My Gold Shoes are too tight. My Jet is too loud. Waaah.

I'm back in Paris and honestly, I'm not impressed... I want to be back in Morocco.

I feel like a complete spoiled brat saying that Paris does nothing for me. Sure, it's a great city, lots to offer, blah blah blah.... But after my last three days in a small country in Northern Africa, this place can't even compare.

My experiences in Marrakesh were beyond amazing. They were spiritually moving and thought provoking, life changing is definitely an appropriate term.

Last night I genuinely connected with women I hardly knew as they taught me how to eat with my hands and washed me from head to toe. Today, I drove in a taxi past women in high heels and bouffant hair and I felt nauseated.

I am grateful that I'm a girl that can hack it anywhere; sure, I know what fork to use when I'm presented with a table setting that includes four... but I can also hack it when I'm dirty and stinky and have to remind my friend that we aren't doing anything that a little bit of penicillin won't cure - and honestly, right now I'm definitely preferring the later.

I miss Morocco, my short time there seems like a dream now that I'm laying under a down duvet with consistent electricity filling the room. Maybe if I hurry up and fall asleep I can be there in my dreams quickly, because I know that I definitely won't be able to get back soon enough physically.