The first of the stories

So. About 4 days ago Morocco became a past event and I began my slow return to the western United States. Currently I am in Scottsdale, AZ at the house my lovely lovely friends Fernando and Kyle. But let us back up from here.

Lets go way back, before the 17 hours of plane travel, the few hours of metro, bus and car travel that brought me to where I am now. Before I went through 6, yes 6, security check points in Dublin, before I threw out, yes threw out, outfits, books, toiletries to appease RyanAir, before beer in Ireland...there was Morocco. And, as Fernando pointed out, still is Morocco ("people live there!").

Which story first? The dramatic break down of my poor health luck? The knight in shining suit from Fes? My Boston family in Fes? My Moroccan brother? My could-be-if-only-I-say-yes Moroccan husbandS? The cheese massage? The dreamy hammam? The night on the dunes of the sahara? Moustaffa the CD making camel guide who gives crappy hand massages? The mountain tagine to die for? The beautiful winds of the port-side Essaouria? Countless nos-noses and the a la menthe? Near death bus rides on the snowy, icy mountains? Oranges, the sweetest orangy-est oranges I have ever had? Karima, and all her infinite wisdom and friendship?

Well. Let's just start at the beginning. Let us start in the shadow and then we will move to the light. Sickness it is.

My first week and a half of traveling (CA, AZ, NC) found me to be 'happy, healthy and wealthy' (to quote a certain grandma of mine). As soon as my parents, Axis and I made our way to GA, things started to go down hill for me. I caught, what I thought, was a bit of a cold, which I was trying to down play so I didn't think I could get anyone else ill. Well. Back in NC all health broke down, and my parents and I, with different yet intense, illness fell to our respective sick beds. I pretended I had a cold, but spent each night unable to control my body temperature, and a chunk of each day blowing my nose and feeling nauseous.

Well. To NY. A nauseating plane ride (swooping over the lake to wait out heavy, snow-dense, winds) back left me thinking that this 'cold' was not going to go away. The cold turned into the flu, and fevers, headaches, dizziness, weakness, nausea, loss of appetite (the only symptom I enjoyed), and a general inability to feel in control of how I felt racked my for the whole week. Along with the flu--guilt and anger that my only time with my friends, and all I could focus on was me. Me. Sick. Ouch. Ugh. Gasp. Grrrr...Me.

A car ride to NJ, a long plane ride to Dublin and the finding of the hostel couch. Sick, and unable to cover it up, I flopped on the couch of my hostel to await my room. After a 5 hour nap, I tried to get ooot and abooot in Dublin... but could not walk without stopping every few minutes to steady myself. A cup of tea, a yogurt, and back to bed.

Paris. Oh Paris. Oh Jo. Sweet sweet Josselin, the stellar boyfriend and hopefully soon fiance of my sister. I stayed with him in his family's 15 arrondisement apartment. Fevers, and sleepless nights led to days in bed and yes, every one's favorite, tag along disease: tonsillitis. With difficulty swallowing, but meds in hand (thank you Jo and thank you french health care) I bumped my way to Marrakech. Few days ill, and then light on the horizon of health! YES!

Four days of good health (minus some pretty gnarly blisters... biggest I have every seen). Then again the sun set and, as Jo had warned, I had an allergic reaction to the meds for tonsillitis. Hives anyone? Mildly twisted my ankle in Fes. Hives and a limp, anyone? The meds caused other bodily imbalances, but all related affects from the meds cleared in about three days.

Clear. Clear. Clear. Healthy until NYC where the 24hr stomach bug took my time and much of the city's toilet paper. A string of sneezes and a runny-nose sidekick on the plane, and bam, here I am... healthy (yes, yes, yes I am) in AZ.

That's the first story, and that is where I stop for this post.

Limping Leper

Really I think all I can say at this point, is to stay tuned. I am not in love with this keyboard, so I think much of my writing will have to come later. I have written so much, none of it on paper or computer screen, but filling the pages of my cerebellum. From my new Moroccan brothers, to the unfathomable tanneries of Fes, to the free nights in a five star hotel, I love the stories

I limped into my huge hotel room last night in Fes, after two hours of fast moroccan french chatting and a crazy taxi ride; looked in the mirror and was glad to see that my whole body hive situation was calming down to an ))almost able to show my arms)) stage. I am a limping leper, I thought to myself. The alliteration made me think of the blog and my neglect of this glorious space in my life. And so I have come to admit further neglect, perhaps next week the stories will surface and we can all live vicariously through what will then be my past adventures in Morocco.

Meaning

Hours of tossing and turning, sweating and agonizing-as what i am sure is an asphalt demolition crew that works small shifts, coinciding with each time i swallow- has led me to this moment. The moment where I am babbling to the gods of health in a bathroom, in Paris. Wondering, asking, chatting, making offers. Prayer. I consider myself religious in my own personal, internal way. Today, i voiced my values, to one specific party. The spirits of human health, and now, I am awaiting their response. I wonder if they have a facebook page.

I woke, at 4am, after drug-induced sleep took me at 1am. I woke because of the aforementioned demo crew, and a firey wave of body heat I would have longed for in the cold desert nights. I awoke thinking this: I am going to lose my sight in Morocco. Paris, had been an idea of speaking french, eating french, drinking french and taking photos. Unable to swallow effectively (are my taxes paying that crew?) much has changed. Morocco I want to chat with my friend, and use my eyes, to take many photos and soak in the sights of another land. So, I figure my sight will soon go. Note, I being dramatic, and am very aware of that fact.

One thing does not change, even as i get better (amen, praise allah i am getting better!) that i am so thankful. Wherever I go, I am met with kindness, compassion, love and understanding. Perhaps that is the meaning in it all. This exchange. This beautiful awareness of the compassion of mankind. Gaza, bloodied and being torn apart is in my thoughts. And I am channeling this human compassion, away from my whiny sick butt, to those that need it more. We all need to be reminded of the good in humankind, despite the obvious anger. Perhaps it is a lack of sleep that brings my thoughts round and round again to those too-familiar middle east bombing scenes, perhaps I just dont know what I can do, but Ive found that there is much good, and I will do my best to act within and using that good, strengthed by all those who have helped me, in sickness and in health.

Yes, I guess, until death do us part.

I need more drugs. And yogurt.