somehow people able to move heaven and earth to update this blog in two different countries over the last two days, someone who will go unnamed has not found the time for a single line, a lone anecdote, or even a bad zombie joke. *ahem* LAME.
I have made it this far, at least! The Amsterdam airport is rapidly becoming my favorite airport in the world. So much to do! And as long as I stay away from the casino I'll be fine. The shopping... it calls me...
Nothing of substance to report thus far, although I am reminded once again of how much I hate interacting with the unwashed masses. Has common civility gone by the wayside entirely? I wish lost luggage upon them.
I've already visited the museum (check that one off the To Do list!), so I'm off to hunt down breakfast.
On a sidenote, blogger is all in Dutch on this computer. Disorienting. Ah well, I'm fairly sure hitting the PUBLICEREN is the appropriate move to make at this juncture.
Underwear is boring: let's talk about what I'm bringing to read.
The Dante Club, Matthew Pearl
Longfellow! Holmes! Lowell! A murder mystery! Welcome to my dorky side.
His Majesty's Dragon, Naomi Novik
Napoleonic-era British Navy... PLUS DRAGONS. Automatically awesome.
The Gangs of Chicago, Herbert Asbury
"An Informal History of the Chicago Underworld." I will do research, I will do research, I will do research.
I am also bringing:
a journal
many pens
my enormous backlog of alumni magazines
It's a literary kind of vacation.
In my inbox this morning, from Orbitz.com:
Just a friendly reminder, there are only a few days left until your "Casablanca 4/18/07" trip.
THANKS, I HAD FORGOTTEN. Also, by "a few days" I think you mean "thirty hours."
So in case you hadn't picked up on it, I'll probably be mostly incommunicado until the end of the month. I will, however, be keeping up with my pledge to write every day: I'm going antediluvian and bringing a journal with me. I know! It's like I'm Amish! Wacky.
I've promised to do my best not to get blown up (although I was really looking forward to it, damn you Amanda), so with the best of luck I will return with all of my typing fingers intact. Expect journal excerpts as cop-out posts while I'm still working through the jet lag.
I shall miss you all bitterly, but mostly I shall miss John and Marjorie. Cirque, there better be some brilliant dialogue when I return (damn it).
A conversation with my father today:
"...and be careful, especially after the news this weekend."
"What news?"
"Didn't you catch it in the Sunday Times?"
"Apparently not."
"Some suicide bombers blew themselves up at the U.S. consulate this weekend."
"In Casablanca?"
"Yep."
"...the consulate where my friend works? That I'll be staying right next to?"
"That's the one."
"Is everyone okay?"
"Oh, no one was killed. Well. Except the suicide bombers."
"Charming."
"Just be careful. Worse case scenario they put you in lock down at the consulate."
"Oh that's fun."
"It can't be too bad. Make friends with some marines."
"Thanks, dad."
So while I'm sure I'll be fine, think of me if you read about any more suicide bombers in Morocco. Criminey.
Yesterday Cirque asked me where I don't want to travel, as she knows the list of Places I'd Love To Visit takes ten plus minutes to recite. After a long pause, I mustered "sub-Saharan Africa" and "Antarctica." Which isn't to say I wouldn't go to either if someone offered me free plane tickets, it just means that I'd rather spend the plane ticket/hotel money on a couch.
The couch: sadly not metaphorical.
I have no living room furniture. Not on purpose, you understand; it just sort of happened. I moved into the current apartment six months ago, realized I did not have enough furniture to fill the space, elected to sacrifice the living room, and it's been like that ever since.* I've gotten quite used to it, actually.
My real problem is this: I save up enough money to buy a nice couch. I say, "Huzzah! I have saved up enough money to buy a nice couch! I shall go shopping this weekend!" And then I mention to someone that I've been meaning to visit Travel Destination X and it all goes blurry and when I wake up I find I've purchased plane tickets and booked a hotel room.
Last time this happened I ended up with tickets to Barcelona. The time before? Casablanca. I'm already plotting my accidental stumble into plans for Vietnam.
I'm not saying it's a bad thing. When I'm old and crotchety, I'm pretty sure I'll remember that nifty trip I took, and I probably won't be recounting stories of how awesome my first couch was. It's a trade off that works for me, although my parents keep threatening not to come for Thanksgiving if I don't find something for them to sit on.
My conclusion for Cirque: almost anywhere is more interesting than a couch.
* All good stories (particularly sea stories), begin with "No shit there we were..." and end with "...and it's been fucked up like that ever since." This story is in no way worthy of the bracketing, however, and the similarity of phrase is purely coincidental.
