Palace Life

What's up world? I apologize for not blogging much over the past month. Of course you know I've been traveling and I wrote this travel blog thing that I've been working on and adding to recently so if you're desperate for my writing you can always read that.

So you know what was really really clutch? Morocco. I wasn't expecting to enjoy the Arabic/Muslim culture as much as I did. And it wasn't just the culture that was crazy cool, but the architecture was amazing. If you were on the wealthy side of the spectrum, then you deserved a palace.

In America, a palace is always a hyperbole for the super luxurious. When American's think of a palace, we imagine something so lush and expensive that even the rich can't afford it. A palace is just a money pit that no one really has. Some people can afford mansions, or yachts, or Lamborghini's, but palaces just really aren't are thing.

But then I get to Morocco, and our hotel has palace in the name, and it's fucking huge, and theirs gold and silver and silk and pretty tile and marble everywhere. Now I've stayed in the Ritz, Loews, Sheraton; I mean I've stayed in some sexy hotels; but I've never stayed in a palace. But after only a few nights of staying in a 'palace' I now definitely want to live in one.

Every palace has a tea set, so when you have guests you can properly welcome them into your palace. There's a nice seating area with couches, ottomans, huge rugs, incense, the whole bit. There's room to chill, room to enjoy your tea, room for the French to smoke their skinny little bitch-cigarettes, but definitely plenty of room for anything you need or desire.

Then, not far from the grand lounge, is the bar. They need to be close so you can easily hop between the two. The bar is as extravagant as the rest of the palace of course. The yellow lighting must be dim, and the Arabic elevator music must be loud. The alcohol must be of the highest quality; and if you worry about the price then you don't belong in a fucking palace.

Partying in a palace is a once in a lifetime opportunity, but I can't stop thinking about how I want to do it every night of my life. I feel bad for people who will spend their entire youth without ever experiencing some of the coolest action the world has to offer. Sorry I'm getting off topic.

Keep the cervezas coming and the dirhams flowing as the night matures. Maybe have one of those gross French smokables if you're drunk enough. But as the time pushes passed midnight, the bar begins to thin out, and the loud Arabic singing which never seems to end starts to get old. The best part is still yet to come.

It's not hard to realize that the many of the people leaving the bar aren't going to bed. Some are headed to the nightclub. Yup, every palace needs a nightclub within it's walls. Probably underground, probably not 100% legal, probably a little bit scary at first; but it's there. So outside and around to the back corner we go. We head onto the red carpet, passed the three guards (rendering a confident nod), down two or so flights of stairs, and into the debauchery lair.

A palace nightclub is fucking cool. I can't even be poetic when I say that. If your palace doesn't have a nightclub, like what are you even doing? Anyway, so one thing stays consistent about the club and that's the furnishing, ornate tile and decoration, and the expensive booze. Just like the bar, if you have to worry about the price of the alcohol then you don't belong in a PALACE NIGHTCLUB. The Arabic music is still loud as shit but at least you can dance to it now. Some people dance, some people chill and look at the prostitutes; who are lining the bar dressed up like sorority girls trying to make a few thousand dirham.

I wanna live in a palace. I want a beautiful lounge with ottomans and tea sets and rugs and ceramics. When I go out, I wanna see the wealthy underworld and if I decide to drink it's not going to be Heaven Hill or Natty Light. The palace life is the life for me.

And frat parties are for pussies. Until next time...