Where to start?

It started out...and then kept going and going and going.

So, I am in Morocco and it feels like I've been here for ages although i kept going and going and going. On Tuesday, I flew from Chicago to London over night (losing six hours). The next day, I flew from London to Paris and then from Paris to Rabat. My first experience on international flights was a lot better than I thought it would be. They give you tons of food and talked really slowly for me because my French kind of sucks.

Honestly, when I was getting ready to go to the airport, I was a nervous wreck. I just wanted to go home and go back to U of I and crawl into my bed. So far, that seems like it would have been a bad idea.

On the flight to Rabat, there was an Olympic athlete sitting in the row across from me so when I got there, there was a ton of suits waiting for him on the runway. I guess that's what a medal gets you. We got off the plane and walked into the airport (on the tarmac) and did hte whole customs things. (suprisingly quite easy). After being hassled by some certified-porter guy to get my luggage in, I went out to the internatinal greeting hall (which is the only other room in the airport). At first, I didn't see anyne there to meet me and I was quite creeped out, but eventually I found some guy with a handwritten sign.

I followed him out to the van and I had definite thoughts that I was getting kidnapped. He didn't speak English and was just kind of staring me down. I was thinking of exit strategies when he handed me the cell phone to talk to the program director. Safe. We drove straight to the restaurant where the rest of the program was eating.

Moroccan food is amazing. I sat down and looked at my menu (thankfully it was in French) and ordered a chicken sandwich. Amazng. Of course, the program director was trying to talk to me in French and that just hurt my head.

Went to the hotel. Went to bed.

(Cont. tomorrow/next time with reliable internet- so so so tired)