we actually flew, and killed a pirate or two - but we're home, of that we're very glad

In Morocco, everything felt closer to nature. Depositing your excrement into a hole in the ground. Heating water over an open flame and then pouring it over yourself as a shower. Using blankets as a new heating system. Watching a skinny, grinning butcher cut your beef off the hind quarter of a cow that he has hanging. Drinking orange juice from actual oranges.

**

When you meet someone, you shake hands (opposite gender), or are violently attacked (same gender) with kisses on the cheek. We couldn't figure out the kissing methodology – sometimes it was one on each side and then two on the other, sometimes it was only two, sometimes it was four...

After you shake hands in greeting, you put your hand to your heart. I liked this. If something is good, you can say "Zwayna," and curl your figures and flick them out like a twinkling star motion. "Keef keef," (same, same), had its own hand motion.

**

The avocado juice was a special moment. After our first day in Marrakech, we met up with Anna and Jessie, her visiting bubbly, fairy friend. Jessie had a guide book – what a clever idea – and was packed with information from an article she had read before arriving. Her guide book, The Lonely Planet, had a lot of useful information, and occasionally attempted a witty comment. One restaurant was recommended – with the caveat that "the avocado juice is best avoided."

Amadeus and I found this hilarious: when wouldn't avocado juice be avoided? It sounded vile. As it turns out, it's a big drink in Morocco and can be found at all the juice stands. No problem; I could use it to practice my no's. And then Will started texting us about the concoction, insisting that we try avocado almond juice at Cafe Amsterdam in Ouzazete. First we ignored his texts. So he called and insisted we that we try it. Am and I discussed it, and decided we would halfheartedly look for the cafe – and we couldn't find it.

Will called again with very specific directions. At this point we debated to simply lie to him and tell him we tried it. No. That wouldn't be a fun bedside confession. We went inside Cafe Amsterdam and ordered one to share.

It was the most unbelievably wonderful, fresh, milkshakey creation. The almonds add a delightful nutty flavor, and the avocado taste was present, but not overwhelming. Our fears had been groundless.

**

I also ate sheep liver and possibly stomach, while avoiding brains and other organs. This was a less charming experience.

Will, Jeff, Am, and I were all invited to dine with a local cafe owner, an older man who knew Will. The invitation went something like this: we had just arrived and Will, Am, and I were pulling our luggage down the street. We passed a large cafe/restaurant, and a man called out to him. This was not his first shout out – in Tinjedad, he is a rock star, and half the town shouted greetings as we walked. But this man insisted that we come over and have tea and bread with olive oil. We dragged our bags up and stuck them in a hallway which led to an outdoor seating area at the back of the cafe.

The man's teeth were black, and his face was middle aged – 40's? – and very animated. He started to raise his voice, speaking loudly and quickly at Will in Arabic and gesturing unhappily. Will argued back, smiling, protesting and shaking his head. In between bouts of contention, he explained that the man was saying something like "shame on you for ignoring your friend." He wanted us to eat dinner with him, but Will had told him we were fully booked with his host family, and the basha, the appointed government official in Tinjedad. Finally they settled on a dinner date that evening.

Which is when I discovered couscous with sheep's innards.

"Try it! They'll love you!" my brother was encouraging me into a sort of food prostitution. However, this was some love that I could refuse – except that I was a little bit curious. Hence the tiny piece of liver and stomach.

**

I listened to the audio version of "Three Cups of Tea" a few years ago. I don't remember the exact story behind the three cups of tea in Pakistan, except that I think it equates to some sort of friendship: share one cup, you're acquainted; two, you're friends; three, you're bosom buddies.

Morocco was more about five cups of tea. (Takes a longer time to build relationships?) Or As Many Cups of Tea As We Can Convince You To Try. Moroccan tea is incredibly sweet (they like sweet things), and it is unfiltered. It is poured from about eight inches above the small glass cup. When you don't want any more, you say "Al humdillah" ("Praise God") and shake your head smiling.

After five cups during the afternoon, and several more at dinner, I asked Will about the caffeine content. He shrugged.