The past weekend, we went to Casablanca (الدار البيضاء); but before that, I feel the need to discuss the drastic weather change in Ifrane (the city in which I attend the University). The weather has been nothing but perfect, in my books, since I've been residing in Ifrane: cold in the mornings and evenings; warm during the day. However, during the past week, a cloud decided to take up residence in Ifrane as well. When I say a cloud, I literally mean there was mist and it was raining for three days. The temperature also dropped to the 40's *Ferigheight. As you can see in this picture, the fog was thick. Behind me is a soccer field and a few buildings; however, all you can see is a white background.
The weather was grey, rainy, and foggy as pictured for three days! I found it difficult to muster up the motivation to leave my room, as I was not prepared for the weather. The coat that I am wearing in this picture is one my roommate gave me because she realized that I was not prepared for the weather. After experiencing a little taste of what is to come, I decided to prioritize getting a rain jacket. Which I did in Casablanca, now I am a tad bit more prepared for the next episode of rain. After three days (as you can tell, I should not live somewhere with consistent rain), I was ready to experience a change of climate and scenery. 
Usually, I try to get all of my homework done before the weekend, that way I can travel stress-free. However, this time I had an abundance of homework. Not wanting to carry my heavy textbook, I took a picture of the page that I needed and printed it out. Once we had all of our homework material ready, we were on our way to Meknes. I will never get over the Grand Taxi system (what appears to be the act of squeezing as many people as possible in a car to travel between cities). On the other hand, I do enjoy the scenery that comes with the drive. Yes, I took a picture of the road in this crowded taxi.
Upon arrival to the train station in Meknes, we discovered that, apparently, not many trains were traveling between Meknes and Casablanca this weekend, and those that were making the trip were delayed. So as good students do, we used this time to do our homework in the cafe at the station. Then, when we had about thirty minutes (train station time, is more like forty-five minutes) we moved to the platform that our train would arrive at. I wanted to continue working on homework so I was the first to sit on the 'dirty' ground. My response to my friend saying "people are staring because you are sitting on the ground" was, well I need to do laundry anyway. This train ride was our first experience sitting in a 2nd class car. This sounds prestigious, but everyone always tells me, when in Morocco, "travel first class because it is more comfortable and not that expensive". I have a feeling that most tourists, or foreigners, are told the same because the people in this car were very surprised and intrigued to see us. Overall, second class tickets are half the price, there isn't much leg room, and sometimes not enough seats. The only seats open with three seats in close proximity was filled with men. Due to some negative experiences with random men, my friends were hesitant, as was I, but I saw the opportunity and grabbed it. As they stared at us, I produced the biggest smile I could muster in my nervousness and with a cheery voice said "Salamu' Alay Kum" (a common greeting that roughly translates as Peace be upon you). They returned the smile and shifted to make room for us.
The train overbooked the second class, so many people had to stand in the tiny isles. Two of which was an elderly man with a small child (wild guess: his grandson) and an elderly woman. Growing up, my mom and dad taught me to give up my seat for individuals whom might need it more than I do. So out of a habit ingrained from childhood, I stood up along with my friend and we directed them to our seats. In the rush of the moment, I couldn't remember how to say 'take my seat' in Arabic, so instead, I repeated, "Le Ante" and "Le Anta". This translates, "For you" (female and male version). Upon hearing what I said the woman laughed a little, grabbed one of my hands in both of hers, and thanked me profusely. Shortly after seeing what we had done, the men in our train car gave their seats to us. It was a real-life moment of the "Pay it Forward' concept.
We finally reached Casablanca. We were sticky (from the humidity), hot, and hungry. Our priority was to find the Airbnb so we could drop off our packs. We were instructed to wait "where the roads cross" until some people from the house came to get us. They told us it was not safe to wander this part of the Medina alone because we might get lost and or harassed. (*DON'T WORRY MOM AND DAD*) We became impatient after standing on a ledge for what seemed like a long time. Luckily, we ran into Mehdi's cousin (Mehdi was our Airbnb contact) and he led us to the house. Everyone we passed was so kind and you could feel the sense of a close-knit community. What was even better, is that everyone knew about the "Mehdi House". Keep an open mind as you see the images of where we stayed.
This is the street to the "Mehdi House;" our main markers that we used for directions back to the house was graffiti on the walls. I am a sucker for graffiti and art in general, so upon seeing this, I was absolutely thrilled. Medinas in each city have an individual charm to them, one that keeps my friends and I coming back to see more. After having visited a number of Medinas, we were beyond excited to have the opportunity to stay in the middle of one.
Now let me tell you about these stairs: They were absolutely terrifying to descend! I do not know how the elderly are able to travel on those stairs; they are steep and narrow. If there wasn't a railing, I would be descending them on my hands, feet, and bum.
As we climbed the next set of stairs, the excitement began to bubble from within. The paintings on the wall and the blue lighting made me think "this place will be awesome."
I was not disappointed because when we reached the top, we could see that all of the walls were hand painted.
The image on the left is the best image I could take because I was trying not to include a person that was sitting on one of the couches. That black door leads to another room (I think it has two beds inside).
That night we ate at a little restaurant that Mehdi and his friend recommended. From what I understood, this was THE place to get tajine in the Medina. The men running the restaurant were so nice and welcoming. The tajine and tea were delicious and heavenly.Furthermore, the price was perfect for us, so we returned for dinner the next night. Another memorable location, one that I forgot to take a picture of was the juice restaurant around the corner. The juice was delectable and the workers were welcoming as well. I enjoyed an avocado-oreo juice, my friends enjoyed a mango and milk juice, and a mango and orange juice. We returned there as well. Even though we spend quite a lot of time in the Medina, we didn't limit ourselves to it. We left the Medina in search for a cafe at the port. On our way, one of our hosts from the Airbnb pulled up in his car next to us on the street (obviously we hadn't gotten very far and stood out). He was concerned that we, three young foreign women, were wondering the streets of that area alone. He picked us up and gave us a ride to our destination and told us to be very careful. I was moved by the utter concern for our wellbeing.
After our coffee fix, we explored the rest of the area. We went to a souq (market), known as African Corner, in search for winter clothing. Walking around, I observed that many of the rain jackets, sweaters, and coats were absent from the women's clothing shops but present in the men's shops. As one in need of winter clothes does, we entered a little shop with coats and sweaters for men. I was happy and slightly surprised as the man did not make a comment about us buying men's clothing. We talked to him in Fus'ha (Modern Standard Arabic) and when that failed, our French friend used French to communicate. He was very polite, funny, and he seemed to be pleasantly amused with our attempts at communicating in Arabic. After each of us trying one several sweaters and coats, I settled on a rain jacket and a thick sweater and my friend settled on a sweater.
Most of our time was spent wandering around until we found something that captured our interest. We walked the streets and, as tourists do, took a lot of pictures. As I mentioned previously, I love graffiti and wall art.
If you look closely at these works of art, there are some really amazing pieces. Some of them appear to have a political or social meaning tied to them. However, one may not know the true meaning unless one were to live in the community and area. Either way, to a clueless onlooker, they are marvelous and stunning--at least in my opinion.
One of the only structured plans that we had was to attend a tour of Hassan II Mosque-- the largest most in Morocco. It is a truly incredible masterpiece.
We received a tour of the inside, which was educational and outright fascinating--as I have never been inside of a mosque. This massive Mosque is perched on rocks by the Atlantic Ocean. It is a picturesque scene that, ironically, can't fully be captured in an image, especially one taken from an iPhone.
I did not take any pictures from inside the Mosque because, personally, I didn't feel right taking pictures inside of a place of worship in such a hyper-tourist context. In addition to that personal feeling, I was also mesmerized with taking in the magnificence of the building from inside.
As a non-related side note, I ate "street food"--or at least food that travelers are warned against eating, I had juice from a little cart-stand under some trees and free dates with milk from gracious store owners. Yet I got food poisoning from the food on campus. I don't know about you, but I find it highly ironic that the food that got to me was food on campus, not my 'adventurous' eating from the weekend.
As I look back at the pictures that I took of these giant mounds of onions, I realize that I really need to work on my photography. Anyhow, one can vaguely see yellow mounds in both of the images above. These are tons and tons of onions piled together. Through our broken Arabic conversation with the taxi driver, we discovered that we were in fact, driving through Morocco's "onion country". I was truly interesting and beautiful to see agriculture at work. Further down the road, when we were approaching Moulay Idriss Zerhoun, I saw a landscape that reminded me of home. As pictured in the images below, there are Cacti, some trees that I do not know the name of, and Century plants. All of these can be found in my home area.
After about two hours--I really have no concept of how long the drive really was because the time was filled with conversation and singing--we arrived to Moulay Idriss Zerhoun. The taxi driver slowed down to a crawl because the streets were packed with people. In a lot of places, especially smaller towns, the streets are for pedestrians and cars alike. He was having trouble finding a parking spot, so he told us to get out of the taxi and begin our exploration while he looked for a parking spot. Our plan was to meet him back at the car after we had finished exploring. Upon stepping out of the taxi, my friends and I quickly realized that we were the only 'outsiders'. So when a man approached us offering a tour, we took his offer even though we knew it would cost us. Normally, we would have turned down any offers of tours because the price that they will charge at the end is unpredictable and certain people can be aggressive after the tour. We took that chance because we knew that there were places in the maze of a city that we, as non-Muslims, were not supposed to enter as a show of respect. He was very nice and spoke a little bit of Arabic, French, and Spanish. My friend from France did most of the translating, but what was surprising--to both her and I--is, oddly, I could understand most of what he was saying. Moulay Idriss Zerhoun spans across two mini peaks. Our makeshift guide took us to the top of one peak and described the history of the town. It was such a beautiful city with a rich history. 
After about an hour of walking around the city listening to the history, we decided it was time to go. We were able to bargain the price that he wanted down by about forty percent. He pointed down the main road and said that our taxi driver was somewhere down there. VERY specific, right? Wrong. We spend about 30 minutes trying to locate our driver. We were able to find his car, but our phones were not working, so we had no way to contact him. Eventually, we asked two women if we could borrow their phone. We were able to contact him and got on our way to the next location. 
