"So, how could Morocco not be your favorite place?" a girl asked me at a Christmas party on Saturday. This was after I had raided the mixed nut bowl of its cashews but before I had gone down the fire escape and climbed the fence in the backyard to crash (almost literally) another party*. The people at this other party were standing around a bonfire wearing the ugliest Christmas sweaters you can imagine: one had blinking lights on it and another had a stocking, complete with gifts, sewn on the front. I had taken it upon myself to discover if these sweaters were on purpose. They were. They were having an ugly sweater contest and even asked for my opinion. Gimmicks like blinking lights and stockings were impressive, but they couldn't match the horror of the winning sweater. Even so, while expaining why I chose that sweater, I still felt the need to be as polite as possible to those in deliberately awful clothing.
Similarly, I wanted to warn Giselle about the disappointments of Morocco (diarhea, getting treated like a walking ATM by the locals) without squashing her interest in going. God knows I would go back if the opportunity arrived. I think one of my greatest disappointments is that I did not take more pictures. A fascinating land completely unlike our's, but I only got a few shots and a little video. Being sick in bed for a day or so will do that to you.
*Reading this sentence, I've just realized for the first time that I am not someone who should be invited to social events.