Since my eventual departure from Morocco was scheduled for Casablanca, I made the train journey there with three friends I met in my Marrakech hostel. Özlem – a Turkish woman born and raised in Germany – had no definite travel plans for the rest of her time in the country, so she decided to tag along with me to Morocco’s largest city. Monika and Matea – two Croatian girls from our hostel – were scheduled to begin volunteer work there and coincidentally booked the same train as us. After parting ways with the Croatian girls at the Casablanca train station, Ozzy and I were picked up by Salah, Matt, and Louis – our Couchsurfing host and our two French Canadian friends from Hostel Waka Waka who had left Marrakech a couple days before to visit Essaouira on the coast. (Couchsurfing is an organization where people set up online profiles to either offer a spare bed/couch to travelers for free and for travelers to request a place to stay). While in Marrakech, the four of us had figured out that all our paths would once again cross in Casablanca and had arranged to stay together.

Since it was such a beautiful day, the five of us went to the beach for the afternoon before settling in at Salah’s house in a suburb of Casablanca called Bouskoura. The family – Salah’s parents, brother, and himself – had just recently moved in, so most rooms of the three-story dwelling were vacant of furniture. With their spotless stone floors and tall ceilings, they resembled grand ballrooms rather than living rooms, dining rooms, and bedrooms. We were invited to break the Ramadan fast with family and were therefore treated to an impressive spread of homemade Moroccan dishes. Salah translated for us here and there, but all we could say over and over to his parents was the one Arabic word we had learned: shukran (thank you). After a wonderful meal, post-dinner soup and dessert, and endless cups of traditional mint tea, I did what I do best when bestowed with the hospitality of others – helped clean up. Ozzy, Salah’s mother, and I worked together to wash and dry the dishes, which were then put away with a big smile by Salah’s young niece (who was obviously very excited to spend time with us).

The next morning Salah showed us around Casablanca for a bit before dropping off Matt, Louis, and Ozzy at the train station so they could continue their journey up to Fez. Since my flight wasn’t until the next day, the two of us then took a day trip up to the capital city of Rabat. We spent the morning wandering through the markets, discovering colorful neighborhoods, and touring the waterfront.

Eventually we made our way to the main reason for our visit – the Musée Archéologique (the National Archaeology Museum of Morocco). Though the addition of Morocco to my itinerary occurred too late to obtain a local research connection, I still wanted to tour at least one museum to get a sense of what Moroccan institutions were like. I left the building a few hours later with the biggest smile on my face, because while inside the tiny museum I befriended one of the curators, was given a private tour of the exhibits, and with Salah there to translate between English, Arabic, and French, the curator answered all of my research questions and agreed to let me include the museum in my study. I was able to collect some incredibly fascinating data and was additionally offered an internship right there on the spot. Transatlantic relocation to Africa? Fine by me!

Later that evening we returned to Salah’s house where I taught his niece how to play the simple card game “war” using the deck I had packed in my backpack. Since we didn’t speak any of the same languages, it was a great way for us to spend time together – she absolutely loved the game and wanted to play again and again and again. I only used the cards that one time throughout the summer, but it was well worth it to carry them around the world with me just to have played that one evening with her.

Some of the most memorable 48 hours of the summer were spent on a two-day, one-night excursion into the Sahara Desert. I signed up with three other friends from my hostel in Marrakech and the following day we hopped on a small tour bus to make the long journey southeast. About 16 people total fit in the vehicle (somewhat of a cross between a bus and a large white van), which at one point started off air-conditioned but simply could not compete with the 110° heat. Along the way we stopped at various points to take pictures of the beautiful mountain scenery or important landmarks. My favorite attraction was the ancient city of Ait-Ben-Haddou, a UNESCO World Heritage Site and film set of dozens of movies and TV shows from Gladiator to The Mummy to Game of Thrones. The majority of the group was from Spain or South America, so the local tour guide explained everything entirely in Spanish. After drinking tea with one of the ten families that still lives in the village and then hiking up to the top of the hill, we returned to the more modern portion of the city to have a delicious meal of traditional Moroccan salad and vegetable couscous.

As the sun was setting we arrived at our destination and traded our van in for a fleet of camels. Led by Berber villagers, we rode for about an hour and a half into the dessert before arriving at the traditional village where we would spend the night. The Berbers spread out huge handmade rugs on the sand in the middle of the large ring of tents where they proceeded to serve us mint tea. We all then made our way inside the large main tent for an incredible dinner of chicken tagine and couscous, followed by melon for dessert. The rest of the evening was spent outside under the stars watching the villagers perform traditional music and dance and conversing with fellow travelers. As everyone journeyed back to their beds, a couple friends and I took a walk just outside the ring of tents. We eventually stopped on top of the highest sand dune we could find and stared in awe at the breathtaking array of stars above us. A while later we were joined by one of the Berber villagers who talked with us for hours about his lifestyle and asked endless questions about ours.

We eventually returned to our bedding (that we had dragged outside of our tent earlier in the evening) and fit in a couple hours of sleep under the stars before everyone was woken up to start the camel ride back to civilization. After the trip I shared this message with family and friends back home:

“Spent most of the night sitting under the stars on a sand dune in the Sahara talking with a Berber villager about religion, family, languages, and the nomadic lifestyle while our camels and the rest of the camp slept nearby. Words cannot describe Morocco.”

After a couple stops across Western Europe, I was ready to jump continents and spice things up a bit. My original itinerary dictated a flight East to Israel, but due to some last-minute modifications I found myself journeying South to Morocco! I flew out of Barcelona into Marrakech and immediately upon exiting the airport realized just how out of element I was. I went from a culture (and language) with which I was familiar to one that was completely foreign. The fact that I didn’t speak Arabic or French complicated things a bit, but I was up for the challenge. What started as an impromptu addition a few weeks beforehand actually turned out to be the most memorable portion of my journey.

One of the highlights of my time in Marrakech was definitely the hostel at which I stayed. Named “Waka Waka” (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pRpeEdMmmQ0), it was saturated in color from the carpets and couches to the rooftop patio. Unlike larger, more commercial businesses, no locks were necessary to secure your belongings, everyone in the building became friends, each morning we were presented with a freshly baked traditional breakfast, and there was a never-ending free supply of traditional Moroccan mint tea. Waka Waka became a wonderful oasis to return to after exploring the chaotic streets of Marrakech.

In the days that followed I spent time with new friends exploring the souk (the market) during the day and tasting Moroccan delicacies in the main plaza in the evening. The afternoon I arrived in Morocco happened to be the first day of Ramadan, a coincidence that turned out to be both a curse and a blessing. Many shops and restaurants were closed during the day, the Moroccans could get quite temperamental with the combination of fasting and 114° Heat, and we had to be careful when eating snacks or drinking water in public. On the flip side, I was able to learn so much from the locals about their religion that I didn’t know before. Plus, the city completely came alive after the sun set. The main plaza buzzed with food vendors all shoving their menus in your face promising various free extras to entice you to choose their stall. Steam cascaded into the night sky from pots of traditional Moroccan soup, plates of vegetable couscous, and grills full of lamb kabobs. The food was incredible and – while at times hectic and a bit stressful – the ambiance couldn’t be beat.

One of our favorite post-dinner activities was to wander over to the orange juice section of the plaza. Rows upon rows of identical stands selling fresh-squeezed orange juice and bottled water lined the square, complete with more shouting vendors trying to get people to come over. During my first night in Marrakech a group of eight of us befriended one of the vendors, Adel, to whom we returned time and time again for our daily dose of fresh orange juice. Throughout the week he would take hilarious pictures with us in his stand, sit around and talk with us for hours, and let us squeeze our own orange juice.

In an effort to find some shade and green vegetation, I explored Jardin Majorelle in 110° heat with Matt, Louis, Ozzy, and Gabrielle. Later in the evening we returned to the plaza for dinner. As we wandered around watching some of the street performers, we were pulled into the center of one of the circles and danced to traditional music on and off for hours until we physically could not any more. To recuperate we headed towards the orange juice stands and met back up with the rest of the group, who had been chatting with Adel and the other vendors.

During my last full day in Marrakech I was ready to do some serious shopping. I was prepped, poised, and geared up for some bartering. Entering the winding alleyways with three fellow Americans, we scouted out what we wanted and proceeded to search for the best deals possible. I discovered that my most valuable asset was not my sassy attitude or my keen eye for a bargain, but my Spanish. Shop vendors left and right would call out for me in either French or English to buy their wares, but I would only respond in Spanish. When they would excitedly ask if I was from Spain, I would tell them yes (for a native speaker it would be obvious that I am not, but not for someone who learned Spanish as their fourth language). By pretending to not know English, I was able to shed the stereotype of “American tourist” and secure much better deals on what I was buying. The vendors treated me more like a friend than someone they were trying to trick into paying as much as possible.

In one shop I befriended a man selling beautiful handmade blankets. I wanted to buy one and expressed my love for the ornate craftsmanship, but knew I could not possibly backpack around the world with it. The longer the shop owner and I chatted, the lower the price sank. Finally I had to say no thank you and leave the store to meet up with my friends, but ended up returning to buy the blanket because two of the Americans studying at a summer law program in London offered to take it back to England and eventually back to the US for me. To cap off the afternoon, the vendor shut down his shop for a bit to bring us down the street and show us the loom at which his entire family works and the facilities where they dye all the material. I was overjoyed to be able to bring home such an exquisite memento of Morocco and to see the behind-the-scenes of how it was made.

To my delight, the next location on my itinerary was Spain – the only country I had visited outside of the United States before this summer. While studying abroad and interning there as an English teacher last year, I had the chance to visit everywhere from Nerja to Córdoba to Pamplona to Santiago de Compostela. With over 15 Spanish cities checked off my list, one iconic location still remained: Barcelona. Since Perpignan is only a short train ride away, I took advantage of my proximity and crossed the border into what is one of my favorite places in the world. I spent a few days in the beautiful seaside city consolidating research notes, strengthening my interview questions, and planning later portions of my journey. With a trip this large it was impossible to plan every component before I left, so extra preparation was required while on the road.

Gaudí Architecture Tour

Palau Güell                                         Casa Batlló                    Casa Amatller (Designed by Josep Puig i Cadafalch)

Casa Milà (La Pedrera)                                           La Sagrada Familia

La Sagrada Familia (Antoni Gaudí)

Park Güell (Antoni Gaudí)

Collioure

Tautavel

Perpignan

My second case study of the summer was at the Musée de la Préhistoire in Tautavel, France. The town became famous for its proximity to Argo Cave, a landmark situated on a steep slope above the Roussillon Plain of Tautavel and the River Verdouble. Evidence of Homo erectus occupation can be seen throughout the cave in layers of rock saturated with abandoned stone tools, animal bones, rudimentary kitchens, and human burials. The famed “Tautavel Man” is not a single complete skeleton, but rather a reconstruction based on about 100 fragmented remains totaling around 20 individuals. The skull of Tautavel Man was discovered around 40 years ago in the cave and dates back 450,000 years.

Alongside one of the head curators of the museum, I spent the day visiting the exhibits, touring storage facilities, and conducting interviews. Mid-afternoon we stopped in at the town’s auditorium to catch the end of an archaeology lecture by an Italian researcher. The presentation was part of a two-week intensive Erasmus archaeology workshop for professors and students from all corners Europe and assorted surrounding regions. After conversing with various academics, we made our way to a charming restaurant owned by friends of the curator. I was treated to a delicious lunch complete with my first Crema Catalana for dessert.

Lunch                                                The Tautavel Man                              A cast (replica) of Tautavel Man’s skull

Since the Musée de la Préhistoire is primarily an archaeological research institution and houses a large collection of ancient European remains, it provided a unique perspective imparted by no other museum on my itinerary. The institution has no written documents dictating treatment procedures of human specimens, as most practices have been adopted from past decades or established by the current director. No real remains are on display in the museum, just look-alike casts made on-site. This is not an issue of cultural sensitivity like I have encountered at other institutions, but rather an issue of research and preservation. The employees of the museum and visiting academics want to maintain the highest level of preservation and eliminate any chance of infliction of damage to these incredibly valuable remains. In addition, if specimens are on display then they are not readily available for scientific investigation. Rather than using separate rooms for research and storage, qualified individuals conduct their studies in the same room where the remains are kept in an effort to minimize damage as a result of transportation. Most human specimens can be found in the large main storage room in wooden drawers and plastic bags, while remains over 10,000 years old are kept in a high-security vault to which only select individuals have access.

Casts of famous remains from other countries           The lab in which casts are created                                           (Note the vault off to the right)

The morning after my voyage from England to France, I woke up early to complete a trial day trip to Tautavel. The Musée de la Préhistoire was the one case study for which my accommodation was not local, thus, I wanted to make sure I knew well in advance how to navigate my way between the two towns. (No need to accidentally miss a research appointment eight months (and 7,000 miles) in the making). For just one euro, I hopped on a bus in downtown Perpignan and rode about an hour out of town to the mountain village of Tautavel. Along the way I was treated to breathtaking views of French countryside – the rolling hills continuously validating the phrase “It’s not the destination, but the journey that matters.” Once in Tautavel, I spent the day exploring the winding cobblestone streets, figuring out exactly where to go when I returned on a later date, and eating French tapas at a charming outdoor restaurant. I felt myself falling in love with this sleepy little town, though a warm sunny day in the foothills of the French Pyrenees will do that to just about anyone.

The following morning I took a day trip southeast with two new friends to the unbelievably beautiful seaside town of Collioure, located less than 10 miles from the Spanish border. We hopped on another one-euro bus – swimsuits and sunglasses in tow – ready for a fantastic day in small-town France. Collioure turned out to be even more picturesque than I had imagined, complete with quaint cafes, sandy beaches, colorful shops, historic seaside fortresses, and a never-ending supply of sailboats. The three of us spent the day lounging in the sun, eating gelato (I recommend the coconut & passion fruit), and talking about our travels.

One of my favorite aspects about spending time with Alice and Angela had to be the way in which we communicated. I spoke Spanish with Angela, since she is from Brazil and knows more Spanish than English. As Alice is British, we spoke English when just the two of us were together. To top it off, both girls studied French and have spent periods of time living in the country, so they spoke French with each other. When all three of us were together, we conversed in the only language shared by everyone: English. I was fascinated by the almost effortless way in which we switched between different modes of communication depending on the current combination of people present.

This trip has led me to value language like never before. If I had to consider the list of possessions I brought from home – clothes, passport, credit card – I would say my knowledge of English and Spanish are by far my most valuable assets. (Granted I would not even be able to leave the United States without a passport, but that is beside the point). No matter which country I find myself in, the theme of communication continuously plays out in every aspect of my trip. I am so glad to have studied Spanish for the past nine years, as it has opened up a multitude of doors and made international travel so much easier. Knowing a second language allows me to bargain with street vendors, ask bus drivers where to disembark, talk of worldwide travel with new friends, and navigate my way around foreign lands.

Among backpackers, the first line of an introduction is usually “What languages do you speak?” This necessary first step of establishing the best way to communicate with one another is then followed up with topics such as why you are in [insert name of city], where you have been before now, and where you are going next. I have had encounters in which there was no mention of names or nationalities until the very end of the conversation. I love the fact that one’s background is no longer significant – all that matters is a desire to travel.

[Next on the agenda: Learn French].

Throughout the couple days leading up to my work in Tautavel, I divided my time between consolidating research notes from London and exploring Perpignan with Alice. It took a bit of effort to track down a cafe with free Wifi so that I could work, but luckily I had Alice by my side to serve as a personal translator. Afterwards we sat outside at a little restaurant in the heart of the most colorful neighborhood in Perpignan and enjoyed a meal of gazpacho, pesto pasta, and honey-caramelized goat cheese salad. Absolutely delicious. Though I’m traveling on a budget, I always make sure to have at least a couple nice meals in each location I visit – and southern France definitely did not disappoint. Later we wandered along the manmade waterway that runs through town, marveled at the iconic tower nearby, bought fresh cherries from a local vendor, and discovered hidden shops throughout the charming historical district. Warm, sunny weather subsequently called for a lazy afternoon in the park, fountain frolicking, and (of course) more ice cream.

After nine days of English museums and endless cups of tea, I found myself back at Heathrow and ready for a new adventure. The two-hour flight to France passed by in the blink of an eye and soon I was checking off another travel milestone: Visiting a country in which I do not speak the language. Before this summer I had only spent time in the US and Spain, so having a language barrier was quite a change of pace. Throughout my stay I perfected the basic phrases necessary for daily life and utilized the phrase “parlez-vous anglais ou espagnol?” (Do you speak English or Spanish?) like it was going out of style. Luckily enough, my new location was of such close proximity to Spain that many people with whom I conversed spoke some Spanish.

I flew into Toulouse and subsequently had a bit of a trek to make before arriving at my hostel. Though my research location was the tiny village of Tautavel in the foothills of the French Pyrenees, I had accommodation booked in Perpignan (the nearest city of substantial size to Tautavel). What started with a delayed flight out of London eventually concluded with a safe arrival in Perpignan, but the events in between were anything but boring.

After arriving in the Toulouse airport two hours behind schedule, I jumped on a bus outside the airport in pursuit of the train station. A helpful man on the bus used the five words of English he knew to direct me to the correct stop, then after running across the street to the station, another obliging stranger told me that the last train of the day to Perpignan was leaving in a half hour at 19:49.

• 19:20 – I took a number from the counter and proceeded to wait alongside 40 other people to purchase a ticket.
• 19:40 – The clerk was nowhere near calling my number and I came to the realization that I would most likely miss my train. There was no other way to make the journey that evening and I did not have accommodation in Toulouse.
• 19:41 – I noticed two machines in the adjacent room and ran over to try purchasing a ticket from them.
• 19:42 – After entering my trip specifications and selecting my fares, the machine rejected both my debit card and credit card.
• 19:45 – With no common language between us, I managed to get the woman behind me in line to buy the ticket on her credit card and then handed her the 35 Euros in cash.
• 19:47 – Ran in the direction of the trains and realized I had no idea what any of the signs said.
• 19:48 – Asked the first person I saw for directions. When he recognized that I had no time to figure it out myself, he sprinted with me through the maze of stairs to the correct platform.
• 19:49 – Twenty seconds after I jumped aboard, the train pulled away from the station.

Gare de Toulouse-Matabiau (Toulouse Train Station)   Train from Toulouse to Narbonne

The highlight of my journey turned out to be an incredibly friendly Armenian dad, Seroja, who was assigned to the seat across from mine. Between the two of us we spoke five languages – English, Spanish, French, Armenian, and Russian – none of which overlapped. Throughout the ride he spoke in French, I responded in Spanish, and when that was not enough we used hand signals, drawings, and photos to fill in the gaps. Since he was also traveling to Perpignan and had to make the same transfer as me in Narbonne, he became my personal guide for the rest of the trip. We had a wonderful (though very basic) conversation about everything from family to language to Chicago. He didn’t speak English, but did excitedly respond with the words “Mafia” and “Al Capone” when I mentioned where I live.

In keeping with the theme of the day, the train stopped on the tracks to Narbonne and remained motionless for over an hour and a half. Everyone aboard missed their subsequent connections and the transport officials had to schedule a special late-night train for all of us headed to Perpignan. Later in the evening with the help of a Spanish-speaking police officer at the Perpignan train station, I eventually found my way to the hostel in the wee hours of the morning, located the key they the management had hid for me after I called from Seroja’s phone, and immediately fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.

The journey from England to France took place with no shortage of challenges – which is just the way I like it. These days I’m actually a bit disappointed if a travel day passes without the need for any serious problem solving. What’s life without a bit of adventure?

Perpignan at Night                                                    Auberge Jeunesse (Youth Hostel)

Over the weekend the Spaldings wanted to show me a bit of the English countryside, so the four of us drove south to Hever Castle, the childhood home of Anne Boleyn (King Henry VIII’s second wife). The castle had been transformed into a fascinating museum and was surrounded by beautiful gardens, forests, mazes, and moats. My favorite attraction on the grounds was the water maze, a puzzle that challenged visitors to get to the center tower without being sprayed with water that shot up when certain stones were stepped on. After a lively week in London, it was wonderful to get out of the city and spend some time in the quiet English countryside.

After my research the next day at the Natural History Museum, I crossed the street and entered the Victoria & Albert Museum. I had no idea what to expect, but instantly fell in love with the place. Housing a permanent collection of over 4.5 million objects, it is the world’s largest museum of decorative arts and design. Some of my favorites included the Japanese and Middle Eastern rooms, the jewelry exhibit, and the full-scale replica of the archway of the cathedral in Santiago de Compostela, Spain. The iconic landmark marks the end of the “Camino de Santiago” (“The Way of St. James”), one of the largest religious pilgrimages in the world. It is believed that after hiking for weeks (or months, or years) and finally passing through the entryway under the figure of Santiago (St. James), all of one’s sins will be absolved. The arch was undergoing restoration efforts when I visited last July, so at the V&A I was finally able to view every beautiful detail of the structure.

On the way home I took a few minutes to wander through Harrods. I could have spent hours gawking at the endless abundance of mouth-watering delicacies and spectacular fashion.

During my last full day in London I took the train to Tate Modern so I could cross the Millennium Bridge to meet up with Margo, a friend of one of my best friends from home, and tour St. Paul’s Cathedral. Dubbed “London’s Cathedral,” St. Paul’s is one of Europe’s largest churches with a dome only exceeded in size by that of St. Peter’s Basilica in Rome. The cathedral is absolutely stunning and though photography is not allowed inside, we couldn’t help but sneak a picture or two. An enormous orchestra and choir were practicing in the middle of the rotunda, so the sound of over 200 people echoed through the vaulted masterpiece as we wandered around. Once we completed the main floor, we were lucky enough to make it into the very last group departing to tour the three galleries above the rotunda. After 560 steps, we were rewarded with a stunning panoramic view of the city. Later in the afternoon we left the cathedral and headed over near the Tower of London to grab some fish & chips for dinner.

After successful interviews at impressive British museums and jam-packed days of sightseeing, the time had come to depart from London. England was a wonderful place to start of this crazy journey – similar culture, same language, and a wonderful family to live with. Though I’m sad to leave, I can’t wait to visit the other locations on my itinerary!

During my unforgettable week in London I managed to take 883 photos. Below are a few of my favorites!

Buckingham Palace

The Changing of the Guard                                        Westminster Abbey

The Gardens of Westminster Abbey       Westminster Abbey                        The Rosetta Stone (The British Museum)

Fun Fact: The British Museum has the largest collection of Egyptian mummies outside of Egypt

Big Ben                                                The Tate Modern                                Picasso

Bubbles near Millennium Bridge                                 Tower Bridge

Immy and Dom                                                        Hever Castle

The Hever Castle Gardens

The Natural History Museum                                                                          My London Home

View from the top of St. Paul’s Cathedral                    The Tower of London