It takes some getting used to
I was not prepared for my first day in Morocco. The hustling, wheeling and dealing threw me for a loop in a giant way. This was emotionally furthered by the fact that this was my first trip without my dear Laney.
I got hassled, I am pretty sure I over paid for something, it all made for a very overwhelming day.
I slept it off.
I awoke early in the morning and tried to navigate the city again, this time with a fresh mind.
The streets were empty except for market merchants and women with covered heads selling vegetables from blankets.
It was quiet, and I could focus.
The women here are wonderful to buy things from. It is sad to know that this is the case because I am a man and she is culturally limited with her interactions towards me, but a gentle kind interaction is still gentle and kind.
I walked, sat alone for awhile and gathered my thoughts, which had been scattered throughout the streets from the day before. Morocco gushes with religious culture, and much like Catholicism, it is sometimes culture and nothing more. Spiritual imagery and customs do not always lead to spiritual interactions.
I acknowledged the differences between the culturally religious and the devoted or mystics.
One worried with the wealth of this world the other trusting god or good fortune to provide.
To bow your head out of habit or out of love. This difference is in every culture, but none quite as glaring as here.
I have figured out the rhythm.
I am starting to understand.
I came to Chefchaouen because many friends recommended it. The energy is very powerful. It seems that the Moorish empire found a way to leave its impression long after it fell, because it has a similar vibe to Granada, only much much stronger.
Chefchaouen is beautiful and heavily painted blue. There are people everywhere and children playing futball in the streets. This whole trip from the beginning has been following a theme, finding the silence within the storm.
It seems to be an inevitable lesson to learn.