March 19, 2007The adjustment of western expectations of vacation do not come easily. The Medina, upon first glance, appears as a street in Progresso, Juarez, or any Texas-Mexico border town. And, as Sif, our cab driver and soon to be good friend, walks us deeper into the alleyways that make up the 1000 year old community, we become very nervous. I overhear the echo of Jennifer's voice in my head when she called before I left to give me the "talk" about travel in Muslim countries--"Mother you are too nice--don't let any of those guys talk you into going anywhere...." So, here I am-following some unknown person deep into the bowels of a community completely foreign to me. As the brackish-colored alleyways begin to close around us and it's getting darker, Mary's jokes with Sif (do you know where we are going?) get louder and, of course, that makes Jennifer's voice grow louder! When deepest into the maze, Sif stops and knocks on a tiny wooden door. The door swings wide and we crouch through the opening and into the unexpectedly lovely Riad...and into the hearts of some of the kindest people we could ever expect to meet on vacation.
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Henry started clapping his hands when I asked him if he wanted to go with Mormor to Morocco. Though he might have thought I asked if he wanted more breakfast taco...
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