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| madrid, spain |
I could be happy and content traveling anywhere, anytime, any continent, any culture. But, three days in Madrid didn't give me that giddy travel feeling I am used to having on my journeys, particularly in the beginning. What I saw of Madrid was beautiful, chic, architecturally pleasing and functional, but everyone was shopping, drinking coffee, meeting at McDonald's, shopping some more in the evening and gabbing on their smartphones. Sounds like America. So then, what gives me that "feeling"? What makes me smile for no apparent reason other than just walking out of an airport? Walking out of an airport and into a country that is far different from the one I come from. A place like Tangier, Morocco, where the sky is hazy, the taxis are old, musty Mercedes, the people stare, they smoke cigarettes in public buildings, buildings that are worn, cracked, dirty, ancient. Touts try to hustle me at the bus station, take me to a particular bus line where they get a commission, hustle me at the taxi stand, try to take me to a guesthouse where they get a commission, try to sell me this, sell me that. A country where I pay three cents to use the bathroom at the bus station, a hole in the floor, no toilet paper. Crappy instant coffee, tap water in a glass that I will not touch. Flies circling the saucer of off-white sugar cubes that I did not put into my crappy instant coffee. Noise. I don't feel like I am really
traveling or really experiencing something foreign until I can stand in one place, or sit in one spot and be mesmerized by my surroundings. I don't need a computer anymore to entertain me, I don't need the smartphone to connect me. I have a new language to listen to, new currency to study, I see tea in a cup that is packed halfway full of fresh mint, there are old men in hooded robes, women in bright, colorful headscarves, signs in Arabic, a few palm trees, dusty roads and a chill in the air. There are skull caps and Nike shoes. It is Africa, Islamic, and "bonjour" all in the same place. And so it is almost time to board my bus, I leave a few Moroccan Dirham coins as a tip for my coffee, I ignore the stares as I heave one bag onto my back and strap the others to my front and walk to the bus lot where I find the yellow bus I was told to look for. One bag goes in the under carriage, the other two are always with me. The bus is already fairly full, but a young woman motions for me to sit next to her, because in countries like Morocco, women travel together. Always. And then we set off for the Rif mountains.
I could be happy and content traveling anywhere, anytime, any continent, any culture. But, three days in Madrid didn't give me that giddy travel feeling I am used to having on my journeys, particularly in the beginning. What I saw of Madrid was beautiful, chic, architecturally pleasing and functional, but everyone was shopping, drinking coffee, meeting at McDonald's, shopping some more in the evening and gabbing on their smartphones. Sounds like America. So then, what gives me that "feeling"? What makes me smile for no apparent reason other than just walking out of an airport? Walking out of an airport and into a country that is far different from the one I come from. A place like Tangier, Morocco, where the sky is hazy, the taxis are old, musty Mercedes, the people stare, they smoke cigarettes in public buildings, buildings that are worn, cracked, dirty, ancient. Touts try to hustle me at the bus station, take me to a particular bus line where they get a commission, hustle me at the taxi stand, try to take me to a guesthouse where they get a commission, try to sell me this, sell me that. A country where I pay three cents to use the bathroom at the bus station, a hole in the floor, no toilet paper. Crappy instant coffee, tap water in a glass that I will not touch. Flies circling the saucer of off-white sugar cubes that I did not put into my crappy instant coffee. Noise. I don't feel like I am really traveling or really experiencing something foreign until I can stand in one place, or sit in one spot and be mesmerized by my surroundings. I don't need a computer anymore to entertain me, I don't need the smartphone to connect me. I have a new language to listen to, new currency to study, I see tea in a cup that is packed halfway full of fresh mint, there are old men in hooded robes, women in bright, colorful headscarves, signs in Arabic, a few palm trees, dusty roads and a chill in the air. There are skull caps and Nike shoes. It is Africa, Islamic, and "bonjour" all in the same place. And so it is almost time to board my bus, I leave a few Moroccan Dirham coins as a tip for my coffee, I ignore the stares as I heave one bag onto my back and strap the others to my front and walk to the bus lot where I find the yellow bus I was told to look for. One bag goes in the under carriage, the other two are always with me. The bus is already fairly full, but a young woman motions for me to sit next to her, because in countries like Morocco, women travel together. Always. And then we set off for the Rif mountains. 
