Mardi

The French placement test made us all feel like fluent French speakers that day, but we were drained from getting little sleep during the past couple of nights. We were free in the evening to roam around ourselves. We traveled together like a pack of wolves in search of food down the streets they told us to avoid.

It wasn’t necessarily a stupid decision to disregard their warnings because none of us felt in danger. But we certainly attracted a lot of attention by walking in a large group during ftour time in the almost abandoned streets. 

“Who told you to walk in a group?” He crept up behind us speaking English. “I think two or three is just fine.” We did what they told us to do. We masked our surprise and walked on. “Oh you don’t want to talk to me? Okay.” He pursued us, asking questions like “Are you powerful like me?” until we crossed the street.

After an hour, we couldn’t find the restaurant we set out for and so we walked back down the dark streets we came on.  We then came to an intersection with a large group of men having their ftour outside. We had passed them the first time and they cawed at us in French “Ca va? Salut!” This time, we weren’t sure which way we had come and so they reassured us of our path, “Yes, you came that way!”

At last we came upon a dimly lit restaurant, which miraculously opened when we approached it. We ordered our first Moroccan Chinese meal in French, which consisted of curry, vermicelli, and various types of seafood.  It was nice to eat on our own time rather than following the clocks of our directors. We dined and talked to the kittens that snuck through the door.