One last leg left. I'm in the Ferihegy Airport in Budapest, Terminal 2, waiting for my flight to London Gatwick to board. I've got an odd nervousness in my stomach. Part of it was how sad it was saying goodbye to Max this morning at 6 a.m., and some saying goodbye to my very dear friends later about 3 p.m. And part of it is going to yet another new place for a short time and figuring out the logistics of that.
Side note, the woman who checked me in scolded me because the maximum is 20 kg for two check-in bags, and mine weighed 27 or so. We'll see how I do getting into the States; I don't think there's a strike at Heathrow that would let me get away with not paying the extra fees. How is my stuff this heavy? Also, how much luggage are we allowed to have? I don't know the answers to either of these questions.
So. I'll be in London doing who knows what for five days, then I'll head back to SoCal on Christmas, getting into LAX in the afternoon. I'll stay at my parent's house in Irvine for two weeks, then go up to Yale early on January 7th and Max will help me move into my new room with Shoshana. I bought motorcycle lessons for a Christmas present for myself!
It's been nearly a year of travel and adventures, and I'm tired. I thought I was a traveler, and I think I will always have a bit of wanderlust in me, but it's time for this girl to go home. I'll put up London photos or something soon. I have a picasa album of photos I show to my parents; lots of them have appeared in this blog over the past year as well: http://picasaweb.google.com/yenergy/MoreFall2008?feat=directlink and http://picasaweb.google.com/yenergy/Budapest?feat=directlink
goodbye to travel... almost
"Failure at blogging" is my middle name
After almost a year of blogging on a tri-, then bi-, then -, then semi-weekly basis, I have fallen to a once-a-month "this is what happened!" thing. Again, many of my adventures (at least, those shared with szivem Edward) are on edwardinhungary.blogspot.com. Notably our five-day ridiculous Berlin trip is well documented there. "Szivem" means "my heart" in Hungarian, colloquially they use it the same way Americans use "darling." So I call Edward szivem (though I guess I do use the word "darling" a lot).
So Berlin and midterms are the big thing that happened over the past month. Oh except that I went on a spontaneous weekend trip to Romania with Shira and Amelia. I'm a member of couchsurfing.org, an online website for frequent travelers to meet locals/get a free couch to stay on. I've surfed in Brussels, Pisa, Florence, Milan, Dublin, Berlin, and now Romania, technically. But once I got this apartment with Shira and discussed it with her, we thought it would be nice to return the favor. We've hosted two girls from Switzerland who hit on Max E. (not my Max), a couple from Germany who left their jackets here, an Australian dude and his girl from Romania, and a man from Alabama. So during this spontaneous weekend a week before Berlin, the three of us girls headed out to Cluj, Romania, and spent some time with our friend Lavinia and her flatmates. We ate, drank tea, watched a lot of chick flicks, and climbed through salt caves. It was a nice weekend.
Somehow caving has been a large part of my life lately, which is odd given my claustrophobia (our metro car stopped for a few minutes the other day between stations and I FREAKED OUT). Sometime after the last time I blogged my Hungarian class went to the Budapest drip caves (cseppborlang) and hiked through those for an hour, then got pastries at the place that Gabor had taken me and Shira at the beginning of the semester (I guess it's famous). Then we all went to Nagyi's Palacsinta, which translates to Grandma's Pancakes. It's delicious.
Another weird thing: Erika, our Hungarian teacher, is actually Max's host mom. This one day Max was sick so I went to his house to make him soup and be a compassionate nursemaid (I'm actually horrible and did the thing you do with babies, the whole airplane thing). Erika came home and I awkwardly bumped into her in her kitchen. Yeah... that's weird. It's like dating your teacher's son, but it's even weirder because it's her host son.
Boo I don't want to leave Budapest. Not that I do a lot of Hungary-specific things here. I speak a little bit of Hungarian and know a little bit about Hungarian culture, and I know a lot more math and feel much more confident about my math. I'm scared of going back to the "real world" of Yale (heh), and also of leaving Max (aww), and of coming back to my friends and them changing and me changing too in the past year, and of America generally. I won't be travelling anymore. Blows my mind.
It's finals time. My MAP final is going to be ridiculous. If you recall, our quantum logic midterm was oral, e.g. we had to solve problems on the board in front of the professor while he asked us questions. This time, he'll have eight slips of paper, and we'll each draw two. On each will be a topic. We have an hour and a half to write everything we know about that topic. Essentially, the four of us have to be able to teach the class by tomorrow afternoon. eek.
Photos: 15 of us for Thanksgiving dinner potluck before the break, Shira in Romania, me eating sausage in Berlin.
it's like catching lightning
What's so interesting about living here in Budapest is that I'm with more Americans than I've been with in several months, not counting my week and a half at home in June with my extended family.
Math is incredibly difficult and incredibly rewarding. I can't believe I'm doing all of this. Skip the math camp on crack business, it's like we're all on mathstasy and the Mathlete commission is going to ignore the test results that said we're all on mathroids and let us run the race anyway. Our Halloween party at Dinah and Diana's was wildly successful. I was SohCahToa, Max was TanGent (with cane and bow tie), Shira was the New Math. There were a lot of contradictions, Sign & COSign, a set of linear equations, etc. There were normal costumes too, like a three-toed sloth, Hungarian fashion, and a turtle. No one ever said a bunch of math majors were normal.
Then Hungarian National Radio was at my house on Election night for some reason, when a bunch of people were here and stayed up til 6 a.m. to watch the results come in. That was extremely intense. I went to bed at 1:30 after the first came in and woke up at 6 to celebrations. Barack means peach in Hungarian, so we had a bunch of peach drinks. Our election sleepover was much better than the debate that Shira, Amelia, and I had gone to a few weeks ago at some university in Budapest.
As usual a lot has happened over the past month, notably that Max and I started dating. Last weekend we went to Hortobagy, a giant plain in Hungary (largest in Europe!) just to get out of the city. It was a three hour train ride, but knowing my luck with public transportation it took us much longer and cost much more to get there. I'd like to make an exhaustive list here of my bad luck with public transportation that began this year of travel:
1. Going home on December 21, 2007: I was supposed to grab a 5 a.m. shuttle to JFK and fly straight to John Wayne. Instead I missed the shuttle, flew out of Bradley at 11, got stuck in Chicago for awhile because I missed my connection to Phoenix, and ended up at LAX several hours later.
2. Didn't have a hostel booked for my last day in Spain because my flight was at 7 a.m. so I just stayed up til the metro opened. But my metro stop was closed or something, so I had to run to the next one and barely made it to the Barcelona airport on time.
3. Got robbed outside the Brussels north train station. Hence had to get another bus ticket, but there were no buses until the next day, thus I was stuck in Brussels for another night and missed some classes that Tuesday (we had Monday off).
4. Just missed my train from Amsterdam back home to Paris, actually ran to the station across town and got to my platform as the train was pulling out. Bought another ticket and went home a few hours later.
5. Heading home from Paris, my RER (to Charles de Gaulle airport) kept getting canceled and delayed, so I took a taxi to the airport. Then I barely made the check-in cutoff, but safely made it onto the plane. There were questionable issues with the engine, and we all had to get off the plane and get our luggage and go somewhere else. I ended up on AirFrance and spent my last two euros on a pay phone telling my parents when I'd be at LAX.
6. In Vietnam I kept on taking the wrong bus and ending up at the end of the line, then have to stay on the bus as it turned around and went the other way. That was pretty embarassing.
7. Lost my bus ticket to Prague and barely made it before the bus took off (it was impossible 
to find!). They let me on anyway, which was great.
8. Missed our train to Hortobagy so took another one, missed the transfer stop, had to pay extra to take another train back to the transfer stop and lost two hours.
Those are the major ones, but who knows how many times I've been late, delayed, or canceled because of my incompetence with buses, planes, trains, metros. I love public transportation, but it does not love me.
Oh and of course October 24 is a national Hungarian holiday in which riots and demonstrations break out across the city and everyone else leaves town. It commemorates the 1956 revolution. Shira, Dinah and I went to Dublin! We couchsurfed there with this guy named Eric, who's a fitness instructor with a degree from Trinity in economics. We had tea, climbed a big rock in Howth, ate a ton of fish n chips and pies, and watched three plays: Delirium, an adaptatio
n of Brothers K, Happy Days by Samuel Beckett, and Waiting for Godot (in Korean). They were all absolutely fantastic, and it was a great trip with the girls and wandering a gorgeous city.
In two weeks I'm going to Berlin with Edward over the Thanksgiving break, while Shira and co. go to Turkey. Max still has no plans, but he can't come with us because he and Edward are like two positively charged magnets. We're going to the baths today because Emma and I were so depressed after our ORAL MATHEMATICAL PHYSICS MIDTERM yesterday. Any one of those words, I imagine, is terrifying to certain people out there. But all four together is pretty much the worst experience ever. The five of us in this class took from 2 to 5.30 yesterday of our MAP professor's time, each of us went in for about half an hour individually and proved some problems on the board to him and he asked us questions. It was terrifying. But also the idea is pretty cool, an oral math exam. It really pushes you to your mathematical limit. The analogy I made earlier this post, while ridiculously, does pretty aptly describe the way we here do math. A bunch of people are taking the math GRE this morning. This is a group of dedicated mathematicians, and it feels like 
athletics.
I had a great conversation with Edward about this the other day, how talent has some but not a lot to do with our abilities as mathematicians. If this discussion is too nerdy for you pretend that I'm an athlete, a musician, an actress, anything more understood than this particular niche that I fit into. Once you're past a certain point, there are Olympics-talented people and a whole lot of average for the above-average crowd. Ignoring the Olympics people, you're left with those for whom perseverence and enthusiasm for what we do alone will determine our success, independent of natural born talent. So the question is, how enthusiastic am I? After that oral exam I'm not sure.
Photos this time, many courtesy of Max: Hortobagy in the foggy morning, many people at our election sleepover around 2 a.m., me as SohCahToa with Big Dan in the background and paper folding numbers, a fresh fish market at Howth, me and Max's dinner at the Hortobagy Tavern, Max and I at the Hortobagy bridge, the view of Dublin etc. from Howth's Black Rock or something, Shira with a teacup, Shira and Dinah running through Irish woods.
OMG I'm in Budapest!
And I've been here for a month and a half. And I've traveled to Prague and Vienna. And I haven't blogged. But my dear friend Edward has been fantastically blogging, so I'll be lazy and put his link here: http://www.edwardinhungary.blogspot.com/. I feature prominently there, which makes me feel warm and fuzzy.
with my neighbor, saying things like "Kerek internetadik. Internet van? Vasarol internet OK? Szeretek internet." (I would like to use internet. Is there internet? Buying the internet OK? I like internet"). Shira and I spent those weeks studying, buying pots and pans etc. for our apartment, and going on this crazy internet quest. We learned how to pay rent, where the grocery store is, and what 'Sziget' means. 
Prague: I just went with Dinah to another picture-perfect city, and we hit up the Jewish quarter, had the best meal of my entire life, and went to an amazing Dali exhibit as well as cleared a dance floor on Sunday night with a high school student who had class the next day. Delicious.
Hungary is amazing and confusing. There are 61 students in our program, which means I am with many more Americans than I have been over the past year. Budapest is a normal city, not picture-perfect like Prague, Vienna, or Paris, nor developing at light speed like HCMC or Hanoi. I spend my free time doing math, buying groceries, and writing for http://www.lalunchbox.com/. We are all getting math-burnt out, but loving it at the same time. This is math camp, on crack.Say my name say my name
On a lighter note from the last blog, and still in the personal range. I used to hate my name. I hated it hated it hated it. Yen is great. Nuh-gock is not. Nor is Dwong. But then I came here.
Everytime I say my full name to someone, they say it's a beautiful name. Duong Ngoc Yen. (Yu-ung Nghup Ee-en is the best I can to write it phonetically) The director of the national math institute told me that it's the name of a beautiful woman very skilled at martial arts and poetry in Chinese folklore. After seeing my grandfather's grave with Duong An engraved on the headstone and thinking about my dad, who was an only child, I realize that I haven't given Duong enough credit, because I'm so close to my mother's side of the family, the Hos. But I love and am proud of my name, and of being a Viet Kieu and having different ways of pronouncing it. I prefer the Vietnamese sound for my middle and last names.
Speaking of being a Viet Kieu, more on that. I have a definite advantage now because I know more Vietnamese, but even if you don't you're still welcomed back to the home country. People are generally very excited to meet me and talk with a Viet Kieu My (American overseas Vietnamese). We get the Vietnamese, not the tourist, pricing, and extra friendliness and real conversations because we're Viet Kieu. That also means that some tourists think we're Vietnamese from VN and treat us as such, which is... interesting. Especially when people speak louder and slower in hopes that I'll understand more e.g. "do you know LAKE? Hon Kim LAKE?" "Well actually it's called Hoan Kiem lake, named after the restored sword in the legend, and it's down this street and hang a left. Bye."
Then there are many other tourists who love talking with me because I've got an inner look at Vietnamese culture; I've been to houses and chatted with shopkeepers etc. And there are many Vietnamese who aren't as friendly to Viet Kieu too. We're in between: Vietnamese know we aren't Vietnamese from VN, and foreigners think we are. It is a home but not my home, it is a unique experience which is great, but then makes it harder because we relate with neither group but with ourselves alone.
Hungary in a week! I was definitely not expecting myself to keep blogging.
Heartwrenching homecoming
"This is neither fun nor easy!"
I was in Saigon for three days. It was cool- more about that city when I go back there in three weeks. Vi and I got to our guesthouse on Sunday afternoon after taking a car and an unexpected ferry ride here- it took about four hours from HCMC. Our guesthouse, which we later nicknamed the Hell House, was essentially the worst possible lodging the university could have given its foreign volunteers. The plumbing kept breaking, we had no fridge (although we had a toaster oven and a sink of cockroaches), the fans worked
intermittently (obviously no a/c), and we were missing some walls, as in Vi's bedroom had three walls and a scrim that didn't even cover the hole. Also no internet and holes in the walls (purposeful, for ventilation). It was pretty awesome. We also had a kitty and the university gave us two bicycles.
students, almost all of whom are older than me, who call me Teacher. After the first few days we started hanging out with our students, but the Hell House took a lot of energy out of us. Vi got crazy sick from eating duck fetus egg (after riding on the back of my students' bicycles, an experience from which the title of this post is derived) and on Wednesday I scoped out hotels and we moved into one. We lasted three days in Hell House, but it seemed like so much longer...
me in Hanoi, and although I don't have a license I can always pull the "American!" card.good bye hanoi
the past almost-month. 
careful driver I've ever met. It's pretty damn terrifying actually. Passing on the right is the worst idea ever. Anyway, Bac Ninh, or more specifically the village of Que Vo (Huong and Hieu's hometown) is awesome! I learned to plant rice, plow a field with a water buffalo, harvest shrimp, pick rau muong (don't know what its English name is), and drive a motorbike. Oh plus we went to another village, Phu Lang, and I learned how to make do gom, or their traditional pottery. We painted ceramics, put stuff in a kiln, designed pots, and hung out. Oh and I got some tailored Vietnamese shirts for free. Villagers kick ass. 
group just so I could know exactly how much I was going to pay beforehand. Oh but we did go paragliding, which was awesome!stolen, and a weird dream
reactions to everything going on here and all I've been told throughout my life. It was a continuation from a previous dream a few nights ago, the night I went to Ho Chi Minh's mausoleum to watch the soldier's take down the flag and sing the anthem. In that dream you could only play traditional Vietnamese music in stores, or else the government would censor it. So in most recent dream, I was in my car driving around Hanoi playing pop music, and suddenly Ho Chi Minh's smiling face was beeping projected-like all around me and I got arrested! The jail was very nice, and was actually the British Council room in which I'd seen a debate on Friday night. It was plastered with HCM everywhere, and we prisoners had to paint busts of him. That's it.an uneasy truce
Mr. Daddy long legs gets the back of the toilet. I get the front.
eople, things to do, etc, and a fridge full of stuff. Lots of delicious food and delicious adventures.
The rain hits hard and suddenly, but luckily with some warning- you know it'll rain when the sticky humidity gets absurdly oppressive. The heat isn't so bad though. I don't understand how everyone here wears pants all the time and I wear skirts and people stare at me. People stare at me a lot.
eek
Better now, after spending the day wandering a few blocks, eating delicious food, taking a terrifying motorbike ride with the guy who works at the front desk to buy a phone, and looking through family photos of people I've never met. Curiously enough, my biggest challenge to living alone so far seems to be the two daddy long legs in the bathroom. Wish to shower, do not know what to do.
Here is a photo of me in my traditional Vietnamese wedding dress and my brother in the limo on the way to his wedding last weekend.
I did it
I'm here, in Vietnam. In a big hotel room with air conditioning that costs $15 a night. By myself. After sixteen hours of flying. I've never been more scared in my life.
More updates to come.
picnics but no pictures
So I'm going home in exactly one week, 11 am on Friday, May 30. I'll get home around 5:30 pm that day. This month is the only one where I've spent the entire time in Paris, and I love it so much- climbed the towers of Notre Dame, hung out at Sacre Coeur, saw the view from the top of the Arc de Triomphe, went out to clubs on the Champs Elysee and in the Marais, grabbed infinite cafe au laits at so many cafes (haven't been to the same one thrice!), crammed for my finals and wrote papers in French (so much easier now than six months ago), planned my Vietnam trip, and wrestled with the worst allergies I've ever had- it wouldn't be Europe if I wasn't sick at least once a month, would it?
As Lex and I were saying the other night, for all our complaining and emo-ness, we love Paris and we're really really going to miss it here. I'll miss the triangle shaped park at the e
nd of Ile de la Cite and the quais along the Seine and picnics there; I'll miss the gaudy but glorious sparkling of the Eiffel Tower at night from the Champs de Mars; I'll miss the tiny chambre de bonne that became a room of my own in a big big city; I'll miss wandering and discovering ever more crooked streets that run by Notre Dame and Chatelet and the Pompidou; I'll miss the museums and plays and movies and language and people and all of it; I'll miss all of it.
May has been a month of picnics (see photo for typical example)- on the banks of the Seine, on the Pont des Arts (pedestrian bridge), on the Champs de Mars (in front of the Eiffel Tower), in the Luxembourg Gardens, everywhere. Jarod and Mike visited for four days or so and we did a Paris blitz, including another trip to Versailles. Last Saturday was the Europe-wide Night of the Museums with free museums and special exhibits from 6 pm-1 am. We went to Musee de Quai Branly (archaeology), Galliera (fashion), Rodin (Rodin), and Invalides (Napolean's tomb). The map is my trip with mom across all of France, from which I last blogged.
Sitting here with my plain yogurt with jam and a big mug of coffee after grabbing a cafe with Deanna after a night out at the Tower, it doesn't seem real that I'll be home next week, or that I'll be 20. I guess we'll see what happens. This post brought to you by the association for non sequiturs.
amsterdam e italia!
Amsterdam was fun; I went two weeks ago with Carrie, just for a weekend. The city is beautiful, with canals and flower markets and the Anne Frank House museum, where we went. Plus the Van Gogh Museum, also cool. Plus tons and tons of coffeehouses everywhere (if you didn't know, small amounts of weed are legal in Amsterdam and they sell it in coffeehouses as joints, loose leafs, or in 'space cakes').
Then last Thursday headed to Italy for five days; with four cities in mind: started in Pisa, then went to Florence, then Venice, and finally Milan. It felt like two days in each city because we traveled in the middle of the day and napped, then stayed out late in each city. Loved it so much! Each city ha
d such a different feeling but everyone was so nice and friendly, literally waving to us from their houses as we walked by or inviting us into their shops to learn about the history of Venetian masks or watch a Pisan woodcutter at work while struggling to communicate in Spanish/Italian/French. Good thing I spent that week in Spain or else communication would've been way harder (Italians and Spanish can understand each others' languages, generally).
I highly recommend couchsurfing. The first night Jes and I had the most delicious pizza and stayed in a tiny guesthouse with a cute little Italian woman. Next day did all the touristy stuff in Pisa, which took about an hour, then shopped and Jes got a haircut- it's a tiny cute university town, not greatly unlike Granada. Then we went out with our fantastic couchsurfing hosts, who also fed us super yummy pasta and prosciutto. Next day, headed to Florence.
Florence is gigantic! Comparatively speaking that is. Tuscan countryside is gorgeous; we stayed in a great hostel and saw Michelangelo's David and some famous bridge, and ate our most delicious meal in Italy (no pictures though): warm calamari salad, prosciutto pizza (as usual), spinach with butter, and panna cotta for dessert. Pasta may have been involved. I love Italian food! The Duomo in Florence was very dramatic and cool.
Then we hit Venice, which might've been my favorite city (although Pisa was my favorite experience b/c of couchsurfing). The first day we wandered around away from our hotel, with the aim of getting lost, and ended up at this mask store with one guy who makes all his masks by hand, and he showed us how to wear the masks, about the history of them, and made us model them too. Went to San Marco, that famous piazza, and heard some live music and danced around with this piano girl who was playing 'Funkytown' and rocking out.
It started raining the next day and didn't stop pouring all day; my French shoes died so I got
pretty Italian designer shoes on the way to Milan. Milan was pretty sucky just because it was cold and we were tired. We couchsurfed that night and had a good conversation about Europe from the American perspective, then left early in the a.m. Watched "Leatherheads" in Italian near the Duomo, which was "In Amore Niente Regole" (In love without rules?) to take a nap. Had gelato and delicousness, grabbed our flight out of Milan, and got on a bus back to Paris. The bus broke down but we barely caught the last metro back into town.
Right now I'm on a road trip across France with my mommy who's visiting for a whole week! So of the 30 days in April, I'm spending 11 in Paris. Haha I love travel!
Morocco
By the way, I'm not dead... In case you were worried. It's been a long time since I've written anything here and obviously a lot has happened since then. I spent my spring break ("Semana Santa," Holy Week, it's called here) traveling throughout Spain with friends. We saw Madrid, Segovia, Toledo, Salamanca, Barcelona and Valencia at the rate of about 1-ish cities per day. It was intense. But I'll save that for another post. I promise.
Now I want to talk about where I went last weekend while it's still semi-fresh. I left with a group of about 15 people from my program for Gibraltar last Friday. Gibraltar's a really strange place. It's a big rock in British territory at the tip of the Iberian peninsula, at something like 18 km from Africa. You have to walk across a live runway to get there. And for some reason there are monkeys there. Legend apparently says that as long the monkeys are there the British will be there. Which was apparently a big issue during WWII when there was minimal monkey mating. Churchill had made a big fuss about it. They speak a weird mix of Spanish and English. And all the architecture is British and seems really out of place in southern Spain. But, I got my first view of Africa (see picture, above left, in the distance), and had some authentically mediocre pub fare.
On Saturday we left for Tangier by ferry. It was really 
cool being able to see Europe and Africa at the same time. The intense waves and people vomiting around me, however, were not as cool. We spent little time in Tangier, but enough to head to a local market and a women's center to talk to some local students. It was really cool to hear Arabic around us and listen to the call to prayer from the minarets of the mosques. Later we headed towards a small town on the Atlantic coast called Asilah. But first our guide surprised us with a camel ride. After a long day, we made our way to Rabat, capital of Morocco.
Rabat was my favorite part of the trip. We stayed with Moroccan families and ate several meals with them. We also went to a Hammam, which is an Arab bath. There were three rooms with three different temperatures. It was basically like a chain of steam rooms. We were able to walk through the city with students, which was amazing. I met a kid named Amine who was a police officer in Marrakesh. He spoke English almost better than me and said he only had taken six months of classes and the rest he had learned from American music and movies. Moroccans have a ridiculous talent for language. It's unbelievable. French and Arabic are everywhere. In the north they speak Spanish as well. And every shop-owner seemed to speak English.
Next we headed to the Rif mountains, famous for their hashish, (pretty sure this is where the term "reefer" comes from). We stopped in a small village and ate couscous with a very traditional farming family and enjoyed amazing mountain views from their backyard. Then we made our way to the town of Chefchaouen, which was really cool because almost all of the houses were painted blue, but seemed a little touristy.
The last day of our trip, we crossed the border from Morocco to Ceuta, which is a Spanish territory in North Africa. The border crossing was insane and disorganized. Apparently a lot of Moroccans cross the border daily, buy Spanish products and then sell them in Morocco. And the government turns a blind eye because it's one of the only means of living for the very poor. When we were there, there was an enormous mass of Moroccans crossing back home with border police beating and chasing them back into Morocco. Our guide told us to flash our American passports to the Moroccan border police, and they let us go ahead of the crowd. It felt really uncomfortable. We caught a ferry
from Ceuta back to Spain.
I really liked Morocco, and there is so much that happened that I don't have time/space to write about. And I was only there four days. I would highly recommend going there if you ever get the chance. It's a really interesting place. It's African and Arab, with a lot of French and Spanish influence thrown in there. It's a very poor country, but one of the richest in Africa. We drove by a lot of shanty towns. But the people there are
probably the nicest people I have ever met. People would approach in the street, ask us where we from just to say "Welcome to Morocco."I can't wait to go back and explore some more.
