The musicians gathered at the head of our procession. The groom’s family proceeded up the street carrying giant cone-shaped gifts as horns blared. A door opened. We grouped around the steps as camera-wielding women in kaftans came out. Clapping to the music, the bride and groom’s family formed a ring around the musicians who began to sing; the song was personalized and Zakariah’s name appeared frequently. To my surprise, my host mother shuffled into the ring, stuffed a 20 dirham bill into the lead singer’s collar, and retreated.

Things tend to be sudden in Morocco. If not sudden, they are at least mysterious. For instance, shortly after my return from our class trip to Spain, I noticed that the house hummed and thrummed just a bit more than usual. Mama washed every fiber and fabric; my host sister mopped the floor almost every day for a week. Unnamed relatives swooped in, drank tea, and vanished into the woodwork.

In short, the normally sleepy home was buzzing. And I, in my typical state of confusion, could only wonder at the cause.

So Amsterdam. I loved it. It has got to be one of the top three cities I have visited this year. I could definitely live in one of those cute house apartments by the canal. We peaked into some of their windows around dinner time, and I could not handle it. And there were so many cute modern coffee shops, my weakness. I’m talking about literal coffee, not to be confused since we are talking about Amsterdam.

If you thought that this blog post would be some crazy party story in the spirit of Katy Perry’s hit single, then I’m sorry to disappoint you. Rather, you’re getting a more reflective piece that I’m composting here in my apartment on my last Friday night in Rome.

I wanted my last travel experience in South America to end with a bang, which, for me, meant visiting Machu Picchu.

But where would I begin?  What anecdote would I use, what metaphor would I employ?  Perhaps a picture would suffice?  It would speak a thousand words, but where would the 999^th leave me?  When you fall in love, nothing but your own memories and perspective can do it justice.  I do apologize that these 500 words will not, could not, properly convey my recent love affair with Granada.  You see, time has an unrelenting grip on those once in a lifetime moments that you would do anything to relive.  So, while nobody else will know the precise bliss

This morning I woke up to a few pleasant surprises.  For starters, it was the last day of classes!  While I’m shocked and saddened by how quickly this semester has passed, there is still something satisfying about getting another semester of college under my belt.

When I opened up my bedroom door, I found a little Christmas bag filled with chocolates, a clementine, and chestnuts left by my host-mom for Saint Nicolas day!  To enhance the Christmas spirit, I looked out my window and found a fresh layer of glistening snow covering the city.

I have recently noticed a disturbing trend in my behavior: I’ve been dreading my morning Arabic class. I spend ten hours per week in Modern Standard Arabic class. These classes are conveniently scheduled at 8 am five days per week. Now you must understand that I am not one to complain about early classes. Indeed, I rather like them.

Disclaimer: I am neither insane nor sarcastic.

Disclaimer the Second: The previous statement should be qualified by “at this particular moment.”

The best part about going to Paris last weekend was coming back.

On second thought, the best was the pastries that accounted for at least two of my three daily meals.

Just kidding. Although I really did eat pastries for breakfast and lunch. I had a lovely weekend in Paris, and my favorite part wasn’t my departure from that magical city. Leaving Spain for the first time this semester, though, changed my perspective on “home.”

My homestay family might actually be the best homestay family ever. Since coming to Japan in March, I’ve had my share of high and low points. Having my homestay family to see me through it has been amazing.