Last night, I had doughnuts for dinner.

This was not my choice.

Yes, doughnuts are a tasty treat. They are sugary. They are fried. They go well with coffee and make a nice afternoon pick-me-up for crappy afternoons that require improving. However, they are not dinner. At least not in my book.

But, for the last, 4 days, I've been living with a Moroccan host family in Agadir, and thus I have little to no control over my meals.

Let's start at the beginning. Ever since April, when I visited a wonderful organization here in Agadir, I've vowed to return in the summer and begin an internship with them. June was pushed back to July, July to August. Truthfully, I was beginning to enjoy the routine of my life in Rabat, but my lease ended at the beginning of August and forced me to make a choice. Weighing the pros (a chance to do in-depth, one-on-one interviews with single mothers; a change of pace; exploring southern Morocco) and the cons (moving my massive amount of things; finding lodging; finding Arabic classes; stepping (leaping) outside my comfort zone), I decided that I would seriously regret not seizing the opportunity to challenge myself.

Once that decision was made, it was time to make some more. Most pressingly, where to live. Finding an apartment is a hassle, to say the very least. Especially alone. Especially as a foreigner. Especially not knowing the city. This was not for me. What I really wanted was a homestay, but with no contacts in Agadir it would be difficult to find one.

Meanwhile, I looked around online for Arabic classes in the area. I found the website of the local university's Arabic as a Foreign Language department, and called to see if I could work out some private tutoring. The man who I spoke with, Abdelsalam, was extremely nice and helpful. When I inquired about arranging a homestay, he suggested I stay with him.

This was a MAJOR RED FLAG. A random man in a city 10 hours away (marital status unknown) offers up his home to a young foreign woman. I mean, really.

But as we corresponded in the following weeks, I learned more about him. Yes, he is married. Yes, he has 2 children. Yes, he has hosted students before. Granted, these things don't preclude sketchiness, but they did assuage my nerves a bit.

Finally, it was time to move. Abdelsalam was speaking at a conference in Fes, and had offered to pick me up in Rabat when he passed through on his way home so that I wouldn't have to take all my junk on the train/bus combo to Agadir. Again, I am not stupid enough to get in a car with a strange man for hours upon hours. He said his family would be with him, and, if they weren't, I was prepared to bolt.

The day I was supposed to leave Rabat (also, the last day in my apartment), I received a call from Abdelsalam, saying his father was sick in Fes and he'd be delayed a bit. Perhaps the only notable thing about this was that I expected things to go smoothly.

So, I was homeless. Fortunately, I have wonderful friends who provided me with both emotional and material support. My friend Gabi, a non-Fulbrighter working in Rabat, offered up the spare bedroom in her beautiful apartment, which I gladly accepted. Serendipitously, her apartment is only about half a block from my old apartment, and both buildings have elevators, so I was able to move my belongings with minimal hassle. I settled in to her place and waited for Abdelsalam to let me know when he would return to Agadir.

Nearly a week later, I received a call from Abdelsalam. They'd returned to Agadir, and so I could move whenever I wanted. No ride. I had to move my stuff on my own. Crap.

It would have been impossible for me to board a train and transfer to a bus with all my belongings, and so I used the extremely efficient, extremely reasonably-priced messenger services the train company offers. I sent 33 kilos for 120 dirhams (15 dollars). Why don't we have things like this in the US?

With my large suitcase out of the way, I was prepared to board the train the following morning. I bid my farewells to my wonderful roommate-for-a-week Gabi, and was accompanied to the train station by Jackie early Thursday morning.

In order to get to Agadir from Rabat, you must first take a 5 hour train ride to Marrakesh, the train's final stop. Then, you need to cross the train tracks in Marrakesh and take a bus operated by the train company to Agadir, another 5 hours or so. When I arrived to Rabat's train station, the vendor informed me that the Agadir portion was full, completely full all day.

Dejected, I weighed my options with Jackie. I could buy a ticket for tomorrow and spend another night in Rabat. I could go to Marrakesh and make my way by grande taxi. Or I could go to Marrakesh, spend the night with my friend Rachel, and set off the following morning. I decided on the later, and set of on my voyage, mentally waving goodbye to Rabat and the six months I spent there.

Once in Marrakesh, I met Rachel and was whisked away to her beautiful apartment. Among the Fulbright community, she is known as having a taste for the finer things, and she didn't disappoint, taking me for wine and an appetizer buffet at Grand Cafe de la Poste, followed by a dinner at a restaurant I could have sworn was in San Fransisco. Or course, she knew everyone everywhere we went. Of course, she was effortless fabulous. And, of course, I was sweaty from the train and wearing an faded skirt from Old Navy. Typical.

When we returned to the her apartment, I met her roommate Iman, whose family lives in Agadir. Iman would be bumming a ride to Agadir the following morning, and offered me a ride as well. However, the driver wanted to leave at 8:00 am, too early for Iman, so it was just me and this random friend of a friend of a friend, cruising to Agadir. After the experiences I'd had so far, I couldn't help but go through a laundry list of things that could go wrong on the final leg of my voyage.

As it turns out, I had nothing to worry about. Dunya is extremely friendly and kind. She studied in Switzerland and speaks fluent English. And she brought her dog along for the trip! We chatted and shared a thermos of coffee as we drove the winding road from Marrakesh to Agadir. Occasionally, she would talk on her phone (sometimes two at once), steer, and shift the gears all at the same time, which sent me into a state of panic, but mostly I felt safe in her hands and happy to have avoided the bus.

About 4 hours later, we arrived at her family's house, located on Agadir's bustling corniche. It was Friday, and so I had couscous with them. On the road, we'd called Abdelsalam and arranged a meeting time. Dunya had pronounced him "nice-sounding," and told me if he seemed weird when we met him, I could stay with her family until I found something more permanent. Thank goodness for protective Moroccans. And so, I was picked up by Abdelsalam (after Dunya gave me a wise nod of approval), and driven to the house of my new host family.

The family consists of Abelsalam, a university professor, the mother Fateeha, an office worker, a 9-year-old daughter, Kawtar, and a 12-year-old son, Anaas. The house is nice and fairly spacious. I have my own room, although I'm fairly certain I evicted Kawtar. She doesn't seem to mind though; I filled my iPod with Hannah Montana and she's been stealing it ever since.

By Moroccan standards, they are great about giving me personal space. Unfortunately, they adhere to normative Moroccan ideas about feeding guests. For example, the day I arrived, I'd just eaten couscous with Dunya's family. I told them this, and they promptly presented me with a beef tajine, insisting that couscous is digested quickly and I'd be hungry again soon. I've gotten better at refusing second portions, but I have no control over what's put in front of me, hence the doughnuts last night.

All in all though, it's been a great experience so far. I am well outside my comfort zone, but I don't regret making the decision to move. Soon, I will start my internship, and with that comes the chance to do interviews. And so my research is moving along. In the meantime, I'll keep studying Arabic, keep reviewing for the LSATs, and, hopefully, we won't have doughnuts for dinner again anytime soon.