First let me get this out of the way:
Yes, I am excited.
Yes, I will miss my family and friends; my family more so.
Yes, I will smoke copious amounts of hookah, drink copious amounts of coffee, and learn copious amounts of Arabic.
Ever get that feeling in the back of your head, when you try and see outside of your vision spectrum? It's unnerving. Peripheral vision only goes so far, but you can't shake the feeling that maybe you can see more than you can see, and the fact that you can't gives you the feeling like when you're sure there's a bug tickling your shoulder. It's worse in familiar surroundings. Do you know the lamp is there, or can you see it past your postorbital bar?
My eyes feel itchy. I know what to expect so clearly that I can't tell if I am seeing it or just familiar with my foretold image. Welcome to Fez.
The internet is full of useless information. Look up Moroccan culture and you find everything from the fact that it's welcoming and homey, to fantastic for solo travelers. And then I talk to friends who have been there who tell horror stories (with a cherry of "you'll love it!") of black fever, of the hotel with no unique keys, of the overbearing smell of pigeon poop.
Either way, I am 5 days out and unstuck in time, feeling both the dread of 132 hours away, as well as the sifting seconds dropping like pigeon poop around me to tan the times. Welcome to Fez.
So for everyone who doesn't know, I'll be gone Sunday before church, and back before Christmas. I will have small layovers on the way there, and a whopping 14-hour layover on the way back (but they'll be speaking English, so kudos).
In the four month meantime, you can facebook me, e-mail me, comment here, or if you'd prefer to not talk to me: follow me here creepily and starkerily.
I can't wait for the before and after photos.
Welcome to Fez.
