10th November, 2013. Perfect Day

At age 21 I've had many perfect days, each as different as the last. In France conversing with newly made Californian friends after a voguish concert, drinking in the glimmer of fine parisian rain underneath the parasol of a cafe. In Spain cycling through orange fields with an old friend. In the UK, sitting on the pebbled beach of Brighton at night, listening to the songs on a ukulele. Or countless times in Canterbury, staring up at stars and cathedrals on grassy hills and beaten stones. Even perfect days in the same location were never quite the same, but one thing is always consistent: the irreplaceable, magnificent company and today in Rabat I had plenty.

Anas, Karim and I had a walk through the blue-striped medina, marveling together at kids playing with scorpions, magicians entertaining with card tricks and candy stalls camouflaged by the buzz of bees. We met Nawal, my newly-made half spanish, half moroccan friend, Loubna, with whom the language barrier did not stop us from giggling at joint misdeeds, Guillem, a serious polyglot and Carmen, the newly-arrived half spanish, half irish adventurer. Sitting around our tajine's at lunch we conversed in French, Arab, Spanish, English and even a bit of German too.

Among the ruins of the ancient roman settlement of Rabat, we explored and built. Time flew as we pet stray cats, discovered warm rivers in gardens and trespassed onto mosaic pools, so that before we knew it seagulls were poking at their nests on crumbling rock against the sunset. "We should make some calimocho to celebrate we all met," suggested Nawal and Carmen. When I saw the confused look on the non-spanish I knew this had to happen.

Calimocho is an alcoholic drink usually made with the cheap red wine you get in liters. The type you'd have to have dead taste buds or plenty of liquid courage to drink. Pour coca-cola in with copious amount of sugar, some ice cubes and a lemon if you're classy. That is how you get one of the most delicious drinks alcohol can give you. The cheap wine the Spanish girls found after hours of roaming was far from economical, it is Morocco after all, but it just meant the three of us made a truly exquisite calimocho that even Karim loved.

A true mixture of cultures was being brewed in this moroccan living room; a buzzing marketplace of languages and stories were the only currency was another sip of calimocho. Guillem told us of his curious glass career, Loubna denounced not being able to hold her boyfriends hand in public, Carmen entertained with her adventures visiting her sister in Uganda. By the time the bowl of calimocho laid empty, the spanish-irish girl and I had decided we'd visit India together. Back at Karim's place it dawned upon me that I would be leaving tomorrow. "Stay a few days more," Karim asked of me. I almost said yes.

The perfect day ended with a final peer at the stars with Karim's telescope. The aftertaste: a knowing glow that I'd be meeting these incredible new friends again somewhere, someplace.