When I first got the assignment for our family, the paper said they had a 13-year-old boy, something I was conflicted about. On one hand, a kid that age could be really helpful with translating and teaching cultural customs; on the other hand, 13-year-old boys are awful, no matter what country they’re from. Regardless, upon arrival, there where no 13-year-olds to be seen. I didn’t want to ask, because maybe he died in a tragic accident, but today, we met up with the other student living in the same apartment complex, and their family has a 13-year-old boy that wasn’t listed, so I’ve determined that someone just messed up the spreadsheet. I’m pretty much Sherlock Holmes.
Today we visited Volubolis (or something like that, spelling is hard), an ancient Roman city. Morocco is only 5 miles from Spain, so the region has a long history of Western interaction. Volubolis was fascinating; having never left the Americas before, my best guess is that the ruins were 1600 years older than any other building I had been in. I also read that during the period where the city was still inhabited, some Egyptian gods were added into the Roman canon, and in the following decades, both Christian and Muslim dynasties took control of the city. That’s about all I can tell you though, because all the gift shop books were in Arabic or French.
A brief note, while transferring photos from my phone to the computer to the blog isn’t hard, it is kind of a pain in the ass, so I’ll probably just do a weekly or bi-weekly photo dump. I will also steal photos form the Facebook pages of other students and pretend they are my own.
Once again dinner was wonderful, but huge. The warm milk was kind of gross though. I hate to be an elitist, but the dairy here doesn’t really compare to that of Wisconsin. Much like the milk my roommate left in the fridge for a month, I am spoiled.
AdamFendos.blog 
Warm milk – ugh. No 13 rear old – it is called survival – one never knows what we are in store for!
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