CHAPTER ONE: HURRY UP AND WAIT

Sunday January 11, 2009. On the plane to Boston.

After countless hours of packing, repacking, crying over my packed bags, then unpacking and repacking them again, I am finally on the first plane in a series of connecting flights to Morocco. From Cleveland, I am first going to Boston, at which point I will ship off with 15 other BU students to France, and then finally Rabat, Morocco. For the last couple hours, I have been running around my house like crazy, making sure that I didn't forget anything while simultaneously feeling sick to my stomach at the mere thought of traveling to a place that is vastly unknown to me. I was moving so quickly, in fact, that once I got on the plane, my body was confused at the idea of sitting still; I fidgeted around with my belongings and made sure that everything I had planned to use during flight was easily accessible until the crew closed the cabin door. Finally, I could take a deep breath; I’m going to Morocco! It’s so unbelievable that this trip that I have been planning for since October is actually becoming a reality.

It all started freshman year, when I promised myself that I would study abroad at some time in my four years of academic rigor at Boston University. Despite my good intentions and desires, the curricular requirements of SED (BU’s abbrev. for the School of Ed.) are simply too strict and do not allow much leeway for academic exploration, thereby taking studying abroad out of the picture.

My sophomore year started, and with it came a very caring and helpful academic advisor; although she understood the idea that SED’s requirements would likely limit me from possibly traveling abroad, she had done a fair amount of traveling herself and was excited for me to obtain similar experiences. She helped me in any and every way imaginable to pull through BU’s bureaucracy to allow me to go abroad. Once we figured out the most optimal semester for my travels that would fit into my course schedule, the next hurdle was deciding where to go. First, it was Australia, followed by Ireland, Denmark, Turkey, Singapore, and finally Morocco. It was quite a ride, but I would not have it any other way.

By the time I finally settled on the idea of going to Morocco, it was late November, which was about a month-and-a-half before I actually left. And even after I mentally decided to go, and got accepted into the program, I still had to jump through what I call the “SED hoops” to make it actually happen. SED hoops consist of rules and regulations provided by the state of Massachusetts, as well as BU, which are required for graduation; if I don’t abide by these rules, I can’t graduate in time, which could seriously jeopardize my acquiring a teaching license. The rules are beneficial to us, admittedly so, as they were enacted to assure we would be able to graduate with the proper knowledge to teach the future. After numerous trips between the dean of SED, my academic advisor, the study abroad office, and my parents (as well as all the paperwork and stress that goes with it), I was finally on my way to go.

So here I am, sitting on the plane, punching away the keys on my brand new Mac Book Pro laptop, of which I am a proud parent no matter how much my family and friends think I’m crazy for getting a computer that is known to have compatibility issues with the rest of the world. But come on, I’m invincible, right? I mean, I’m going to (expletive) Africa! If that can happen, anything can, right? Well, let’s just say that in the days prior to getting on the plane to Boston, I’ve been driving like a lunatic during this winter storm that Cleveland has seen in the past couple of days. Let’s just say I’m really happy that I didn't crash my mom’s car, but don’t tell her I said that…

Okay, just one more thing before the pilot turns on the seatbelt sign and says we’re beginning that “initial descent” into Boston; the backs of my hands are all cut up and dry because of all the rigorous packing that I’ve been doing for the past 48 hours. Not that I’m complaining, it’s just an interesting “battle scar.”

Well, next time I write, I will be in beautiful Rabat, Morocco! That is, unless I’m inspired to write while I’m in Paris, or if my laptop battery will hold up.


On to France

The 14 of us waited for our flight to France, arranged in two rows of chairs that face each other like football players in the face-off position. We anxiously, curiously, and excitedly discussed the experiences we were about to have in a country that none of us have been to. Some of us have traveled to other countries of the world, while others of us have parents that were hesitant to let us go to Morocco in the first place. Likewise, our experiences with the Arabic language have a similar diversity; I along with two others know zero Arabic, while one student speaks Arabic at home. It will certainly be quite a challenge, but I’m confident that we can depend on each other for support.

Two hours of airport sitting, one slice of pizza, and a plate of spaghetti later, we were finally ready to leave US soil. We gathered up our belongings and headed down the runway that connected the airport building with the airplane. After I got my stuff all organized on the plane (which, by this time, I had that fidgety energy out of me), I promptly curled up and went to sleep. But before we took off, something didn't feel right.

Why did my heart hurt? I was starting to panic that maybe it was one more thing that I didn't get checked out before leaving; included in my winter break were visits to the doctor, the dentist, the orthopedist, and a vaccination clinic. I had been poked and prodded all week long, and I had completely forgotten about this heart thing. Why was it the one thing they didn't even listen to? What if the very organ that keeps me alive suddenly shuts down? What if I went into cardiac arrest right here on this airplane? Do any of the flight attendants know CPR? Would anyone even notice me fall over?

Ok, so I guess I am a little anxious about this trip all together, which probably manifested in my heart rather than my gut like it usually does. Nothing ever came of my chest pain, but it had been bothering me for the past week or so leading up to this trip. Convincing myself it was nothing, and attributing it to mere heartburn, I curled up with those thin airline pillows and snoozed for the next 2 hours.

I woke up to my neighbor with a plate of dinner in front of him. “Oh shoot!” I thought. “I missed dinner! That means I’m not going to have the opportunity to eat for a while.” Following were a series of what-if’s, so I flagged down a flight attendant to get me a dinner. He expediently arrived with a tray full of food a few moments later: A brownie, some chocolate pudding, bread, cheese, a little bowl of salad with some baby shrimp on top, and a plate full of salmon zucchini. I absolutely hate shrimp! And I usually don’t eat salmon unless my father cooks it just the way I like it. This is just great; I went through the trouble of flagging down the flight attendant to get me some dinner and I don’t even like it. I ended up eating the brownie, chocolate pudding, and bread, while leaving the rest. It was no gourmet meal, but it will tide me over I hope.

Hopefully I’ll be able to sleep for the remainder of the flight…


Finally to Rabat

We’re finally in France! The flight went well, but it was just really long. I’m excited to be able to at least part-way understand things that are happening around me due to my three years of French under my belt that I took in high school. It’s going to be interesting going to Morocco where I’ll really have trouble.

I really have nothing else to say. I’m pretty excited about finally getting into Rabat and settling into cozy hotel waiting for the jet lag to avail. Until then, I’m here in this airport with the rest of my BU peers. All of us are pretty tired and cranky from the flight over. Hopefully when we settle into our homes and classes we’ll be able to be more “on our game” and actually have the cognizance to meet each other and be civil. Until then, we're just a bunch of cranky college kids.

Okay, so I’m just a little bit bored here in France, but I decided to write again. That, and I love typing on my new laptop; it makes me feel so sophisticated as if I’m creating some award-winning book in the middle of a crowded airport. Also, I’m thinking that I might not take the time necessary to really create something good during my semester abroad, as I will probably instead be so obsessed and entertained with exploring my environments.

Can’t wait for my adventures to come.