JFK to Casablanca

12:05 pm, 28 June, on the road from Philadelphia Holiday Inn to JFK

This keeping a journal thing may be nearly impossible. I know I open many an entry with this sentiment, but it seems truer this time around. Each moment spent writing is a moment lost bonding with new friends, asking but not answering questions, lugging suitcases… even now, riding the bus, I ignore several conversations – and the onset of motion sickness – just to scribble this entry.

Training was long but useful, tedious only at times, and largely juvenile in a supportable but micromanaged way. While our adventure is absolutely of an adult nature, the fun and games and birthday party ice breakers reinforce my tendency to call the volunteers “kids.” I have yet to offend anyone with my unintended condescension, perhaps since we are all feeling a bit out of sorts and wondering if it was wise to have left the comfort of our mothers at home. Trepidation is usually the other side of the excitement coin, and I’m waiting patiently to suffer from either one. For now, I going to live ten minutes at a time, as is my style, and resume this thrilling game of spades on the way to JFK.

8pm, 28 June, JFK airport

Rachel: Your tastebuds change every seven years.
Rob: To what???
Rachel: Yeah, I’m serious, every seven years.
Rob: Is that why old people eat prunes?

(Re: the forever-elusive and unexplained bathroom logistics in Mauritania)
Rob: If I have to wipe my ass with this [airline] blanket, I WILL.