Leap of Faith

Leap of Faith

OK, so if you have been following me you will soon realise that all my photos are from my trip to Morocco this summer. Piece by piece I am desperately trying to relive what was the best three weeks of my life; and what I love about the photos is that morocco offers such diversity in its landscapes each photo is unique. Earlier I posted a photo of the bustlign Marrakesh and a few days later I found myself in the beauty of the cascades jumping down waterfalls. Amazing!

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I vote for one universal pair of shoes for all… Please…

Look good head to toe ankle. I love to get dressed up and always feel relatively confident in my outfit until I get to the front door and have the same dreaded realisation that I also need to find a pair of shoes to match.
At 5 ft 10 I never felt the need to master the art of walking in heels and also as a student I found little need to wear them. At size 6 feet I find dolly shoes make me look like I have flippers. Plimsoles, vans, converse etc either fall apart (I have holes in the toe section of both of my Vans), can be an expensive option (converse costing up to £40-£60) and de-glam outfits.
This is a complete scarmble of thoughts in one blog I realise but also a CRY FOR ADVICE FROM FELLOW FEMALE BLOGGERS. No longer do I want to crop my feet out of photos. Help!

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Marrakech, Morocco

Marrakech, Morocco

Whilst I have no camera skills what so ever, and more to the point, a shockingly rubbish camera, but when you go to places as beautiful as Morocco it isn’t difficult to creat a beautiful photograph. TAKE ME BACK!

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EGG ON YOUR FACE watercress, no mayo

Today I had a miserable monday morning in every sense (overlooking the fact that it was a Friday). Work, sleep deprived from the night before and hungry. My bad moods always originate from hunger.
During an eight hour shift I had a half an hour break and my top priority was a mad rush to the nearest sandwich bar. Naturally I had spent the first three hours of my mind-numbing shift fantasizing about what I could eat for lunch…
“A toasted sandwhich with gammon and pickle… Oooh or last week I had a deluxe hoisin duck wrap…” *drools*
Until finally making the all important decision to go for the egg mayo sandwich. Trusty, tasty, and more importantly, I wouldn’t spend an hours wage on it.
So with the image of my egg sandwich lingering in my mind I managed to pull through the first half of my shift until I got my much-anticipated sandwich.
With all this in mind, you can imagine my HORROR when my egg mayo had NO MAYO in it!!!
Outraged, but with only 10 minutes of my break left, I begrudgingly scoffed the majority of my sandwich, throwing away some dry crumbly egg and crusts. First world problems. Could my day get any worse…?
Oh yes.
As I was turning around ready to sprint back to work I was aggressively confronted
“What the f*ck do you think you are doing?!”
As I spun around about to tell the rude lady who was randomly abusing me to leave me alone I look down to realise that the bin that I had thrown my sandwich wrapper and remains in was actually a pram… With a baby in it…
Sh*t.

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The forbidden ‘L Word’: Do you believe in love?

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Love is a concept that is inescapable. Romantic notions are constantly instilled into us through films, literature, music, the media, and to avoid being completely pessimistic, we also see it in everyday life. From as young as I can remember I have had it drummed into me that I am loved by my family and I will fall in love when I am older, get a job, produce babies and live happily ever after. The scary part is, now I am older, and not yet in love.  As a feminist and a female living in the 21st Century I would like to believe that I am an independent woman, and hence, am perfectly able to live independently without the necessity of a second-half. Unfortunately, even I don’t believe this, and I am just as bad if not worse than every other schmook out there, constantly looking for love.

As a student, I was perfectly happy passing from casual relationship (whatever that means) to relationship, enjoying having a companion to watch films with and the occasional candle-lit dinner. Perfectly happy that is, until the dreaded ‘L’ word was mentioned. I have absolutely no disinclination towards being loved. It’s a global desire to be adored and cared for by someone and I am most certainly no acceptation to this rule. However, to my disappointment, being adored wasn’t the problem in this scenario, but instead, it was that the boy informed that he ‘liked me’ but could not ‘love me’. Wow. A wound to the ego and to the heart. “Could not love me”?! Does that deem him heartless or me unlovable? I read into it as the latter, and needless to say, this was a statement I did not know how to handle. Let the over-thinking and self-torment begin.

I myself had not considered the ‘L’ word in said relationship and yet hearing that my non-love related feelings were reciprocated felt like he’d just done a massive dump on my face. What is it about the word ‘love’? What does it even mean? If he liked me and I liked him then there really should have been no problem, and yet, by ruling the romantic notion of falling in love out I felt completely deflated and internally doomed our relationship to fail. In fact ironically, from hearing that I am seen to be unlovable (cliched over-dramatic female taking a statement to the extreme), I’ve started to question whether I ‘love’ him… Consequently meaning that my love is bore from rejection or, just like Julia Roberts in My Bestfriend’s Wedding, it took a hard knock for me to realise it. But, as I refuse to admit that I may actually have feelings, I will instead pin down my confused emotional state of mind down to being melodramatic and hormonal, because naturally, female psychology is always controlled by hormones (if the Daily Mail debates it, it must be true).

And so, the enigma that is the ‘L Word’ continues to bewilder me. Only time,  experience and what I assume will be a lot more humiliation will tell if it really does exist but unfortunately as a self-proclaimed romantic I won’t give up searching for it…

photo credit: <a href=”http://www.flickr.com/photos/vinothchandar/4469243936/”>VinothChandar</a&gt; via <a href=”http://photopin.com”>photopin</a&gt; <a href=”http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/”>cc</a&gt;

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If you’ve got it, flaunt it – unless you’re in Morocco

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Me and My Best Friend, Nikita, before we boarded our flight

Ignorance is bliss – a phrase commonplace to everyday life and a phrase I successfully shot dead in the water when I went traveling. It’s no longer unusual for a teenager to fly off and see the world, and so I was confident in my capability to succeed in a task which my friends and siblings had conquered before me. I refused to adopt a blasé attitude, stocking up on every medicine under the sun, purchasing a very inconspicuous and horrifically un-stylish fanny pack and forking out for over-compensating insurance. Unfortunately, what no online traveling guide or experienced friend could advise me, was to bring with me my common sense. As soon as I unboarded the plane I went straight to the water fountain to hydrate myself and put on a pair of shorts. Whilst I’ll save you from the details of the former, my inconsiderate clothing in the long term was probably the main cause of the majority of my distress abroad.

“Bad skin”, “Go Home” and “Cover up” were phrases commonly accompanying the tuts of men and sniggers of women as my group (made up of 15 English teenage girls) roamed the streets of Morocco. Whilst we tried to make the most of a bad situation and laugh off the comments, those amongst us which had raided the short depart of shops such as Topshop felt more than a little self-conscious and guilty of their rear end that repeatedly kept peeping out.

The abuse and rejection from the majority of the Moroccan civilians was met with a mix response from our group. On the one hand, English girls may need a little bit of education on how fashion should be used to leave something to the imagination. Also, as visitors to their country we did all feel rather ignorant about our lack of awareness of their culture. But on the other hand, it was bloody hot, and the manner they approached us could have been more tactful. It has been suggested that the Zanzibar acid attack on Trup and Gee was motivated by a disagreement with their wardrobe choices and it does stimulate debate contrasting how stigmatized British citizens and Muslims are against each other.

So, whilst I don’t have enough political awareness to comment on religion, I can comment on fashion. You can tan those legs up when you’re on the safety of your balcony but if you want to be met with smiles not sneers then invest in a scarf and maxi skirt! Don’t be fooled by the rumors, if you show off a bit of skin you won’t be bought at the price of 60 camels, you’ll be asked to leave the country.

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When it all goes tits up…

When it all goes tits up...

After a hard night camping in the middle of no where we refused to let circumstances dampen our spirits

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Nature’s beauty isn’t always green

Nature's beauty isn't always green

A highlight from my experience traveling around Morocco was undoubtedly camping in the Sahara Desert. This photo was taken about 6am, very sleekly stylised in my pajamas.

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