Black Plague

The black henna is very bad. Seeps out through your feet. You have been warned.

Posted 9 juin 2004 12:03 AM(GMT) | Comments (2)

Fez

Posted 2 juin 2004 11:59 PM(GMT) | Comments (0)

Casablanca and Rabat

Posted 30 mai 2004 11:59 PM(GMT) | Comments (0)

Fez, Rabat, Volubilis, Meknes

Off for a few days...anyone want a fezzi hat?

Posted 29 mai 2004 09:29 PM(GMT) | Comments (1)

Observations on the Bus

The bus rides to the center or to home have become my favorite parts of the day. I often find myself trying to supress a smile as I politely decline the advances of the young men who hover around me in Gueliz. Then I push along with everyone else to get into the sticky hot bus (there is no rhyme or reason to the pushing, even if the bus is completely empty, just as everyone honks at the green lights because you can). There are few seats on the bus, just handlebars above and to the sides. I find myself pressed up against fellow passengers, taking in their scents; I note that the man in front of me who smells of cow leather must work at a tannery or a shoe store.

It's interesting to note the diversity of Muslims on the bus. In front of me two girls converse; one is covered completely except for her face and hands, while the other is wearing a tight, revealing top with tight trendy jeans. They seemed close friends. Most Moroccans, I've found, are generally very respectful of the way in which their fellow Moroccans choose to worship or dress.

An elderly Berber woman, with faded tattoos on the back of her left hand and on the spot just above where her eyebrows meet, climbs aboard. Despite the shakiness of the moving bus, she walks steadily. The large cloth-covered package balanced on her head never wavers. In Arabic, she asks for a seat, but an middle-aged man who is seated refuses. As she begins to become annoyed, two young men offer their seat to her. Then, all is quiet again. I turn again towards the window to watch the buildings, all red and brown, passing by.

Posted 29 mai 2004 03:36 PM(GMT) | Comments (0)

Good Decision.

I stopped dreaming some long time ago, always holding myself back because I thought that an idea wouldn't be prudent, or would cost too much, or would interfer with some DC-plan I felt needed to be accomplished in a particular manner, by a particular age.

But after seeing so many stars in the expansive Saharan sky, I knew I couldn't be content to live my life just coasting by, holding on to what I have because I'm too afraid that what I really want, I might not be able to attain.

I decided upon a few things while sitting atop a sand dune in the desert. And although I'm sad at the little heartache that is required whenever one thing is given up for another, I know that in the end this is what will make me happiest. This is my decision. Not fate's, not destiny's, not his, not yours. Mine. And I feel happy and good to make it.

In other news...I was elected as a Georgia delegate to the Democratic National Convention! It it wasn't for school and the convention, I'm almost certain I would stay in Morocco or move to the south of Spain.

Posted 29 mai 2004 03:18 PM(GMT) | Comments (0)

Cat-Calls

Mental note: Do not wear ivory Gap shirt again. Causes 13-year-old boys on bikes to give me saucy glances while blowing loud, sloppy kisses my way.

Posted 27 mai 2004 03:21 PM(GMT) | Comments (0)

Medersa Ben Youssef

Posted 27 mai 2004 01:24 PM(GMT) | Comments (0)

Camels...and Rockin' the Kasbah

I slept in a tent with Mona, Amanda, and Jason. I don't think we fell sleep until around 3 a.m. or so, and we planned on waking up early to watch the sun rise.

We awoke a little after 5 a.m. and joined the other to climb an eastern sand dune. I took a photo of us in anticipation, their faces pink against the blue of the sand dunes shadows. I trekked off by myself to find the highest dune I could find. Admittedly, I wasn't very impressed by the sunrise (I find North African sunsets to be more beautiful), but I loved the early morning light. I got some great shots of some dried out trees that dotted the landscape using my slide film.

Jafar called us for breakfast. The breakfast tent had a bright golden rod fabric hanging from it, and plump colbalt pillows were propped up against it. I got a (hopefully) gorgeous shot of A using the tent as a backdrop. As for breakfast, I still wasn't allowed to have anything but bread or tea, but the bread and tea have never tasted so good. Moroccan mint tea is something that I found to be bitter when I first arrived, but I've really come to enjoy.

We left around 7:30 a.m. or so by camel, with my camel at the helm. Most others were still complaning about the camel ride out to the desert, but I found the ride pretty easy (I guess because I've been on a horse often enough to do well on a camel?). Camels, by the way, don't seem to spit as much as they seem to slobber. The two-hour trek was gorgeous. (Black and white film this time.)

An hour at the Hotel Sirroco to shower and back, and then off to the kasbah at Ait-Ben-Haddou. We got there in the late afternoon, and the late shadows cast upon the deep red kasbah was breathtaking. A few of us climbed up the kasbah around sunset; we got a gorgeous view of the pink and purple canyons from the top of the kasbah's tower.

I took one of my favorite photos of the trip: a picture of the tower
a dried-out tree, and Jafar jumping off from the tower steps.

Sidney and I, beat, fell asleep pretty early after tucking into our room.

The next morning I went up the kasbah for another trek. I reached the top just in time to find a bunch of guys with chainsaws had just cut down the tree next to the tower! I showed them the photo I had taken the day before; they said they were told to take it down because it was interfering with people's view of the tower.

We headed back to Marrakesh and had a yummy (but way too big) lunch at Chawarma. (Highly recommended cheap, cozy eats.)

Posted 24 mai 2004 11:59 PM(GMT) | Comments (0)

From the Bathroom Floor to the Saharan Desert

The plan was to get up at 7 a.m. and get to Tammagroute (sp?) to check out the ziwaya/library. I woke up at 6 a.m., slightly sick, but I was hopeful that some immodium would make the illness go away swiftly. I woke the others up at 7 and began to get ready for breakfast.

By 8 a.m., I was exhausted. I took more ibuproferine and immodium. I was pretty much limited to lying on my back, as sitting up was too draining. I had a fever, but I felt fine. I told the others to go on without me, but to pick up some medicine if they saw a pharmacy along the way.

The turn of events gets blurry after their departure, but this is what I've pieced together:

I do remember getting really sick soon after they left. The kind of sick where you just move everything into the bathroom because you know you're gonna have to camp out there for a few hours. At one point I remember laying down, but then not being able to get back up.

When Sidney got back from the daytrip, she went into our room to use the bathroom. According to her, she opened the door and hit my head. She called for help, and then they brought me to bed and called for a doctor.

All I remember is being so cold. The bathroom tile was cold. The bed was cold. Everything was so cold and hurt my body all over. Sidney and Jafar got all the blankets they could and put them on me. I was a little girl all over again, and I kept asking for more blankets and "aquita." I was really concerned as to whether I'd be able to go to the sand dunes. Jafar said to wait and see.

Finally a doctor came to check me out. Jafar, Dr. H., and the Moroccan doctor were in the room during the examination. The doctor said I had a nasty case of food poisoning. He wrote a few prescriptions for me, but since it was Sunday, it was difficult to get them filled. When the drugs finally arrived, he administered the shot and left. I began to feel better soon after, but I was still exhausted and dehydrated. But God bless them all -- everyone was so nice. My friends stopped by to cheer me up and tell me how funny I acted when I was sick, the hotel staff came by to ask how I was feeling, and the instructors did as well.

But going out to see the sand dunes was the one thing that I had looked forward to doing while in Morocco. I had even re-read The Alchemist, imagining the desert the shepard crossed as he went in pursuit of his destiny. I've always had a childlike fascination with the Sahara, and I was so sad that I had come so close and wouldn't be able to see the dunes for myself.

But God bless Dr. H. He arranged to have a 4x4 come pick up Jafar and I, and take us out to the dunes -- if I was feeling well enough. By early afternoon I was tired, but still getting sick too frequently to go. By early evening I felt exhausted, but able to go. The others had already departed by camel, but we would meet up with them at their campsite.

We drove off towards the dunes as the sun was setting during a sandstorm. During the hour and a half drive, Jafar and I had the most amazing conversation. I felt incredibly touched to be able to open up to him and vice versa. I'm sure that he will be a lifelong friend.

We got to the tents just as the others were having dinner. Afterwards we heard Moroccan jokes (I thought it would be of the "two Moroccans and a camel walk into a bar..." variety, but they were actually moral-type stories that weren't very funny), listened to Saharan music, and then we all walked into the dunes to watch the stars.

I have never seen so many stars. If you make a circle with your fingers and held it up to the sky, you couldn't count the number of stars within the circle. I sat atop my own dune, and realized how small a part I was in this great earth. I am just a small speck of sand in the desert.

I feel like I'm at a crossroads right now, and not certain whether its rational or even reasonable to go after the things I want out of life. Do those things I've been hoping for even exist? After that evening -- after talking with someone who has traveled and really learned about people and really loved...after seeing the Saharan sky and sleeping on the Saharan sand -- I'm certain that these things I want from life do exist, and I'm even more certain that I'm deserving of them.

Posted 23 mai 2004 11:59 PM(GMT) | Comments (1)

Drive to Zagora

The drive to Zagora was too long. God bless the makers of Dramamine. Please contact me about becoming an official sponsor of my next trip to Morocco. (Will wear official shirts, possibly tattoo.)

There was an incredible view along the way (amazing gorges, canyons, etc), but I was asleep for much of it.

I highly recommend Hotel Sirroco when staying in Zagora. The pool and patio are gorgeous, the waiters are goofy and charming (think Moroccan Hugh Grant types), and the hotel manager goes out of her way to help.

After a feeble attempt to make a phone call to the States, I walked back to the hotel and found Jafar awake by the pool. We talked for a few hours, mostly about Spain and television and politics and books. We were yawning, but we were both too exhausted to get up on our feet and walk upstairs to our bedrooms. I didn't feel great, but I figured I was just tired from the drive and that the trembling in my stomach would just go away.

Posted 22 mai 2004 11:59 PM(GMT) | Comments (0)

University

Today after classes and couscous, I went with Salma to check out her university. Everyone was so friendly; all the students wanted to introduce themselves and ask me about the US, politics, the education system, how I found Morocco. A group of girls even asked to have their picture taken with me. I'm going to try to head back and make a few presentations to various classes, and then open things up for a Q&A session (especially to answer questions about international education).

During the short break between her classes at the university and the language center, we headed to the Jaamlfna (alternately spelled "Jaam el fna"). I got a gorgeous pair of shoes, a lantern, three pieces of jewelry, and 7 shawls -- all for about $50. I almost feel bad. (Almost.)

After the Essaouira snafu), I wanted to vent to someone outside the group before heading into the Sahara with these people. I called Jafar up and he seemed game to listening to me vent. Besides -- I could help figure out what food to buy for the trip. We walked past the French Market (on the way showing Wendy, Ian, and Rachel to a cozy little restaurant for dinner), and gabbed while picking up yummy Moroccan and Spanish tins and packages. We lapse into French, Spanish, English, and a little bit of Arabic while chatting, which of course makes me feel much cooler than I really am.

As we stood at the fruit stand, he said in a very serious tone, "you owe me 100 dirham." He got out a little red book at showed me a note he had made. He had lent me money before I was able to get any dollars exchanged. I burst out laughing, completely caught off guard by his loan shark tendencies. I paid for the fruit.

Posted 21 mai 2004 11:59 PM(GMT) | Comments (0)

Essaouira

Today we went to Essaouira. I told Salma that we were leaving at 8 a.m. "American Time," i.e., the van would leave with or without us at exactly 8 a.m.

As if just to make me look bad, no one else showed up to the meeting spot until 8:15 a.m. Salma was the only Moroccan who was going. We made a short pit-stop at the train station to pick up a friend of Wendy's who had come down for a short visit from Spain. (Mental note: his name is not "Fred from Amerca", but rather Ian.)

Upon arriving at the coast (marked by white-washed buildings with royal blue shutters), we were dropped off at the main gate at which point we were supposed to break up into little groups, explore town, and meet up again in the evening before heading home. Sidney asked if Salma would instead guide her around town for the day. But since I had planned to go explore the Portugese fortifications instead of go shopping in the town, and Salma (of course) had agreed to show Sidney around for the day, I decided to split from the group and head out on my own.

I headed down the main avenue and found myself after on a few blocks upon sand. It seemed odd that the beach would reach so far into the town of Essaouira. Then I saw a sign that said that the area was a shooting location for the movie The Kingdom of Heaven, and only then noticed the extras in 12th century garb and various argrarian props that lay around town.

I headed straight for Skala du Port. I took tons of gorgeous photos from the top of the ancient Portugese tower, from which I had an impressive view of the blue and white city of Essaouira, its fishing harbor, a group of small islands, and the magnificant teal-colored ocean.

I climbed down from the tower and then went shopping for a bit (got a nice Hand of Fatima and managed to tear myself away from a 1910 Moroccan photograph that I almost bought), and then headed up to another fortification to get another view of the port.

At around 2:30 p.m., I met up with everyone and we all headed to the beach. The water was so deliciously warm; I went out for a short swim even thought the day was windy and a bit cold. (And I won't name names, but someone on the trip forgot her bathing suit and ended up swimming in her bra and panties. And everyone was so worried about me showing skin!)

Me with Salma:

Headed into the Sahara for a few days. Will ride my first camel!

Posted 20 mai 2004 11:59 PM(GMT) | Comments (1)

Class

Arabic class typically goes something like this:

Teacher to Student 1: "How are you?"
Teacher to Student 2: "What would you like to have?"
Teacher to Student 3: "Where are you from?"
Teacher to me: "What's your number?"

Today was the first day that my Arabic teacher didn't ask for my number. I consider the day a rousing success.

Posted 19 mai 2004 03:27 PM(GMT) | Comments (0)

Palais el-Badi

After an Arabic class and a lecture on Islamic law, we headed out to the Palais el-Badi. It was built between 1578-1602 by Ahmed al-Mansour, and then stripped away by Moulay Ismael in 1696, who used the materials for his palace at Meknes.

The ruins (now the favorite spot for nesting storks) were amazing. The palace stretches on for several city blocks. Inside one room was the Koutobia's minbar (was would be pulled on Fridays for sermon), along with several wooden panels displaying the intricate geometric work of the Andalus artisans. Of course, I forgot my camera.

The guides at the palace weren't very knowledgable about the construction of the place (preservation isn't done very well by museums here), but from what I can gather visually, there was a circulatory syster for water. (Mental note to go pick up a book on the palace.) You could see evidence of second and third stories, but I wasn't sure how high the original structure was. No one seemed to know anything more than an educated guess.

We went down into the dungeon and navigated through the maze of pitch black passages. I couldn't see a thing but it rocked.

Also saw Palais de la Bahia and Dar Si Said. I would check out the former, but the latter only if you have time.

Posted 18 mai 2004 08:26 PM(GMT) | Comments (0)

Upkeeping

I'm adding entries for the days that I missed when I get around to it, so be sure to scoll back.

I might as well introduce you to people that I'll be mentioning:

• Salma - The girl I'm staying with here in Marrakesh. Her Arabic is better than her French, but her mom's linguistic ability is reversed. What often happens in the home is that Salma tells her mom the word in Arabic to her mom, who then translates it into French for me.
• Amanda - Kick-ass feminist girl. Also happens to be a friend of Claire (a gal from work). Extremely valuable for her internal GPS system; never gets lost in a souk. Going with me to the coast.
• Shrum - Lives with Amanda. Surprising amount of force hidden away in her unassuming and adorably cute 5'3" stature. Also going to the coast with me.
• Mona - Grad student; nightclub partner-in-crime; the only American Muslim I've met thus far.
• Adam - I know him through Dr. Allen. Very nice guy. Is picking up Arabic at a ridiculous rate.
• Ben - my vote for "most likely to stay in Morocco." Has the same camera as me, so we try to outdo each others' photography.
• Jonathan and Jason - teaching kids American slang. Hilarious, typical Georgian guys.
• Sidney - Half-French, Moroccan. Very prim and proper, aloof.
• Jafar - Our Euro companion. Utterly adorable. Imagine a Portugese Woody Allen on speed. Says "ay-yai-yai" constantly.

Posted 18 mai 2004 04:03 PM(GMT) | Comments (1)

Red Light, Green Light

Marrakesh traffic is amazing. It is this well-oiled machine in which mopeds, taxis, and Fiats navigate around each other at amazing speeds, largely ignoring the suggested yellow lines on the road.

Red lights are sometimes heeded by moped drivers, though not usually. This makes crossing the street an interesting challenge for pedestrians. One can pick out the Moroccans from the French and especially from the Americans.

When the red light changes to green, all motorists honk repetedly. Moroccans, who are pretty liberal with their time (when I ask Salma's mom to wake me at 6:30 a.m., she wakes me up at 7:15), are suddenly impatient when it comes to a green light. If you are not out of there way within a millisecond, they begin to honk the horn. Even three cars back, drivers expect the other cars to be out of the way the second the light turns green.

Posted 18 mai 2004 02:12 PM(GMT) | Comments (0)

Ana B'nina

Favorite mistakes thusfar in Arabic class:

"My name is Sidney -- thanks be to God."

"I am American -- and by the way, I am delicious."

More to come, I'm certain

Posted 18 mai 2004 02:09 PM(GMT) | Comments (2)

Ourika Valley

We drove into the Ourika Valley to see the tomb of Setti Fatma. As we left the "red city," the scenery turned from the earthen clay tones to the golden hues of harvest. Gold gave way to green as we reached the valley, which receives the runoff of the still-snowcapped mountains.

We stopped at a souk in the valley. As we had sweet mint tea (a-tay) and doughy white bread with vegetable soup, we listened to the music of the rural Berber people. I've tried to keep myself from getting sick, but I'm certain the tea will be the end of me -- I didn't see a single source of fresh, clean water in the souk. Hopefully my Mexican stomach won't be bothered too much by the flora.

We progressed further into the valley on the way to the tomb. We past by the ruins of several mansions; these summer homes were destroyed a few years ago in a sudden flood, and hundreds died. I heard a story of a "Mr. Gold" who was warned by the local Berbers that the beautiful valley would be overrun by the river in the near future. Mr. Gold scoffed, since the river was but a mere trickle and the region had been in a drought for more than a decade. Little remains of his once sprawling estate.

Once we reached the village of Sitti Fatma, I discovered that Sitti Fatma's tomb is at the top of a cliff. A very steep, tall cliff. (Our guide forgot to mention this part.) Before the climb, we girls found the nearest "W.C." to empty our bladders...

Let me interrupt this for a moment to say that all the glamour and exoticness and mysteriousness of Morocco is suddenly lost when you find yourself in a dark cave with a hole in the ground, covered with filth and smelling to high heaven, masquerading as a toilet. Remove all images of Penny Lane, replete with black hat, leaving her sunglasses at the ticketing counter.

After the unpleasant squatting experience, we began our ascent. A pregnant woman in a jalaba whizzed past us in heels, no less. (Do women who choose to wear a veil ever make exceptions? It seemed a bit ridiculous to hike the steep climb in such attire during the monsterous heat.)

The view was spectacular. The cliffs towered over us, and the waterfalls were incredible. You're reminded of tales from Greek mythology, of Atlas, who was once able to hold the world on his shoulders, petrified to form Morocco's Atlas range. An Arabic "thanks be to God" seemed very apropos, as the view left no doubt in my mind that such an incredibly complex creation could come from anything less than divine.

On the way back to the van I saw a chained monkey. The monkey kept leaping up, trying to bite onlookers, but then being yanked mid-air by his chain. I then remembered the puss-yellow face of the man with a monkey in the Jamaalfna. These are definitely not animals to be kept in such type of captivity. I'm not sure that my paying or not paying the monkey-keeper would prevent the abuse from happening; it seems that only the government can step in and stop the abuse.

We stopped in to see a bread mill run by the water of the nearby river. A simple wooden tool rattles a bag and funnel, allowing a few grains of wheat to pass on top of the spinning stone wheel. For a coarser or finer grain, the wheel is simply lowered or raised. Simple, efficient, clean.

I feel asleep on the way back, despite our driver's wreckless driving. On the way to catch the Bus 10 to go home, I got only one cat-call this time. (Yay!)The guy began to walk with me, speaking in Arabic, French, Spanish, and English in order to get me to talk to him.

"I want to have....an intimate relation with you," he said with a French accent.

"I don't think so," I scoffed.

He continued, and after politely but firmly telling him to leave me alone, I lied and told him I was married with two kids.

He stopped, and I continued walking.

Then: "Want to make it three?"

Posted 17 mai 2004 09:35 PM(GMT) | Comments (1)

Ghanouan Music

This morning started out with an Arabic class. It was the first time that I didn't have a sinking feeling in my stomach when the "ustad" directed his questioning at this "taliba." I'm at the point at which I can initiate and carry a short introductory conversation, but not at the point in which I can give directions or haggle in Arabic.

I am so very tired today -- especially so after having walked back to the "New City" from the Jaamifna. The Jaamifna is overwhelming, and something not to be attempted without a firm understanding of exactly how much you should (or are willing to) pay for items. On my list of items to buy: a Moroccan tea set, a painted stool or mirror, a bronze hanging lantern, and a piece of jewelry with the "Hand of Fatima" on it.

On the way back Sidney (my half-French, half-Moroccan friend) and I walked arm in arm, talking about the status of women and our overall impression of religion and culture in Morocco. She was someone who I didn't expect to become friends with, but it's very hard to not be smitten by her.

After the market (the "souk"), I went to the ALC to see a Ghanouan musical performance. The instrument that the Ghanans (and Berbers) play is a simple, guitar-like contraption that consists of a single string made of pulled intestine. The sound that emits, however, sounds much more like that of a woodwind. I was a bit amused to see women completely covered really shaking it during the more spirited parts of the concert.

I took the bus home (this time without getting lost) and got home around 10 p.m. Salma's mom was just getting around to making dinner, so I helped her in the kitchen while praticing my Arabic. ("You're not American...you're Moroccan!" And then Salma's mom would double over with laughter.) Moroccans are just so genuinely excited and happy to share their lives with others; Salma's mother told me she didn't know what they would do after I left.

We had dinner at around 10:30 p.m. I've been watching channel M2 during dinner (the lotto drawings are my favorite part of the programming -- prime opportunity for me to practice the very difficult Arabic numbers). Much of the day's coverage focused on the May 16, 2003 terrorist attack in Casablanca.

I don't know how the Moroccans do it -- they get up at sunrise for prayer, and yet they don't go to bed until about midnight. I usually do some leisure reading for a few hours -- and then I'm up again at 7 a.m. Granted there's a small nap in between, but I am absolutely exhausted. I'm looking to heading to the coast to even out this tan. (I have developed a distinct tanline at the ankles, neck, and forearms.)

Edited on May 17th

Posted 16 mai 2004 07:07 PM(GMT) | Comments (1)

Tin-Mal

Posted 15 mai 2004 09:29 PM(GMT) | Comments (0)

Meskina

In Morocco, Friday is couscous day. Families start a big batch of couscous, go to Friday sermon at the mosque, and then come home for the weekly couscous feast. I had planned to arrive at Salma's by 1:30 p.m.

I took Bus 3 as instructed. Salma had pointed out where the bus would drop me off, but she didn't say that it took a circular route to get there.

As soon as I realized that the bus had strayed from the path with which I was familiar, I got off. I thought that if I walked back to the last block that was familiar to me, I'd be able to find my way home.

I found myself at a 5-point corner that was very familar -- the only problem was that I couldn't remember which road would lead me home.

So I bought a phone card and tried to call Salma. No luck -- her cell phone is disconnected. I tried to call her mom -- no answer. I tried to call the center. Nope. The whole time men were bothering me, saying things to me, coming up to me and following me, not leaving me but an inch or two of personal space. I ducked into a teleboutique -- and my earring broke as soon as I put the telephone to my ear. After a long day and no clue of how to get home, I finally broke down in the telephone booth.

After about a half hour, I finally remember the name of the hammam near the house. In a desperate attempt, I asked the man attending the boutique if he knew of the hammam. He said it wasn't too far and gave me directions. I jumped in a taxi and arrived home safely, but an hour late for couscous.

The worried family greeted me at the door. "Where were you?" they asked while hugging and kissing me.

"Meskina Jennifer!" I pouted, my eyes tearing up, unable to remember how to say that I got lost. The family couldn't help but burst out into laughter at my display: I had essentially shown up on the doorstep and said, "Me poor thing!"

The family still laughs and calls me meskina whenever they get the chance.

Posted 14 mai 2004 09:29 PM(GMT) | Comments (0)

No More Wahm

Only one thing is forbidden, I was told when I turned in my check back in March: you are stictly forbidden from riding a moterbike. Of course today, my first full day in Morocco, I arrived to class by moped.

Today's Arabic lesson ended up being more about life than about dialectical Arabic. Wahm, is a form of imagination, but insinuates that one builds upon premises that don't exist. Hence, wahm loves judgemental stances. When you build an incorrect or paranoid assumption and then make someone's fault (which everyone is bound to have) support your false assumption, you take yourself away from reality. The correct response is to investigate, or better yet -- assume the best. Perhaps this will be the biggest lesson that Morocco has to teach me.

At the French market, I had a harrowing episode of bargining gone horribly wrong. The shopkeeper became very angry and menacing, and no amount of French could get me out of it very easily. Hopefully I'll get the hang of shopping; for now, I want to avoid it completely.

This evening we went to the cafe and I ordered my first qahwa bil-halib. (Jittery Joe's, I've left you for another coffee)

After coffee, we walked to the medina, which is the original part of a Moroccan city. The sun was low in the sky, only intesifying the red of the medina's clay walls.

Once in the medina, we walked another 10 minutes to the souks and an intense, open plaza called the Jaamelfna. Heady food smells, snake charmers, monkeys, ghanouan music surrounded us on all sides. We twisted through the thick crowds to head to Cafe France, which has a panoramic terrace with a gorgeous view of the sprawling market as dusk set in. We waited until the evening adan was called, when the speakers announced the call for evening prayer and men walked briskly towards the mosque. I felt so privledged to be there, and especially so for Sindney, whose father was born in Morocco.

Posted 12 mai 2004 09:39 PM(GMT) | Comments (0)

Marrakesh

The travel to Morocco was grueling, but rather pleasant. I hadn't realize that we had a six hour layover in New York; I placed a call to Brina in hopes that maybe she could stop by and have a cocktail and relish in my Penny Lane-ness (replete with wide brimmed hat). But Brina was off being a reporter, and so I sat down and got into some good reading: The Lovely Bones, the Economist, and the New Yorker (note to media: please don't dignify Samuel Huntington's xenophobia by giving him more than a paragraph's mention in your magazines, and especially don't give him 7 page articles in which he can just expound unsupported beliefs). And in what seemed like just a little while, it was suddenly time for us to board. The first few hours went by quickly due to friendly banter with fellow passengers, tots and adults alike. They put on the in flight movie around midnight and I fell asleep for the first time in literally days...

I woke up at some point after the movie ended. The cabin was dark; everyone was asleep. I had forgotten that there were that many stars in the sky; I forgotten how expansive the sky and the sea were, and how minute we are in comparison. I fell asleep again and woke up to see the coastline of Morocco as we flew into Casablanca.

As the plane was pulling into its gate, I heard the flight attendant say on the intercom in French that it was 12 degrees celcius. I look at myself and my fellow travel mates, all of whom had dressed for 30 degree weather.

I can't express how much at home I immediately felt upon looking at the landscape. The fields of wheat, the grinning brown-skinned children, the large cacti that look like agave -- it felt like a part of Mexico had been annexed to North Africa.

(Is the sky so much bigger here? The sheephearders and their flocks seem so small by comparison. I am so small and haven't seen but a small speck of the world. I couldn't but help of Larry and a photograph he took in Mauritania of a man and then red, red landscape behind him.)

We stopped somewhere for a bit of bread, mint tea, and espresso coffee. (The to-go version just means you can take the cup, saucer, and spoon with you, so long as you promise to give it back when you return down the road.)

The world passed by me in the bus, first golden wheat colored, and then red, and then adobe and green. We arrived in Marrakesh and were heralded by an sea of palm trees, which then lead the way to the well-manicured avenues of Marraskesh and its gorgeous architecture.

So now we're waiting at the center (couscous feast!),waiting for Salma...

More to come.

Posted 11 mai 2004 01:43 PM(GMT) | Comments (0)

Not packed yet.

Going out with your friends to see "Mean Girls" and then completely reevaluating your packing (i.e., dumping content of suitcase all over floor) in the wee hours before your flight leaves is not a good idea.

Posted 10 mai 2004 05:40 AM(GMT) | Comments (1)