End STOP

To update - yes, Facebook is deactivated.  A great weight has been released and my return should only occur in the situation I'm dying to network.  In that case, LinkedIn or some other social-networking website that is being planned right now shall be under the controls of my fingertips.

So the following thirteen days after leaving Marrakech, I visit Fez, Immouzer Mamoucha, Meknes, and Chefchaouen.

In Fez I make a friend with a homeless woman, if you manage to visit the Cascade Hostel directly left of the main gate in Fez, look for a "Selwuya," or something to the likes - yes I'm an awful friend.  She's a sweet little lady looking for some company.

Fez, as the rest of the popular cities in Morocco has both a pretty and ugly side.  Unfortunately, most people see the ugly side; the tourisitic areas.  Prior to arriving in Fez, I did my research on the area; not as touristic, aggressive and craftmanship.

I spend a good chunk of the day in an internet cafe, where the power goes out like five times, so I say, "#%@ this, I'm outta he'ah" and move to another one, where I meet a little boy named Hamda.  This would become my base.  I walk around the maze, get coerced into needing to buy some objects from the tannery, and a kid throws rocks at me.  I opt to sleep on the roof with my newly acquired blankets.

Six A.M. rolls in.  Call to prayer from three minarets and the sun blaring into my eyes - not to mention the cold night; my blankets failed to provide insulation - is quite the wake up call.  Unique to say the least.

I may way to Immouzer- by foot.  Twelve kilometeres outside of Fez, I call my host in Immouzer.

"You're heading towards Immouzer Kandar."

Well shit.  It's a good thing no one picked me up for hitchhiking

That night I meet this Dutch girl whose going through some sort of depression because of her relationship - it seems like all of us solo travelers-  save for Jerome - have some tale of heartbreak woe.  So I console her, later giving her my book of Going Solo, having actually never read through the whole thing.

Note to self; get book.

And last minute a Couchsurfing host tells me he can host me.

The next morning I head to Immouzer.  I try my luck at hitchhiking, get picked up by a Amazigh - great guy - and then get picked up by an old charter bus that runs the route daily.  Upon entry all eyes are on me - the Asian guy with a shemagh on his head.

"Hey guys, I'll be here all evening."

I get to ride shotgun.

Immouzer Mamoucha.

My host is a member of the Peacecorps.  Environmental care for the region - planting almond trees in hopes of curving the grazing down.  I get the low down of the place, his perspective of the politics, and his life.

Country life.

I make way to Meknes through hitchhiking.  First from Boulmane to Ifrane and from Ifrane to Meknes.  Lovely people.

Abder and I meet up in the downtown - which I must say, is incredibly western and Moroccan at the same time.  It's got a cosmopolitan feel while all the while tradition still lives.  And pretty girls too.  What may possibly be one of the more authentic cities, Meknes does not really offer any big touristic offers...but it for sure presents a different vibe from the rest of Morocco- one that says, "chill, we ain't trying to take your money."

Abder's mom feeds me...over...and over...and OVER.  I've never ate so much bread in my life- aside from Veliko Turnovo.

Off to Chefchaouen.

Where the drug dealers are everywhere.

Hitchhiking from Chaouen was not as easy - my goal was to get back to Meknes so I could get back to Marrakech and take my flight out to Barca- yes it's already been twelve days.

By the way- Helena, Abder's girlfriend is extremely talented at digitial art.  She's Norwegian.

So I catch the train from Meknes to Marrakech - seven hours.

At the end of the ride I see a Mormon I met from the hostel in Chaouen and we all take a cab together to fna.  

Marrakech- how I did not really miss you.  But it was good to have company the second time around.

The next morning, airport time.  Apparently RyanAir charges for lack of boardingpass.  And they don't accept local currency- only credit card.

Barca is beautiful.  That's all there is to it.  I spent all of my time at the beach.

And the way I got back to Germany, don't even ask til you see me ;)