The last 2 weeks have been a whirlwind of traveling – first
to Rome with an old friend, then to Marrakech for Peace Corps In-Service
Training, and then into the High Atlas mountains for a hike up 13,000+ feet –
all back-to-back, one after the other. It’s been an exciting 2 weeks to say the
very least, and I’m happy to say that I’m actually glad to be home (a.k.a. my
site – one sure sign of adjusting is calling this place home, right?) after all
of the adventuring.
My extended time traveling started with a short but sweet
trip to Rome . I
met up with a good friend of mine, Mike, who was going on a longer trip through
Italy with a final stop in Rome . The timing couldn’t
have been more perfect – the 3 days and 4 nights in Rome were right before our Peace Corps
In-Service Training in Marrakech, and my flights went in and out of the
Marrakech airport! We stayed at a hostel near the train station, known for its
fun atmosphere due to its popular bar on the lower level. 3 days is not a lot
of time to see one of the most beautiful cities in the world, but I have to say
that we did a pretty darn good job fitting everything in while having a ton of
fun along the way.
As far as sightseeing went, it’s like I said – we fit a lot
into just 3 days! The first day was the Colosseum, Forum, Pantheon, Trevi
Fountain, etc, and we were lucky enough to have a knowledgeable and hilariously
flamboyant guide for part of the day. We spent almost the entire second day at
the Vatican ;
everything was beautiful, and the drizzly weather in the morning somehow
matched perfectly. On the third day, we visited the Borghese museum and then
wandered around the city seeing the various neighborhoods, plazas, and sights
that we hadn’t gotten to yet. Words would fail to capture how breathtaking everything
was – the history, architecture, and artistry involved in nearly every sight
never failed to capture my imagination and inspire an awe that would leave me
standing, staring, appreciating.
Colosseum
The Forum
Inside St. Peter's
View of the river and the Vatican from atop an old castle nearby
From the courtyard in Vatican City
For all the time we spent running around sightseeing by day,
we somehow kept up the energy to check out some of Rome ’s awesome nightlife. Our hostel
contained a popular bar known for international travelers and cheap drinks, and
we checked out some of the plazas that are filled with people at night in an
open-air pub atmosphere. We met tons of awesome Italians and other world
travelers, had some laughs, and enjoyed Rome
at night in all its beauty. And all the while, I couldn’t help but notice the
stark contrast with life in Morocco
– not only was drinking acceptable in Rome ,
but it was perfectly fine to be seen walking around town with open drinks,
enjoying the sights over a beer or glass of wine. It was wonderful to have that
kind of freedom again – to go out with friends, have some drinks, and not have
to hide it or feel guilty or culturally insensitive. Don’t get me wrong – it
doesn’t bother me to go without drinking in Morocco ; but still, it was a nice
little getaway.
And of course, any reflection on my trip to Rome would be incomplete
without mention of all the delightful food and drink we enjoyed every single
chance we got. Pastas, pizzas, risottos, breads, gelato, beer, wine, more
gelato…the list goes on and on. Of all the places we ate, I have to say that my
favorite was this tiny restaurant we found, tucked away in a bend in a narrow,
winding road just off of the main streets. We sat outside under a canopy of
vines, talked to people sitting near us, and enjoyed the best mushroom risotto
and vegetable pasta I think we’d ever had. Coming in at a close second was a
pizza restaurant in the old Jewish neighborhood, recommended by a PCV friend of
mine who’s been to Rome
a few times. On our last night there, we sat at that pizza restaurant for over
4 hours, sipping wine and ordering all sorts of various plates of food as a
last hurrah of Italian food indulgence. So much deliciousness!
Looking back on it, the trip to Rome was one of the best short trips I’ve
been on in a long time. Rome
has made my list of top favorite places I’ve ever been, and I definitely want
to return someday. And spending time with someone I know so well from back in America was a great experience, and I think
helped with reminding me, through all of the confusion that life in Morocco can bring, of who I am, of why I came to
Morocco
in the first place, and of all the people who support me back home.
IN-SERVICE TRAINING
I was nervous about coming back to Morocco and experiencing culture shock all over
again, even though I was in Europe for such a
short time. Luckily, after landing in the Marrakech airport, I hopped in a taxi
and headed straight to our week-long Peace Corps In-Service Training (IST),
located at a beautiful hotel complex on the outskirts of Marrakech. IST is a
training strategically timed for about 3 months or so after being in site, in
order to assess how community integration has been going, discuss challenges
and future goals, and plan steps for moving forward into the bulk of our
service.
First and foremost, IST was exciting and memorable because
of the rare opportunity to spend time with other PCVs – in fact, it was the
last time our entire group of 100+ will be together until close-of-service
conference, sometime in early 2014. In Peace Corps, seeing other Americans is
rare enough that its always something of a magical time, and a week surrounded
by your friends is like a slice of heaven. We took advantage of the opportunity
as much as possible, and the atmosphere was honestly more akin to that of a
vacation or reunion party than that of a business conference. We ate together,
swam in the pool every chance we got, and hung out in big groups in each-others
bungalows (yes, the complex had cute little bungalows, rather than rooms.),
until late hours of the night, nearly every night. I spent quality time with the
people I care most about, and made new friendships with PCVs I hadn’t really
gotten to know before that point. It was almost like a dream, hanging out with
over 100 other Americans in such a beautiful location, and more than once I
almost forgot where we were!
In addition to all of this, many of the training sessions
themselves were incredibly useful and inspiring. There were presentations by
PCVs farther along in their service, many of them getting ready to leave after
a successful 2 years. These PCVs shared their wonderful projects with us –
classes, clubs, conferences, manuals, organizations – and gave us the honest,
nitty-gritty details of their victories and challenges along the way to their
projects’ completion. It was at once a breath of fresh air (finally, some
concrete, real-life advice and training on how to navigate the abyss of our
future work) and a shock into reality (oh crap, I’m 6 months into service, and
if I want to do something like this, there really isn’t a lot of time to waste).
I think its safe to say that the presentations inspired all of us in one way or
another, and served to light a fire under a lot of our butts to get working as
soon as we got back to site.
JBEL TOUBKAL
In the days following IST, I went with a group of my closest friends to climb Jbel Toubkal – the highest peak in North
Africa at more than 13,600 feet. We started our journey by staying
a night in the picturesque town of Imlil ,
the mountain village where the road ends and going further is only possible by
foot or donkey.
The next morning, we set out on the first leg of our hike,
but down by one – Ted was sick with an all-too-common-for-a-PCV stomach virus
and wasn’t able to join us any further. The first day was about a 5 hour hike,
all uphill at a moderate angle, to the refuge at the base of the mountain. We
set out late because of worries caused by a harsh morning rain, but the weather
cleared up for most of the hike. The scenery of the High Atlas mountains,
shrouded at their peaks with wispy clouds and cool mist, was absolutely
stunning. At the end of our journey, about an hour from the refuge, the rain
really picked up; the trail began to resemble a river, the fog obscured much of
the route ahead, and we became colder and wetter every minute. The sight of the
refuge through the mist after cresting the last hill was an enormous relief –
the small, squat stone buildings were the picture of paradise and warmth, as
far as we were concerned. Once inside, we discovered that ALL of the things in
our bags were wet – most importantly, our clothes for the next day. Still, the
inside of the refuge was a great comfort. It had the appearance and feel of a
ski lodge, and I was filled with a warm nostalgia for Michigan winters and family ski trips. After
a much-welcomed hot meal, we sat by the fire with our wet garments, slowly
drying them by the heat of the flames and talking with fellow trekkers about
the ascent to come.
The second day was the ascent to the summit – 5 hours,
straight up. I don’t know how to describe the challenge of that climb, other
than to say it was the hardest physical thing I’ve ever done in my life. We
were incredibly lucky to have beautiful weather that day, with sunny skies and
no rain whatsoever. There weren’t really any easy portions of the hike, but the
first half of the journey felt manageable; it was still warm, the sun shone
from over the eastern side of the mountains, and we had a lot of energy left to
use. About halfway up the mountain, though, a few of us, myself included, began
to really feel the effects of the altitude change. I was nauseous and slightly
dizzy, and started taking lots of short breaks in order to let my body
acclimate to the changes in oxygen levels. It had also grown bitterly cold as
we climbed, and I found myself wishing for a winter hat and gloves as we
trudged through snow-covered rocks. At that point, the ascent to the peak
itself was mostly visible, and I kept looking upward to the hikers ahead of us,
appearing as tiny dots on the towering slope up above. That final portion of
the hike was as much a psychological exercise for me as a physical one: the
strength to keep going, the ability to persevere even when the going literally
felt impossible, and keeping my mind focused on the end goal – they all came
from somewhere deep within me that day, and I truly believe that in those
moments, moving slowly up the mountainside, I found an inner strength I didn’t
know I had.
First step in the hike up to the summit: crossing this
View of the refuge from the path up to the summit
Almost there...
The view, even before reaching the peak, far exceeded my
high expectations. At the summit, the entire world seemed to stretch out before
us. We stood, awestruck, higher than everything around us: the clouds, the
mountain range, and the vast expanse of desert that lay miles beyond, where the
horizon curved at what looked like the edge of the Earth. A thin blanket of
white fluffy clouds danced around the mountain peaks below, and I watched as
one at eye-level came towards us slowly, tumbling and changing shape with a
life all its own.
Heading down
We stayed at the summit as long as possible, though the cold,
whipping winds drove us back down the path after a short time. The hike back
down was infinitely easier than the ascent had been, and the altitude sickness
evaporated quickly as we made our way back down. Though we had planned to hike
all the way back to Imlil that night, we had gotten a bit of a late start and
opted to stay another night at the refuge in order to not be rushed making it
back by nightfall. We all went to bed almost immediately after dinner,
exhausted and happy after the day’s accomplishments.
The next day, we took our time hiking the rest of the way
down through the mountains back to Imlil. I had hung back from the group a bit,
and after getting a bit mixed up by the paths, found myself walking through a
breathtaking mountain village surrounded by apple orchards and walnut trees. I
was within sight of Imlil, so I wasn’t worried. I spent nearly an hour
wandering through the village, asking for directions here and there, and
finally walking through a huge forest of walnut trees, where men and women were
knocking branches down in what appeared to be a huge nut harvest. I eventually
made it back to Imlil, stayed the night with a fellow PCV near Marrakech, and
headed home the next day, filled with reflections and beautiful memories.
Though I may be down the mountain and safely back on flat
land, I still feel the lessons learned on the climb close to me. It’s as though
if I close my eyes, I could still be up over 13,000 feet, trudging along
through all of the challenges, urging myself to continue to the top. Even in
the few days since our journey, when things have gotten tough for whatever
reason, I’ve found myself thinking about the climb, telling myself, “I thought
I couldn’t make it then, but I did – and if I can make it up that mountain, I
can make it through this, too. Just keep your eye on the summit.”
Returning to site was simultaneously relieving and a
terrifying: relieving, because after more than 2 weeks of traveling, there’s
nothing like a hot cup of tea, clean PJs, and cozy bed all your own; and
terrifying, because of the realization that this is it, the real start of
service in site. No more Ramadan, no more summer camps in other towns, no more
closed Dar Chebab. Time to hit the ground running, nose to the grindstone, and all
of that. And for all of the countless moments that I waited for this moment,
for how much I couldn’t wait to finally get down to business, I found myself
nearly panicky with anxiety when I arrived in site. A year and a half of
waiting in the U.S., 2 months of training, and 4 months of waiting through a
mostly stagnant summer – all of that time, all of the anticipation, and all of
my expectations of myself seemed to weigh down on me, and I found myself
thinking, “Where the hell do I even start? What am I supposed to be doing,
really? What is the best course of action?” And the answer, I’ve found is this:
There is no concrete starting point. There is no right path. On the way up to
the Toubkal refuge, when the river drowned the path and the fog obscured the
route ahead, the only thing to do was to keep hiking forward – up the next set
of boulders, over the next river crossing. Beyond that, nothing was certain;
not the curves in the path, nor the hills to be crested, nor the sights to
behold. Through the rain and the mist, only our faith remained; faith in the
refuge that lay up ahead, faith in the attainability of our goal, and faith in
the beauty to be witnessed at the summit. And that, more than anything,
describes what’s necessary for my journey ahead.
