Sweden's crayfish party tradition

"I hope you had a good time at your Seafood Festival," came the text.  He was, of course, referring to the crayfish party that I managed to snap out of my antisocial funk long enough to attend.  Crayfish parties are a very Swedish celebration of life/the end of summer/alcohol.  They involve games, drinking, and decorations resembling Chinese new year’s lights.  Oh, and crayfish.  Which are like lobsters in their color, shape, and beady angry boiled alive eyes; but unlike lobsters in their size and willingness to provide accessible meat. I’ve pulled some quotes from Wikipedia for you: “It is culturally correct to suck the juice out of the crayfish before shelling it.” “The alcohol consumption is often high,...

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Chilling with the locals

Samira, a beautiful, reserved, 18-year-old Moroccan girl, was introduced to us on our second day in Essaouira. She was the daughter of Aziz, the jaunty, crazy man who sold us necklaces and stories on the beach. Aside from money, he was interested in exchanging goods for his jewelry."Do you have a mobile phone or a bikini? My daughter would love a bikini. The quality here is very bad," he made a face.I was confused. "When would she wear a bikini? Not here." I gestured toward the ocean."No no. When they go to the bathing hole. Just women. Then she can wear it. But it is bad, the ones here."We didn't end up trading bathing suits (awkward) with him, but Emma grabbed a pair of old jeans and a t-shirt from the hotel room, and offered them. In return, he gave her a vividly blue...

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Arabs like to feed you.

In Morocco, everything felt closer to nature. Depositing your excrement into a hole in the ground. Heating water over an open flame and then pouring it over yourself as a shower. Using blankets as a new heating system. Watching a skinny, grinning butcher cut your beef off the hind quarter of a cow that he has hanging. Drinking orange juice from actual oranges. ** When you meet someone, you shake hands (opposite gender), or are violently attacked (same gender) with kisses on the cheek. We couldn't figure out the kissing methodology – sometimes it was one on each side and then two on the other, sometimes it was only two, sometimes it was four... After you shake hands in greeting, you put your hand to your heart. I liked this. If something...

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A glimpse into my brother's Peace Corps existence

"We like big women here...like onions," Aziz said, gesturing a large curve with his hands. "You know, we feed them couscous to get big." He went on to tell us that girls buy pills at the store to help them gain weight. I'd like to write that infomercial. ** "You want space cakes?" The man was pointing to dubious looking brownies, sandwiched between various other goodies. "They will give you 15 minutes of happiness." ** "I will give you the entire store for one kiss." This was a younger man. I was starting to wonder if all their English was sales terms and pickup lines. We politely declined the offer, claiming a boyfriend and a husband. He figured out the husband was fake when Emma tried to switch her ring to the proper finger...

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Early impressions of Morocco

Ah, Morocco. Typing in the Cybers (internet cafes) here drives me crazy. We have not continued with our nightly poetry sessions. This is not surprising. I am addicted to daily fresh glasses of orange juice. It took one glass initiate this. The smells are less overwhelming than the dust and noise. Amadeus and I have been reacquainted with the squatty potties from previous Middle Eastern experiences. Not bad unless the lights are out, the floor is questionable, and the toilet paper is out. Then I want to be a man. There are other times I wish I was a man here, but for different reasons. This trip has allowed Willikins to develop his big brother side, and we get constant texts like "Don't talk to anyone wearing over the top Turbans or...

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