So. Spain, round two. We're in Málaga. Just had a quick dinner at 100 Montaditos. Lesley approved, which means she will be allowed to live. We arrived after a couple visits to Gibraltar (where, it seems, all adorable men have been hidden away) from La Línea, the Spanish town that borders Gibraltar. For the first 45 minutes of this bus ride, I was seated next to a Spanish man who decided that I needed a tutorial and proceeded to educate me on the difference between g and j, and then drill my pronunciation of Algeciras, Gibraltar, Goya, and Argentina. When I mentioned our intention to visit the Picasso museum, his eyes went from sleepy boredom to...something else and he asked if I'd ever been to the Prado. When I replied in the affimative (and in fact had a postcard from there in my backpack to show him), we spent the rest of his time on the bus discussing our favourite painters and paintings in Madrid. I enjoyed it, but it was exhausting. My Spanish is for directions and restaurants only.

I doubt I'll have a chance to post again before returning home, so thanks for following. See you all soon (-er than if I just stayed here in Spain).

We're going to Tangier in a few hours and are both sad to be doing so. Chefchaouen has provided us with hiking, henna, and a hotel run by the sweetest couple in the world. She makes the strawberry jam and butter that we have for breakfast every morning. Both are delicious. He reserved our bus tickets for us. We just have to pick them up before boarding. The tiles are colourful, the tapestries warm red, and something about ascending the staircase into cool air begs us to stay and relax and be comfortable for longer. Of course we can't. The next few days are our route back to England and then to Canada where school awaits. No more afternoons spent reading in the shaded, cool hotel room (finished the House of Mirth, Just So Stories, Changing Planes, The Woods, High Fidelity, Rob Roy, The Kindness of Strangers). People-listening can be just as satisfying as people-watching.

Chefchaouen is a town in the Rif Mountains whose medina looks to be covered in blue frosting. It is delightfully cool at night. I love it. Lesley loves it. We may not come home.

It happened. I bought a leather bag this morning. It was more than I thought I'd spend but a lot less than I would have paid in Canada. I bought it from one of the tanneries after a guide showed us around the centuries-old tanning house and explained the dying process to us. Red dye is made from poppies. It's all brutal work and smells awful because they use pigeon crap as a softener. I was really glad to have the sprig of mint they provided, even though I tried not to use it too often because I didn't want to be a wimp.

Yesterday, we arrived in Fez (via totally air conditioned train - we were spoiled) and caught a cab to our hotel. We somehow picked up a guide in the form of a guy no older than 18. He offered to show us around a bit later and, despite the many warnings about unofficial guides, we figured this kid was fine. He couldn't expect very much money from us and going with the flow seemed a good idea. We left a couple hours later, when the sun was getting weaker and were casually led by Hassan and his brother, whose name I have no idea how to spell, into the maze that is the medina in Fez. All of the streets look the same and yet they managed to lead us to a number of mosques, the old Jewish Quarter (the mellah), a bakery, and then up a hill to what Hassan called "the terrace of the town." We sat up there for a while, partly because the 360° view was phenominal (we could see black smoke rising from the potteries, and the walls of the medina) and partly because a Fassi hip-hop band was filming a music video. When we finally left our spot, Hassan led us through the old French ramparts around a few corners and up a flight of stairs to their home. They served us tea, which was slowly sipped as Hassan listened to music on his phone and we watched his three-year-old sister sleep on the couch next to him. Next, we were taken into a Berber weaving house. We bought tapestries. I really hadn't planned on it. But then there was a green stripey one and I was done for.

There's more to our first night, but it'll have to wait because my internet time is up and I'm hungry.

It's morning in Casablanca and I can't sleep. We're going to wander around the market for a bit and then take the train to Fez. It sounds like we haven't spent enough time in the place where the best last line of a movie ever is spoken, but it's a grimy town and I really want to see the medina in Fez. We both have plans to buy leather bags near the tanneries there. Unfortunately, Casablanca, being coastal, has a great breeze during the day, which hit us when we stepped off the sweltering train from Marrakesh yesterday. Neither of us particularly wants to leave the "cool" and get on another train, especially one that will be travelling for four and a half hours to a place probably as hot as Marrakesh (I'm terrified to check the weather forecast). But it's Fez and it must be done. Besides, after Fez, we just head north into mountains or port towns, which will hopefully be more comfortable.

Last night, we went to a restaurant that was listed in Lonely Planet as a Quick Eat. They specialize in seafood platters. We ordered a portion for one and a stewed eggplant (supposedly an appetizer) and finished neither. The dipping sauces were the key: one tomato, olive and coriander, the other hot sauce with lime. We had planned it to be a small snack before a somewhat classier meal but it definitely finished us for the night. A similar thing happened in Marrakesh the night before. In the Djemaa-el-Fna, the main square, grill stalls are set up in the evening with tables, and a hundred restaurants are created. We walked through the smoke, castanets, dance circles, and henna, and sat down at a place where there were a lot of people eating and no one trying too hard to get us to sit. The couscous and beef on skewers that we ordered came with the bread that accompanies all Moroccan meals (to be used instead of utensils) and the tomato olive sauce that makes good food even better. It was intensely filling (at least in part because it was so hot outside) and we had a nightcap of ice cold orange juice. And through all this, we barely spoke to one another because there was just so much to take in.

Two weeks ago, I received a message from my friend Lesley. It read, "How do you feel about extending your trip and coming to Morocco with me?" I went through the motions of weighing pros and cons, but I knew before I logged off my e-mail account that I would somehow be going to Marrakesh. Never mind that it's the hottest time of year to be in Morocco and I don't care for heat. Disregard the fact that I'd already been out of Canada for two months and want to see my family and friends so much (really). Forget that I'm supposed to be moving to Montreal and starting grad school in less than a month. Clearly, if someone asks you to go to Morocco and it's feasible, you don't have a choice. In Paris, it seemed like it wouldn't happen. I called Air Canada Reservations in France to change my return flight and it was a massive hassle that made me think Morocco would be impossible. The next day, however, a long distance call to the Air Canada line in Canada took care of the ticket change and the trip was a go.

And now, about two hours into the flight that should have been returning me to Canada (Alyssa's on it), I'm sitting next to Lesley in an internet cafe in Marrakesh. It's very hot (although not as blazing as Cordoba), we're exhausted because our flight left London at 6 a.m. and we got very little sleep, and we're disoriented because we're unaccustomed to this place and to one another. Our hotel has a tiled courtyard terrace. In the main square, freshly squeezed orange juice costs about 50 cents (Canadian), there are dried fruit and nuts for sale, snake charmers actually exist (!) and there's a heady mix of smells that I can't completely identify. You can buy anything and everything. It's terrifying and overwhelming and probably the perfect introduction to Morocco. We took a little time this afternoon to set a tentative itinerary. Our next stops will be Casablanca and Fez. Afterwards, we'll head to a town in the north called Chefchaouen and hopefully do some hiking. From there, we'll go to Tangier and make our way through Gilbraltar to Malaga, where we'll catch a flight back to London.

Tourists in France are apparently also fans of getting their photos taken in front of famous paintings. You pay to get into the Musée d'Orsay. If you're already standing in front of Starry Night, you might as well turn around and look at it.

My legs hurt. A couple hours in Père Lachaise, a couple trying to buy dresses (failed - let's not discuss), and then a free evening in the Louvre means a lot of walking in one day. Seeing the sun set through the glass of I. M. Pei's pyramid and then walking out with a view straight up to the Arc de Triomphe must be one of the best last nights in Paris ever.

In other news, I'm returning to Canada a bit later than planned. Am instead going to Morocco for a week and a half.