Magic Pants, Where Have You Been All My Life? See Also: My Juice Personality In A Bottle

In Morocco, apparently. They have these ridiculously comfortable pants that are made of cotton, and are super loose. They probably look like crap when worn, but I no longer care, because they are divine. My new mission in life is to venture back into the depths of the medina, put my bargaining face back on, and buy more, so that I can wear these pants every day of the week if I want (let me rephrase: so that I can wear these pants every day of the week but change them so that I don't look like a total hobo; I wouldn't mind putting on the same pair multiple days in a row if I had to   they're that comfortable). Honestly, I'm willing to pay the tourist price if I have to, but bargaining is good for practicing my Arabic, which is why I'm doing it at this point.

Next: For fun, I read some Amazon reviews of Argan Oil, just to see what people would say. (By the way, when I say "read reviews," I mean that I read the one-star reviews. Those are the funny ones.) Even Amazon, Be-All-And-End-All for good deals, was super expensive compared to the Argan Oil that I bought. Now, I'm sure my Argan Oil isn't the best of the best since it was a product sold by street vendors, but I can tell you that it's decent quality. How, you ask? Because when you apply Argan Oil, if it's decent, it will smell kind of like salami for about a minute or two. My Argan Oil kind of smells like salami for a little bit; therefore, it is not totally worthless. (I'm about to tie this all together, I promise.) While I was reading bad reviews, I came across one that complained about how the Argan Oil smelled terrible, and that made me laugh, because Argan Oil does not smell fantastic when you first apply it. I'm guessing that this person was discounting the Argan Oil due to the very thing that indicated its good quality. People crack me up sometimes.

Also, who knew that one bottle could so perfectly fit my juice desires? Coming home from Murrakush, we made our stop at a gas station for bathroom + drinks, both of which were much needed. While there, I found this bottle/carton of juice. (Well, two, actually.) The first was pineapple and coconut; the second was red fruits. The bottles were fifty percent juice, and fifty percent water, with no extra-extra sugar (though the juices were mostly from concentrate). Which most of you are probably shaking your heads at. But! I don't like pure juice; at home I prefer to water it down. Also, I am a fan of mixing. And cold juice. These bottles were actually cold, which is a rare occurrence in Moroccan beverages. It was the perfect combination at the right time, and I wish I could remember the brand, but I guess it doesn't matter since I'm only here for two more weeks (depressing!) and it certainly wasn't an American brand. 

And finally. We've reached the best part of my little rant for this evening. 

Oh, tourists. Sometimes, you can be so cute. I'm proud to say that at this point, I think I'm only 80% tourist, instead of 100% like someone I encountered recently (and like I was when I first got here). It's kind of a funny story. Would you like to hear it? Because you're going to, regardless.

I was taking a post-iftar walk. It was more a power walk and less of a stroll, mostly because it was night (reason in and of itself), I was with a friend who walks faster than I do, and it was about an hour long walk. Anyways, my friend split off in the medina (obviously) and I was walking home. I was inside the first gate, and almost through the second, when I was called to (not super uncommon; cat calls are fairly frequent but pretty harmless), except this time, it was "Excuse me, do you speak English?" spoken in English, with a rather American accent.

Now, it's late, here, folks. I'm tired, and a little sketched out because I'd been walking alone (even though it was the medina, and not, say, Youssoufia), and I have no desire to talk to anyone, let alone some random dude that I do not know. But I've already turned my head at the voice, indicating that I do, indeed speak English, or at the very least hear him. The question is repeated, and warily, I nod my head, because maybe this guy is just a tourist (*ahem*badmoviereference*ahem*), and it would be super terrible of me to slam the gate and walk away if there is some semi-dire situation to which I can give vocal-help. (My first thought was Oh-my-god-is-he-going-to-try-to-rob-me? so I was prepared palm him in the nose if I had too [or, you know, worse   but that's just unsavory reading] and my hand was on the gate, ready to slip behind it and slam it shut, which would at least provide me time to scream bloody murder.)

Nope. Turns out this guy was not trying to ax-murder me. He wanted to know where he should walk around. As in right at that moment. Because he had walked around a little, but wanted to know the best places, or something. So I asked him where he had been, to which he replied that he had been in Morocco for 20 hours. (That is not an appropriate answer, folks. Units of time do not count as "wheres.") I [somewhat impatiently] coaxed out that he had walked around up by the train station. I then suggested the Oudayas. When he asked how to get there, I gave loose directions/descriptions...to which he replied that oh, maybe he'd walked around there earlier. This is why I asked you where you had already been, thank you. He wanted to know if there was a more happening place (I'm 97% sure that was the word he actually used); in short, where there were more people. (I give him props for knowing that it was Ramadan.) But seriously, it was like 9:15 at night. Yes, the medina kind of picks up again after iftar, but to get the real action, you have to be there during the day. I suggested the medina ("Where's that?" Here. That's here. *facepalm*) and told him to stay where the shops were, and that there are a few nice cross and parallel streets (or tried to; I was tired and frustrated at this point, and probably not communicating well) and that he should stay on those, and not venture into the small alleys, because they are sketchy at night. Basically, that there were still streets with people, but that it was Ramadan. At this point, I was just done, and apologized for not being more help, and told him to have a nice stay in Rabat.

Oh, tourists. I guess I'm a little flattered that I looked like I knew anything at all? Not so much that I would speak English, but then again, I'm 6'2'' on a short day and just about the most-Caucasian person that you will ever meet. (Side note: Sometime I'll have to talk about the vendor that couldn't figure out what nationality I was because I just kept shaking my head and laughing.)

But if there is ever a next time, I'm going to speak as much Arabic as I can as quickly as possible, and see how they take that. I imagine it would be fun to see confused looks on faces when an extremely-Caucasian person asks them whether or not they speak Arabic.

I guess that would be mean. But really, really funny.