Budapest and Baltimore

One of the biggest perks of Jason's job (aside from the whole living in Bordeaux thing) is that he has a handful of all-expenses paid conferences around the world every year. Some of the destinations are a bit underwhelming (Galveston, TX? I'll pass.) but more often than not, he gets to travel to some pretty awesome places. This year alone he has conferences in Boston, San Francisco, Naples/the Amalfi coast and, most recently in Budapest. When I learned that I happened to have a few days off right around the time that he would be there, I bought up some tickets, booked a flight and packed my bags. Eastward bound!

What up, Alps??

That same week, I learned of yet another young black man losing his life due to police misconduct and this time, it hit particularly hard because it happened in Baltimore. Freddie Gray could have easily been one of my students and my students could have easily been Freddie Gray. Every time this happens, I see my brothers, my cousins, my friends, my FELLOW HUMAN BEINGS that did not deserve to die. When the protests started in Baltimore, I was worried for the safety of my former students, their families and my friends who still live there, but mostly, I was proud that my city was speaking out. This type of police brutality will not stand! Our voices will be heard! And then the violence started. A handful of isolated incidents, to be sure, but burning buildings and broken windows draw more viewers than peaceful marches so that's all that we saw on the news.

The ignorant were in top form, showing their racist colors all over social media and I couldn't stand it anymore. In the grand scheme of things, a frustrated Facebook post doesn't do much to help the cause but it's the best I could do when I live on the other side of the ocean. How can we condemn the reaction of a group of citizens that has been systematically neglected and abused for decades when one of their own is murdered by the very people meant to protect him? Why is it that outsiders didn't seem to care when a young man was killed in police custody but everyone is suddenly up in arms when property is damaged? They care more about buildings than black lives and this was never more apparent than this week. A small minority of black people react with violence when they actually have something to be angry about and it's a riot. Hundreds of white people flipping and burning cop cars, looting and tearing streetlights out of the ground after the big game, and it's just some sports fans celebrating a win! The hypocrisy was killing me.

The last person I expected to get into a Facebook feud with was my 1st grade teacher, who recently friended me. In response to my post, she jumped right on the white supremacy bandwagon, calling the protesters thugs and shaming them for destroying their own communities. "I can't condone violence! They should remain peaceful if they want people to listen to them!" I wanted to tell her that her racist comments were not welcome on my wall. I wanted to tell her to shut her stupid mouth if she didn't have anything nice to say. Isn't that what they teach you in 1st grade? I wanted to call her an ignorant asshole who didn't know the first thing about suffering. Instead, I destroyed every single one of her bullshit comments with carefully researched statistics and evidence. I was patient and polite, but I was definitely not letting her get away with being an idiot. It was an epic battle but in the end, it seemed like she almost started to understand how outrageously racist every word out of her mouth was. I felt good about standing up for my students and the community that shaped who I am today. It was a small act, but one that may have opened a few eyes and certainly showed whose side I was on.

I spent all of my time in the airport dealing with her foolishness and by the time I landed in Budapest, I was nearly out of battery on my phone. I got out of the subway in the right neighborhood but the map I had was not helping me get to my hotel. I used my last 2% and some international phone charges to call the hotel owner to come and get me.

Agnes showed me to our INCREDIBLE hotel, right in the heart of the city, and I was settled in by 7:30pm. Jason was staying across town for the conference but would join me later that evening. He had a dinner cruise to attend but we planned to meet up at his hotel afterward, around 9. By the time I got done being a social media warrior, it was around 8:45 so I figured I should find something to eat myself. I enjoyed a quick and quiet dinner for one at a little pizza place up the road and texted Jason to let him know that I was on my way to him. I didn't get a response but since we had a plan, I didn't think much of it.

When I arrived at the hotel, I had them call his room but he didn't pick up. I sent text after text with no response. I even called his cell (more international charges) with no success. I finally got a very curt message from him: "At ruin bar. Come meet us." Where? How? Which bar? "It's a bit of a walk." In which direction? Do I need to get a cab? Is it safe?

I asked the front desk staff if they had any idea what he might be talking about and they gave me a map of the city with some suggestions of where he probably was. Let us keep in mind that I have just arrived in Budapest, a city I know literally nothing about. As a young woman, walking alone in a new city at night, with only a rough idea of where I was supposed to be going, you can imagine why I was a little anxious. I was texting and calling non-stop and getting NOTHING from Jason. Not cool.

When I finally found the "bar", it was actually a large beer garden of sorts, with several bars in a long row, and there were literally hundreds of people milling about in the streets. I'm supposed to find you in this?!?? You've got to be kidding. I had flown across the continent to come see him, and he blew me off to go drinking with his buddies, without giving me so much as a heads up. I went from being slightly on edge to being downright livid.

I finally found him in the crowd and he acts as if everything is all good. I made it very clear that I was pissed and he could not for the life if him figure out why! You ditched me. You didn't call. You left me to wander around by myself in the middle of the night in a place I've never been. You don't understand why this is a big deal. To be fair, I was already a little riled up after my Facebook fight (21st century problems), and he was certainly not helping. I asked him to get me a beer and he came back with one for his buddy, one that he had already half drunk himself and none for me. I was thisclose to just heading back to the hotel.

Of course, Jason had about a million excuses for why he was so inconsiderate and tried to put it all right back on me. I should have been at the hotel earlier (even though he had confirmed it was okay that I was about 15 minutes late). He had to stay with the group or he would have lost them (even though everyone had a phone and he could have just texted them to figure out where they had gone.) His phone wasn't working (even though it was working perfectly fine before). I had nothing to worry about while walking around by myself because everyone told him Budapest is really safe. (because I would know that after just getting off the plane...) No apology at all. I was floored. I spent the rest of the night talking to everyone but him.

Even though the conference was over, Jason had work to do the next day so I was left to explore on my own. I walked everywhere and saw some really stunning parts of the city up close and personal. The fisherman's bastion was definitely my favorite. So intricate and colorful!

The view of Budapest from Gellert Hill

St. Stephen's Basilica. There was a beautiful wedding going on inside!

Matthias Church

The Fisherman's Bastion

Parliament Building

Some old friends were also in town so we arranged to get dinner with them later. In another miscommunication, Jason told them the wrong restaurant and didn't even realize it until we had been sitting by ourselves for 20 minutes. When they finally arrived, he was full of apologies, couldn't say sorry enough for the confusion and moderate inconvenience, even offering to buy the first bottle of wine. I was still waiting for so much as a "my bad." (Spoiler alert: I never got it.)

The next day, we were supposed to do some more exploring together but Jason's work took longer than expected and he spent another day in the hotel writing a paper and I spent another day wandering on my own. I do love a nice day to myself from time to time but I had very much been looking forward to a romantic weekend that never really came to be. These things happen, I suppose. He met me later in the evening for a walk up to the parliament building and dinner at a nice restaurant before meeting up with some folks for a beer or two.

Don't these dudes looks like they just saw a fine lady walk by?
"I hate to see you go but i LOVE to watch you leave"

On the banks of the Danube

The only picture of the two of us from the whole weekend.

On our last day, we went to the Rudas Turkish bath house and enjoyed a very relaxing soak in some ultra-old pools of varying temperatures. There were also several saunas that were hot enough to bake your back fat off if you sat there long enough. I lasted all of 20 seconds before finding a bucket of cold water to dump over my head. Refreshing!

We didn't do much touristy stuff on this trip but I found the history really interesting. While many parts of Budapest look old, a lot of the buildings are actually reconstructions. After WWI, the Austro-Hungarian empire collapsed and Hungary lost half of their citizens to the surrounding countries. Revolutions sprung up in the wake of the war, stagnating economic growth or recovery, and not long after, Budapest became a front line city in WWII, suffering intense damage as a result. The war was followed by several years of Soviet occupation that left the city economically disadvantaged. The Hungarians finally regained control in 1989, having spent 70 years in turmoil.

One of the most powerful monuments in the whole city is a sculpture called "Shoes on the Danube." When the Nazis took over, they would go on nightly raids to round up Jews and execute them on the banks of the river. They made them take off their shoes and stand on the edge so that when they fell, their bodies would be washed down the river. The sculpture is a truly humbling tribute to those that lost their lives and a constant reminder of that tragic period in Europe's history.

It was an emotionally charged weekend, to be sure. From a more-serious-than-normal spat with my husband, to grieving the loss of another black man at the hands of the police, to the senseless death of Jews during the Holocaust, I will always remember Budapest with a heavy heart. But perhaps, one full of hope for the future, as well...

Two Years Down, Forever to Go

Here are your clues:
1) This place is less than a three-hour flight from Bordeaux.
2) Knowing French will be helpful.

Where are you going?

This is the story of our second anniversary adventure in Morocco.

***

Jason had prepared everything in secret and although I had a few hints as to what to pack, I still wasn't 100% sure where we were going until we got to the airport. Jason handed me my boarding pass just as we got in line for security: We were headed to Marrakech!

If we hadn't had someone to pick us up, I am positive we never would have made it out of the Jemaa el Fna (the main square), even with a good map. The roads of the Medina (old town) twist and wind like a maze and many of them are dead ends. Signage is minimal at best and more often that not, completely absent.

We stayed at the Riad Villa El Arsa, just a short walk from the square. The hotel is owned by Fabrice and Noel, two French immigrants who left the Hexagon for a quieter, sunnier life. They prepared us a delicious breakfast every morning and were instrumental in helping us find the right places to go and the best things to see. Even after all of Jason's research, nothing can really prepare you for your first time in Marrakech...

We arrived fairly early in the day on Saturday so we had some time to do some exploring and get our bearings in this labyrinth-like city. You don't want to wander on an empty stomach so Noel recommended méchoui: lamb that is slow roasted in a pit and served unceremoniously wrapped in paper in what looks like someone's garage. He told us we could find some on the north side of the Jemaa el Fna on our way toward the souks, or markets. "You just have to get lost in there. There are always signs to get back to the main square if you need."

That light is hanging above a big hole in the ground, where the lamb is roasting.

Getting lost in the souks

To be completely honest, the souks were a little overwhelming. Stall after stall filled with more useless trinkets than your brain can even make sense of, all stacked on top of one another, for miles. Are there some cool items to be found? Most certainly, but the amount of effort needed to find it simply isn't worth it to me. It's a bit like shopping at Marshalls. Every once in a while you'll find something truly amazing for dirt cheap but you have to spend hours digging through piles of garbage to get it.

We emerged on the other side of the souks, our heads spinning, and we followed some signs for the Medersa Ben Yossef, a former college built in the 16th century. It was a welcome moment of calm and beauty after turning down our 500th offer for a rug at a "very good price, special for you, my friend." The level of detail in the intricate tile work and carvings was nothing short of amazing.

It was starting to get late and we had wandered a little outside of town so we busted out our map to try to get reoriented. A local guy approached and asked if we needed help. Moroccans are known for their hospitality and helpfulness. We had also heard, however, that people will offer to serve as "guides" if you look lost and then expect some sort of compensation for their services later. We tried to refuse but he insisted that he wasn't a guide and that he was going toward the square anyway.

We were definitely off the tourist trail and I was eager to get back to familiar territory so I acquiesced. Jason looked skeptical but followed along. He was a very friendly guy, telling us a little bit about the neighborhoods we were walking through and trying to teach us some phrases in Arabic. After a few minutes, it was obvious that he was taking us on some crazy route but we were so turned around that we didn't have much choice but to stay with him.

By some *strange* coincidence, we walked right by his shop and he invited us in for a cup of tea. In retrospect, we really should have just said no thank you and kept moving but social codes are strong and we felt obligated to accept. Of course, now we were trapped. We were seated in some shaky plastic chairs and served mint tea, while our companion showed us all the different spices and soaps and oils that they had in the shop. A group of European-looking women were giggling in another corner, getting a similar demonstration. The tea was nice and the company was decent but you could see the big sell coming from a mile away. After smelling all the spices, he asked, "So which one you like?" and as soon as Jason said the cumin was nice, the man had bagged up a scoop of it.

"What else?"

He must have seen it in our faces. We had already been beaten down by the sheer magnitude of stuff in every direction forever in the souks, and on top of that, you're expected to be well-versed in the art of haggling. In Morocco, haggling is a game and everyone knows that the first price they give you is 10 times what they actually expect to get for it in the end. You haggle for everything that doesn't have a price tag. When you visit, you are supposed to play the game since this is a local tradition and it's fun if you're into that kind of thing.

We are not into that kind of thing.

"Umm... The fish spice was good, too, I guess." Another scoop in a bag. I am starting to panic. There are no price tags on any of these things. Why is Jason just blindly accepting this stuff?

"What else?"

"...Cinnamon? Did you like the cinnamon, Nicole?" I tried to make my eyes say something like Why are you asking me? I don't want anything. This guy is about to rip us off. I am a terrible haggler. But instead, I said, "Yeah, sure. That sounds fine." Scooped, bagged. He put the spices on a scale and randomly punched some numbers into a calculator. "2500 dirham." Without hesitation, Jason opened his wallet, handed the man the 2500 dirham (about 25€) and we made our way toward the door, knowing we just got scammed.

Pocketing the money, you could see a sly smile creep across the man's face. "You don't want some soaps, maybe?" Refusing as politely as possible, we wiggled our way out into the street but the man followed us. "Something for my services as guide, maybe?" You could see the frustration in Jason's eyes. It was the last straw. "You said no guide and we have already given you money for spices. That's enough. We're going now." The man wished us well and hoped that we enjoyed our time in Morocco.

As soon as we were out of earshot, he said to me, "I told you we shouldn't have followed him in the first place. Next time, just listen to me. We just got taken for 25€." To which I replied, "I don't know why you decided to buy a bunch of spices not knowing what they cost. I wanted to leave 20 minutes ago." We walked back to the hotel in an angry (embarrassed) silence.

Struggling with the language barrier, being in a culturally unfamiliar situation, and getting ripped off are three of Jason's most hated things and of course, it was all my fault. It didn't matter that I didn't want to buy anything. It didn't matter that we know you're supposed to haggle for everything in Morocco. It didn't matter that he could have said no or walked away at any time. It didn't matter that he flashed all his cash, leaving him absolutely no bargaining power. It didn't matter that he could have asked for the price beforehand. If you had just said no from the start, Nicole, we wouldn't have been in that situation in the first place!

Fine. It's my fault. We got tajine for dinner and went to bed early. Not the best start to an anniversary weekend...

The next day was our actual anniversary and we had a spa appointment scheduled in the afternoon but nothing else. We started the day with a nice breakfast on the roof deck and then headed over to the Palais Bahia, a 19th century palace and garden, followed by a walk around the Koutoubia Mosque, the largest mosque in Marrakech. More beautiful architecture!

Rooftop breakfast. Starting the morning right.

Koutoubia Mosque

Jason had read about the hammam spas in Morocco and decided we should definitely check one out. There was some confusion about what the "bath" actually entailed (something about hot rocks and black soap?) and I was pretty certain that board shorts were not appropriate apparel for a massage but Jason was done listening to me so that's what he went in.

The doors to Les Bains de l'Alhambra

The hammam was quite an experience. We stored our clothes in a little locker and were given fluffy bathrobes and slippers to wear in the waiting lounge, while sipping on cool cucumber water. A small, smiley woman called us into a dark room, lined with granite-looking benches. She told us to hang our robes on the door and relax with our feet in buckets of rose petal water. It was hot but completely dry other than the sweat dripping from our bodies. Very sexy!

After a few minutes, a burly woman came in and asked Jason to sit on the edge of the bench. She filled a bucket with warm water and dumped the whole thing over his head, without so much as a warning. She said, "Allongez-vous" and when he didn't immediately do it, she barked, "Lie down!" So much for a relaxing day at the spa. She proceeded to rub this fresh smelling paste (the famous black soap) all over his body and then put on a special glove to scrub the dead skin away. I couldn't tell if the dark bits that she sloughed off of him were soap or skin or both but it looked pretty gross. In a good way! More buckets over the head, and he was done. Then it was my turn for the same. I can't say it was the gentlest spa treatment I have ever received (I think she scrubbed off my nipples) but it was certainly effective. New skin for everyone!

We were back in the waiting area for a moment while they prepared our massage room. Cool towels for our faces, a quick foot rub. This is the kind of thing a girl can get used to. When we got upstairs, the women took one look at Jason's shorts and asked if he wouldn't be more comfortable in something... smaller. They gave him a disposable thong, just big enough to keep his package from flopping around in their faces while they rubbed him down. Apparently, the hammam woman tried to tell Jason that's what she should have worn but this was lost in translation. The massage was lovely, though, and I was feeling incredibly relaxed by the time we left, despite looking like a crazy person with my hair frizzing out in all directions. Always bring a hair tie!

We grabbed a quick lunch on the street before heading over to the Palais El Badi, the site of 16th century ruins of another massive palace commissioned by the sultan at the time. There were tons of massive stork nests and plenty of different chambers to explore. Definitely my favorite spot in Marrakech.

We finished the day with a nice three-course dinner (more tajine) in the newer part of town that resulted in more adventures in haggling with the taxi driver on the way home. Jason and I learned that we would both rather pay a little more for the transaction to be over than stand there fighting with someone for twenty minutes when you're tired and full and just want to go home.

On our last full day, we had a camel trek in the foothills of the Atlas mountains. Camels are more made for the desert than they are for mountains so the whole thing was a bit forced but it was a good time anyway! We reached max tourist level while riding through the streets of little towns on the backs of camels as our Moroccan guides walked beside us. No judgement, please.

We learned about Moroccan agriculture (argan oil and apples!) and the different ethnic groups in the country. Everyone agreed that the real Morocco is in the desert with the Berbers. Maybe we'll have to do that in another trip... We had yet another tajine for lunch before heading back to town.

Seeing as Morocco is a Muslim country, the sale of alcohol is not allowed in the Medina, other than at a few night clubs. We could both use a drink after a handful of tiring days so we walked all the way out to a Carrefour in new town to pick up a couple of beers and a bottle of wine. We grabbed dinner at Café Clock (Jason had a camel burger!) and then headed back to the riad for the night.

Jemaa el Fna

The sunset over our riad, just before call to prayer.

We had met this Scottish couple who were also staying at our hotel and spent the evening with them in the common area, drinking some drinks and just having a good old anglophone time. Even though we were very well behaved and quiet, we kept getting dirty looks from the night staff. Look. It's not even 10:00pm and half of the people staying at this place are right here. If someone's got a problem, they can come let us know and we'll clear out. Otherwise, keep your mean mugging and shushing to yourself. We even got a little playful teasing from Noel at breakfast the next morning. "You talk very much last night!" What do you expect from a bunch of Westerners on their first time in Marrakech? There's a certain level of discomfort that everyone goes through and it's nice to feel like you're not alone in that struggle, okay?

Our flight wasn't until later that afternoon, so we did a last quick visit at the Saadian tombs, built at the end of the 16th century but not rediscovered and restored until 1917. Bodies everywhere!
Pretty eerie but also pretty cool.

Despite all of our missteps, I thought our trip to Morocco was a lot of fun and I would love to see other parts of the country, perhaps ones that are less touristy. Unfortunately, I'm not so sure Jason would like to go back. His number one complaint was that he felt like he was a target because they saw his pale skin and knew he was an outsider. "They automatically treat me differently, just because of the way I look. They knew they could rip me off because I wasn't going to be able to do anything about it. They see me and go, 'White tourist. Let's get him.'"

I got a sick sense of satisfaction out of it because for the first time in his life, Jason got to experience a small taste of what it's like to be a minority. Yeah, it does suck when people make assumptions about you based on your skin color. Lucky for you, that assumption here is that you're rich and naive. Better than being labeled as poor and stupid, like black and brown people back in the US. Yeah, it does suck when random people approach you on the street, follow you and won't leave you alone, even when you say no thank you. Lucky for you, it's only moderately annoying and will only result in someone maybe thinking you're rude. Better than worrying that you'll get verbally/physically attacked or raped like women back in the US.

I can't tell you how many times I have tried to explain the concept of white privilege to Jason and I don't think any of it really sank in until he was on the opposite side of the equation in Morocco. No, being seen as a green tourist is not nearly as bad as the widespread systemic disadvantages faced by women and minorities in the US and other parts of the world, but it was just a little taste of the frustration that comes with being labeled and treated differently just because of the way you look.

You were kind of annoyed and tired after 4 days of prejudice. Imagine an entire lifetime of that, with a history dating back hundreds of years and showing no sign of improvement any time soon. Imagine that this affected you everyday in every interaction in every aspect of your life. Then you might have some idea of what it's like to look like me. Not as easy as you thought, is is? Remember that. For me, for our friends, for total strangers, and for our future babies.

With all these new experiences and new perspectives, I am more excited than ever to spend the rest of our lives together, growing, learning, and continuing this grand adventure. Happy anniversary, my love.