I always get so amused hearing a man speak in broken english explaining something about what we’re seeing when they just happen to intersperse the word shit in there. Like in the tanneries in Marrakech, with the guide explaining how they use pigeon shit for it’s natural ammonia. He would call it guano a couple times but he always ended up back at shit. Or this guide in, a town that I can not spell, nor can I spell it close enough to even google it to find out the correct spelling. It was the sight of the oldest Roman ruins in Morocco from about the time of Christ to 300 C.E. or something like that. He started off talking about the second hand water that the plebeians would get in the lower areas of the territory before he stopped sugar coating it and said they would have to wash and bathe in shit water because the shit always flows downhill. Then they laugh, I laugh (internally), and we all had a good ‘ol time. Then I tell myself, I’m going to specifically use that as a blog post so I can always remember how funny I specifically thought it was, hearing a word I’ve heard thousands of times before. I tell this story because as I mentioned in the last blog post, I wish I could remember all that I heard and reconvey it back to my readers. I just can’t, it’s impossible. Though on this day, Sunday, yesterday, we did travel to three cities after leaving Fes. Originally planning on using a train, we ended up picking an extra traveler for the day and took a ride with a driver for the extent of our journey. The details of Mauricio’s life are not important, mainly because I only know a few anyway. All that matters is he was there with us and he probably remembers more about the cities names than I do. What happened yesterday though entailed going on a guided tour through the ancient Roman ruins of Morocco and looking at a lot of worn down architecture and mosaics that I totally understand part of due to my obsession with Roman and Greek mythology as a young teenager. I totally knew a few of the trials of Hercules and that may count for something to someone. Then following that, we ended up in another tiny city which mainly just involved a single mosque for us to see but somehow we got suggested into taking a walk for a panoramic view which ended up taking us forty five minutes and being quite a hike. Good pictures though, good pictures, and a guide that apparently wanted more money than we offered him but I just ran away with the driver when he was frantically looking for us and hoped that everyone else survived. For all intents and purposes, they sure did. More and more driving commenced, a multitude of photos were taken, I complained to someone about the abundance on flags everywhere, the sun boiled my blood, we almost got hit by cars, and we talked to some girls from the Netherlands. I really do feel like there’s a lot more to this story. This was just yesterday. I should remember yesterday. I remember looking in the mirror in a bathroom and noticing that I had poorly applied my sunscreen and walked around like that for the whole day and understood why people were staring at me. I also remember looking in the mirror later that day once I’d arrived back in Rabat and thinking that I looked dead. Maybe that’s why I don’t have a clear memory of just yesterday because I couldn’t even stay up late enough to watch the evening news. I don’t know where I was going with that joke. A comment on people being old? A comment that only applied to those stateside or actually any side but still only works if they have a tv? I’m just saying is that all I desired to do upon arrival last night was to lay down in my hot bed and sleep and hope it was better in the morning. It was. It doesn’t help when a good chunk of your day is a train ride that keeps randomly stopping on the tracks for big chunks of time for no good reason. Or no apparent reason at least. Just like how there was no reason why I shouldn’t have a seat since I paid for a first class ticket only to spend my first hour of the ride standing alongside other people’s belongings. I’m really hoping these pictures manage to upload (even though there is no reason why they wouldn’t) so I can just point to those instead of my piss poor explanations here. It’s not that my brain is fried anymore, it’s just hard to comment on what I was thinking during the frying process because I do believe most of my thoughts were wondering if my skin would melt. It didn’t. And I realized that boots were the best investment I’ve made in the past five years of my life. I’d write more but I’m not entirely sure what to write about and the longer I type, the less likely it is all these photos make their way onto the interwebs. So I’m gonna go do that. Y’all enjoy them if you please. So it goes.