For eight days, my friend Janine, whom I actually know from the internet of long-ago (okay, 2001ish) visited me here, hence my lack of postings, returning e-mails, and the cause of an inbox full of 500 pieces of spam.

On the other hand, Janine is only the second of my friends to visit Morocco (some are scared, others poor, others still probably don’t have passports), so it was quite a nice change for me to actually be able to travel with another foreigner and see things again with wide-open eyes.

I have forgotten what it’s like to see Morocco through fresh eyes.  Despite the fact that some things still surprise me, that there’s never a day without something new, I’ve grown used to my adopted home since the first time I stepped foot on Moroccan soil three years ago.  The call to prayer no longer wakes me up (granted, I no longer live next to a mosque either), I no longer cringe at the sight of cow heads or skinned sheep with fluffballs on the ends of their tails, and most importantly, I’ve slipped casually into the tongue of darija and can saunter back and forth between languages.

Yet for some reason I still can’t stop without cooing at street cats.  But that’s a story for another day.