Itchin' Feet

Alright. I think I've parked on my butt for long enough and it's time to move on. Tomorrow I leave the comfortable nest that is the Rambutan. Love it there, but it's time to go. My feet are itching to see new places and meet new people.

Will miss Granada though. Funny, the longer you stay in a place the more you get to like it. You know your way around. You know the buses. You know the operating hours of most of the shops. And you get to know the people in the neighborhood too. For example, I always buy my apples from this cute little grandad that runs a grocery store up the hill from the hostel. Not necessarily because his apples are better than anyone else's, but because he always gives everyone a huge happy smile. I'd tip extra just for that little pick-me-up!

But as I said, the time has come and I'm just DYING to get to Morocco. Sure I've managed to freak myself out about it. About the touts, the anticipated verbal harassment. Completely freaked. But when I get dreaming about piles of spices, inscense wafting thorough markets, brain jostling shouts from the vendors, and sights that I haven't yet seen in Europe... how could I not be just bursting with excitement? Besides, a friend once said that if you're not even a little scared on a big trip like this, there's no point in going. What you see and experience won't mean as much. I think she's right. (Thanks Aly!) So I'll keep the fears down in the bottom of my tum, and think only of the good. Of rainbow lanterns, brilliant blue pottery, beduin jewelery, early morning prayer calls, and camel rides in the golden desert.