I jumped a bus to Tetouan, a tiny town at the foot of the Rif Mountains… like every bus, it fills up to the brim, every seat, and the seat next to me is always the last to go… mothers won’t let their children sit next to me… men cram in other seats to avoid mine… I am a leper… an alien… an unknown danger…

A sweet, brave girl needled her way through, took my window seat, and said “thank you.” It turned into the most precious conversation of Morocco. Meriam, on her way back to engineering school from her Tangier home, was extremely fluent in English and tried not to show how excited she was to be eating it up like candy (and I tried not to show how ecstatic I was to be getting to use it too). The long ride disappeared like magic.

Checked in to my hotel, pulled myself off the bed, and spent the evening wandering the medina and streets with the rest of the zombies. I can feel my restless ambition climbing back on me… unsatisfied… hungry and desperate… neglected…