And Then Things Got Real.

**This was written as the events were happening, so while the writing may at times be dramatic, the height of the moment called for me to write all my thoughts down to relax.**


We landed in Girona, Spain at midnight on March 2nd with our flight to Pisa, Italy leaving from the same airport at 6:40 am. I just bought a new book, a sandwich, and was ready to kick back and relax for a few overnight hours before the next leg of our journey began. Relaxing, however, was not in the cards for our overnight stay in the Girona Airport. We set up camp at some benches in front of the row of empty, darkened check-in desks, looking very eery without the bustle of commuters setting them to life. Short of 3 other people spread across the large check-in area and the occasional passing security guard, the place was dead. A ghost town more than an airport. I went to the bathroom to brush my teeth and splash some water on my face. I returned to our benches to find Devyn playing solitaire on her charging iPhone by a wall outlet off to the side. However, I found Morgan and Danielle sitting straight up with our bags gathered close to them. Another addition to our airport ghost town was a group of 4 guys in their early 20s sitting on the benches across from us, speaking in rapid Arabic. With a quick scan of the group, I noticed not one of them had a bag. First red flag. Morgan, who luckily can speak decent Arabic, had her ears tuned to the guys. As I sat down, she whispered to me, "Keep your stuff close." I raised my eyebrows to silently ask "What's going on?" Morgan quietly told me that the guys were discussing their plan to either jump us or wait for us to fall asleep and take what valuables we had on us. My heartbeat immediately began to quicken as I flashed a quick glance over at the group of guys. In the last few months of my study abroad experience, this was the first time I felt in legitimate danger. The feeling swelled inside me, like a kind of icy balloon, as the 4 guys moved to the group of benches directly behind us. My eyes immediately darted around the empty airport, finally locking on a 24-hour well-lit café in the back corner with a worker sitting behind the counter. Morgan must've had similar thoughts because she said, "I'm hungry, let's head to the café." Catching on, Danielle began to pack up her stuff. My heart continued to beat rapidly as I passed to 4 guys to get to Devyn. The hair stood on the back of my neck as I caught glimpses of them eyeing me up and down. Reaching Devyn, I casually suggested, "You hungry? I'm hungry. Let's go get a sandwich." "Nah, I'm good." I locked my gaze on her and a little more forcefully repeated, "I'm hungry, let's get a sandwich." She got the message. 


12:45 A.M.
We all gathered around a table where I'm currently sitting and began writing my thoughts out to calm myself down. My mind immediately goes into complete code red. I look over my surroundings, laying eyes on a fire extinguisher on the wall and sharp metal napkin dispenser on our table. Seem good enough weapons as any if the guys were to storm around the corner and it came to a fight. Holy crap, am I really thinking like this right now? This is like something straight out of a movie. Danielle keeps noticing my eyes darting around, urging me to calm down. I begin to take a few deep breaths and feel my heart rate drop. To take every precaution I can, I take my debit, credit, and ID cards out of my wallet and put them in my left shoe, leaving nothing but some meaningless membership cards and 120 Moroccan dirham ($15 US dollars). If they end up taking my wallet, nothing would really be missed. I then proceed to put my passport in my right shoe. If a quick get-away needs to be made, I'd have all the important things. Now begins the waiting game.


1:15 A.M.
Their voices from around the corner have died down. With a quick peek around the corner, Devyn confirms that the guys have gone. I can breathe normally again.


1:45 A.M.
A movement in the corner of my eye catches my attention. Two of the guys have come back, now crossing in front of the café seating area to the bathrooms on the other side. With quick glances, I try to stay alert to them without letting on that I've noticed they're there. Security hasn't passed in a long time. Morgan mutters her suspicions on whether the guys might time their scheme with the changing of the security shifts. Great.


2:15 A.M.
Time seems to be moving about as fast as a handicapped snail. We see the full group of 4 guys pass right by us again as if they were a group of predators stalking some defenseless prey. Yeah good luck getting at me when I spray you with some fire extinguisher foam then smash the tank across your head. Damn, who do I think I am, Liam Neeson in Taken? I gotta just relax. But again, those hairs go up on the back of my neck and I know their eyes are locked on us as they pass to the bathroom. I hold my breath in apprehensive anticipation, ready to make a move if anything happens.


3:30 A.M.
A few early morning travelers begin to wander into the airport, grabbing coffee at the café and sitting around us. The girls are laying across the chairs having finally given in to the heaviness of their eyelids. Not me. Until I get on that plane to Italy, I will not go off high alert, despite having not seen the group of potential muggers for nearly an hour. 


4:50 A.M.
More staff members for the café begin to arrive and prep food for the day ahead. Airline attendants begin to set up the check in desks. The colored alert bar in my head, no doubt implanted there from growing up post-9/11, begins to decrease from Red to Orange, eventually settling on Yellow, still an elevated risk, but breathing a lot easier. But I'm still counting down the minutes until our check-in time, when I can finally pass through security, board that plane, and give in to the sleep that has been creeping up on me for the last 4 hours.


6:00 A.M.
Sitting at our gate waiting to board the plane. I guess I can say that I'm proud of how we handled ourselves throughout the night. Being aware of a group without bags, Morgan saving our butts with her skills in Arabic, moving to a well-lit area where we had a café worker there to witness anything. We did damn good. So to my parents or Devyn's parents or any other adult out there concerned for our well-being, don't be worried and don't be scared. The night you just read about has already passed. And we got through it unharmed because of the common sense and quick thinking that you helped instill in us. So give yourselves a pat on the back. Me? After this hell of a night, the only reward I want is to get on this plane and allow my eyelids to close.

All I Wanted Was A Dagger...

That's seriously all I wanted. As we wound our way through Les Souks, the central market of Marrakech, Morocco, I kept seeing cooler and cooler looking daggers for sale. The little kid in me who used to have swordfights with wiffle ball bats just wanted to buy one, wield it at some pretend enemies, or even pull it out at a potential Moroccan mugger to ward him off.

Like "Aw yeah sucka, you best not mess with me and my ruby-hilted, sharp-as-hell friend right hurr." The adult in me didn't think that was such a good plan. But my inner 6-year-old found it to be the greatest idea ever conceived by humankind. However, I wanted to make it out of the market alive, so my inner 6-year-old had to take a timeout. Because getting out of the market alive seemed easier said than done. Of course I'm not serious, but handling myself as well as three female friends in that maze of a Moroccan marketplace was a difficult task.

Salesman after salesman jumped out at us, nudging us into their shops, ensuring us they had the best price. Following us down the street after we had left their shop. When a shopkeeper would just give us a calm "Bonjour" as we entered the shop, we were much more inclined to explore their array of merchandise. Especially the daggers. Oh and swords. Yup, there were swords too.

But for some reason, airport security guards aren't the biggest fans of swords being brought onto airplanes, so they had to be left behind at each shop. However, scarves, bags, and clothes are perfectly acceptable carry on items, so the girls had one hell of a shopping spree. Bargaining is an expectation in Morocco. They give you a price and expect you to offer something lower. One man even got insulted when his first offer was accepted. But as the day wore on, we learned some tricks of the trade. Like even when you want something, you walk out of the shop and allow the salesman to follow you and agree to your desired price. That move got Devyn a blue leather bag for 150 dirham after the shopkeeper originally offered it for 400. Being that 1 dirham equals around 9 U.S. dollars, she got away with a steal. With the help of yours truly of course. So despite the fact that there wasn't really any merchandise that interested me, I had fun helping the girls bargain and interacting with the calm, level-headed shopkeepers. It was actually very easy to do so because French is one of the main languages in Morocco. I guess all that Arabic practicing I did on the place was for nothing. After 3 hours flew by in the marketplace, we had a quick lunch in a restaurant that overlooked one of the main squares of Marrakech. Couldn't have asked for a better spot on such an awesome 75 degree day.

After lunch we decided to do some exploring around the main squares and monuments of the city. This little adventure set me completely on edge. While the sights and weather were beautiful, the people on the streets all but ruined the experience for me. Every 30 seconds some random dude would come up to us trying to peddle some cheap keychain or trinket. And it took multiple No's and Not Neccessary's in French to get them away. But the unwanted tour guides were even worse. A common way people get money out of tourists in Marrakech is to latch onto their group and start giving them directions to random locations, expecting money for their unwanted advice. It was nearly impossible to look at our map or take in the sights without a random dude bombarding us with directions. What's worse is that they keep following you, insisting they guide you. It took all my willpower to remain calm as 3 separate guys tried to lead us in random directions. It finally took a firm, stern command in French "We have no need for a guide, now please go away" before each guy would stop and leave us alone. However, that didn't stop them from muttering rude insults at us or inappropriate obscenities at the girls. One guy even spit at us. Classy. All in all, despite the beautiful sights and interesting culture, constantly feeling like you were prey to some guy just waiting to suck your wallet dry set me completely on edge for the remainder of our time in the streets of Marrakech. Things were made infinitely better, however, when I got to chill with some monkeys, two of the nicest primates I've ever had the pleasure of meeting.

It just goes to show that every situation has a silver lining. In my case, it was monkeys. Now that I'm sitting here on the quiet rooftop terrace of our Riad (hotel) about to have a 5 course Moroccan feast, I can breathe again. And as I think back on the day, I've come to the conclusion that I'm glad I came to Morocco, despite my aversion to the behaviors of the people here. I wanted my study abroad experience to introduce me to cultures vastly different from my own. That job was taken care of to the n-th degree here in Morocco. And even though I wasn't the biggest fan of some aspects, I experienced them anyway. I pushed through, I dealt with it, and I don't regret a thing. You're not going to like every aspect of a culture. But in no way does that mean you should ignore it. You just gotta sit back, have some Hookah, and enjoy life with some great friends.

Spring Break 2012 - Barcelona Night 1

It's all so surreal. That's the best way I can describe how I'm feeling as the first day of my 2 week trek of the globe comes to a close. I'm this kid who spent most of his life in Lansdale, Pennsylvania now sitting on the balcony of an apartment overlooking Barcelona, Spain, one of the most beautiful cities on the planet. Once again, surreal.


The day was a whirlwind. Attempting to squeak by security at the airport with our overweight hiking backpacks, looking like a quartet of demented turtles. Not wanting to incur the 50 euro fine for an overweight carry-on, I went up to the check in desk wearing a t-shirt, sweater, sweatshirt, jacket, raincoat, and a pair of sneakers hidden in one of the jacket pockets. Backpack weight? 9 kilos. 1 kilo to spare. Huzzah! And then I got to celebrate my victory by sweating through my multiple layers as I made my way to our gate. Nothing like overheating before entering a crowded RyanAir budget flight. Double huzzah!


We landed in Barcelona and were immediately greeted with 60 degree sunshine. A tropical paradise compared to the frigid Paris we had been dealing with. With our misshapen turtle shells strapped to our backs, we took to the metro. Aware that our backpacks made us targets for pickpockets, we kept our hands around our phones and wallets and our English hushed as we journeyed to La Carrer de la Sagrera. There, we met with the owner of the apartment we were renting. An awesome 1 bedroom with a balcony overlooking the city. 29 euro a night per person. We felt like criminals getting away with such a steal. 

After getting settled, we took to the streets.

We ended up wandering down Las Ramblas, a wide avenue lined with many shops and vendors.

Through a tiny walkway we ventured, escaping the main thouroughfare of tourists, street performers, vendors, and pickpockets. This little alleyway of a street led us to a food market hidden amongst the busiest area of Barcelona. La Joseph.

Endless expanse of carts, huts, and stands, selling all kinds of food. From vibrantly colored fruits...

...to orgasmic paella (their words, not mine)...

...to some interesting shaped pastries.

With the broad array of choices, I narrowed it down to some a Corn & Parmesan Empanada and a cup of red sangria. Here's to Spain.

The beach was our next stop. Being that I am a chronic beach bum, this was an alright plan by my book. We walked along the Marina of the Barcelonaeta area of the city, eventually making it to the beach. My inner 6-year-old adventurer immediately flared up as I climbed across the rocks jutting out from the coast into the Meditteranean, whose waters lapped lazily against the rocks and reflected the sunlight with its bright blue water. Despite being just 60 degrees, it took all my willpower not to jump in. Overlooking the water, however, made me happy enough. Something about gazing out at the horizon, not knowing what exactly's beyond it. Humbling feeling you can only get from the ocean.

A two hour nap back at our apartment got me set for a night out in the city, in which many a reunion were made. Barcelona got a little taste of Cab Once when we met up with the one and only Ruthie Bryant...

...as well as some quality Pi Kapp time with Dustin Schaefer, who might I add is holding a bright yellow, banana looking drink out of the frame of this picture. Props to you bud.

Some of the great groups I'm priveleged to be a part of took over Barcelona and I couldn't have asked for better company. No complaints here. In fact, no complaints at all. As I look over Barcelona now, I have this feeling that the world is at my fingertips. The next two weeks will take me to more places than I've been in my entire life. I couldn't feel luckier. Or more tired. So with this final sip of Cabernet, it's time to bid Barcelona a good night.

MORE PICTURES FROM THE TRIP:

LA SAGRADA FAMILIA

CLIMBING A TREE...

HIKING UP TIBIDABO:

COOKING AN AWESOME DINNER...

BACK ALLEY RALLYING WITH SOME GREAT FRIENDS...

On to the next stop...