Climbing mountains: Literally. Figuratively.
I think people don't like to talk about struggle when they're in it - the easy thing to do is to wait until the struggle has passed, and talk about it after. It requires no bravery - no courage. You talk about what you went through, what you learned, and that's that. It is a much harder thing, I think - to talk about the struggle while you're in it. To be in it - and to know that it's also exactly the thing you needed. That place is where I was yesterday. On a mountain - literally, and figuratively.
We arrived in Taza two days ago. We'd spent our first week together as a cohort, learning and growing in the capital city of Rabat. Just like home - the capital felt diverse, and safe, and not so different from home. When we approached the city of Taza - we began to see the mountains. I mistakenly thought they were the Atlas mountains - but I was wrong. These were the Rif mountains -and the city of Taza sits between them and the Atlas mountains at an elevation of 1,900 feet. High enough to feel it. We weren't in Rabat anymore.
After meeting our very kind and talented host teacher, Mohammad - we got ourselves settled into this new place - this very different place. Our first adventure would come the next day - as we were scheduled to visit Tazekka National Park. There aren't many things I love more than National Parks - than mountains, than hiking. I brought appropriate shoes - layered my clothing, etc. I thought I was prepared.
Morocco mountains are not North Carolina mountains. I've learned - both literally and figuratively - to climb North Carolina mountains. I do it well. These are Atlas Mountains.
They are named appropriately.
We woke on the day of our journey to the sound of wind and rain - pouring rain. 40 degrees. 50 mph winds. Rain - which, at one point, while walking downhill towards a mountain village - became hail.
Atlas was a Titan - known for his strength. We felt every bit of that strength on our journey. It wasn't kind - it was a struggle nearly every step of the way. But it was - without question - absolutely worth it.
Just when the day felt impossible - we reached a Cultural Association of the Amazigh people. We walked in - soaked to our bones, cold and wet and totally defeated by Atlas. And - because this is Morocco - we were welcomed, handed hot tea, and placed immediately in front of a fire that warmed first our feet and eventually - our hearts.
The performance began shortly after I regained feeling in my toes - the songs, the dance - it was incredible. I've never felt so immersed in a culture - in tradition, in people who've been around for longer than I can fathom. The women ushered us into a small room and dressed us in celebration clothes. We were lead out to the folk performers and placed in their circle - to dance, to learn. And we did.
The hike back up presented us with a clear sky and a view of the mountains that looked much more green and far less ominous. We'd climbed - literally and figuratively. And we made it.
We arrived in Taza two days ago. We'd spent our first week together as a cohort, learning and growing in the capital city of Rabat. Just like home - the capital felt diverse, and safe, and not so different from home. When we approached the city of Taza - we began to see the mountains. I mistakenly thought they were the Atlas mountains - but I was wrong. These were the Rif mountains -and the city of Taza sits between them and the Atlas mountains at an elevation of 1,900 feet. High enough to feel it. We weren't in Rabat anymore.
After meeting our very kind and talented host teacher, Mohammad - we got ourselves settled into this new place - this very different place. Our first adventure would come the next day - as we were scheduled to visit Tazekka National Park. There aren't many things I love more than National Parks - than mountains, than hiking. I brought appropriate shoes - layered my clothing, etc. I thought I was prepared.
Morocco mountains are not North Carolina mountains. I've learned - both literally and figuratively - to climb North Carolina mountains. I do it well. These are Atlas Mountains.
They are named appropriately.
We woke on the day of our journey to the sound of wind and rain - pouring rain. 40 degrees. 50 mph winds. Rain - which, at one point, while walking downhill towards a mountain village - became hail.
Atlas was a Titan - known for his strength. We felt every bit of that strength on our journey. It wasn't kind - it was a struggle nearly every step of the way. But it was - without question - absolutely worth it.
Just when the day felt impossible - we reached a Cultural Association of the Amazigh people. We walked in - soaked to our bones, cold and wet and totally defeated by Atlas. And - because this is Morocco - we were welcomed, handed hot tea, and placed immediately in front of a fire that warmed first our feet and eventually - our hearts.
The performance began shortly after I regained feeling in my toes - the songs, the dance - it was incredible. I've never felt so immersed in a culture - in tradition, in people who've been around for longer than I can fathom. The women ushered us into a small room and dressed us in celebration clothes. We were lead out to the folk performers and placed in their circle - to dance, to learn. And we did.
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