How quickly things change...

How quickly things can change.

As of last night, I was done with this city, ready to get somewhere where I could avoid, perhaps just by sheer numbers, the constant throngs of people dying to get me stoned or check out their shop.

I went to sleep last night wishing hard for a change of venue. A pillow never felt so much like a rock, the air was never so stifling.

I had bad dreams all night, and awoke with a headache and strange stomach cramps and a bad taste in my mouth. I had been tossing and turning ever since the 3 a.m. call to prayer, which had sounded from every mosque in the city.

I stumbled to the bathroom, washed my face and brushed my teeth, and headed out into the still quiet main square for something to eat and some coffee. The banks were still closed and the ATMs were far. The restaurant owner offered to start a breakfast tab for me until the banks opened.

And then, the ATMs would not work and the bank personnel could do nothing for me. I headed back to the cafe to drink more coffee, clear my head, and think of an alternate plan of action.

When I returned to the closer of the ATMs to give it another try, I noticed a foreign woman walking toward me. She held a bank card in her hand and carried a heavy look on her face. Ahhh...wonderful. I knew that the second of the ATMs would not work either. I decided to try anyway.

As I did, she approached, obviously wishing to give it another try. We stayed together, trying repeatedly until we both were able to withdraw money from the machine, and then began heading back toward the main square.

As we walked, she told me how much she loved the city, and talked endlessly of how wonderful the people were and how beautiful the place was. I thought of how ready I was to leave. She continued, and told more and more stories of walks she had taken and people she had met...And suddenly, I could see the place through her eyes.

I decided to stay another day.

We had breakfast in the square, and ate the local goat cheese from the mountains. We sat with a musician and played drums with him while he played the flute. She left a while later, and I stayed behind, ready to give the town another try.



I ended up heading out for a walk in the same direction that I went a few days ago. Back toward the crumbling hillside mosque I walked, and soon ran into some people I had met at the hotel--two Argentine girls and a Guatemalan girl. They were accompanied by a short Japanese guy and a Moroccan guide.

And so we walked for hours, passing through the fields of marijuana and past herds of goats, stopping at the now familiar mountain spring of icy cold, delicious water. We kept going, and passed through valleys and over hills, until we reached a town miles away. The sun was relentless and sweat poured down my face, but the landscape was beautiful and everyone that we met was friendly, and I do not think I experienced a single uncomfortable moment.



Strange country this surely is, and while I am well aware of this by now, I am constantly surprised. On the way back, I began walking rather quickly, and soon left the others behind. As I came back near to the spring, now without water and truly yearning to wet as much of my body as social conventions would allow, I saw a guy sitting beneath a tree on the side of the trail. He invited me to sit with him, and I scrambled up the hillside and sat down.

Placed in his lap was a portable black and white television with a broken antenna. A wire strung from the back was connected to the two contacts of a car battery. He was watching mostly static, but behind the static I could see the blurred outlines of a tennis match. He pointed at the screen and said, "basquet". I pointed and corrected him, saying "tennis".

Thankfully, he unplugged the set immediately, and began to give me an Arabic lesson. This was the first person I had met on this trip that did not seem to speak any Spanish or French, and so we stumbled through the rudimentary aspects of a conversation, eventually getting down our names and nationalities. I sat there in the relative shade with him, learning the Arabic word for water, and how to say "I go to Chefchaouen". Occasionally, he would plug the TV back in to check that the picture had not suddenly become crystal clear. Of course, it never did become clear, and as soon as he was sure of this, we would continue the lesson.



I left after a bit, and headed back into town with the others, and as we entered, I thought about how much I liked the place, and how nice so many people are. I saw people I knew, and enjoyed a great meal with my South American friends. And later, after a shower, sipping a mint tea on a rooftop terrace, I just thought of how much things can change and how much another person's vision can become your own.

And so, tomorrow I head to Fez, maybe.