Finally in Fès. The Moroccan railway has thus far proved to be really convenient but we somehow magically lost an hour on the way from Marrakech to Fes. When the journey is supposed to seven hours-long to begin with, that extra hour makes all the difference in transforming yaySaytay into naySaytay.
Once I found myself cozied up in the riad I'm staying at here (run by a delightful, young and pregnant Brit), I immediately started making plans to stay
in Fes longer, decreasing my visit to Meknès to potentially just a day-trip. I'm so inspired by all the backpackers I'm meeting who change their itineraries at a moment's notice in search what's cheapest and most convenient. And Fes my dears is CHEAP (my ginormous sandwich was 15 dirhams -- just over $1.50).
I've befriended two Taiwanese girls at the riad who were utterly wooed by the fact that Wang Leehom and I are practically biffs... well, actually, they didn't seem too fazed and said that there are better singers out there than Leehom, but whatever. We've been discovering this crazy world together: donkeys, loud men, hustlers, touts, winding streets that make no sense. It's like being in some sort of time warp...
...except that I was told today that I was obviously American because I had a visage à l'Obama. That was weird, to say the least given that
a) the only thing American about me is potentially my accent. And even then I say lots of things funny. Does anyone want a bluebrrryyy?
b) I'd like to think I look nothing like Obama. Since when did Mr. President have sexy stubble?
I was also told by a man whose only contact with the subcontinent was an extensive rapport with Bollywood film that he and I were exactly the same since Morocco and India are two countries plagued by the same troubles. Scary thought. Also, I don't want to be a 70 year-old Fassi man who drinks mint tea all day outside a leather workshop. Although I must say his choice in shoes, just like most Moroccans, is rather fab -- good job, old chap, those bright yellow babouches are so in right now.