FF – Foreign and Female

While this lethal combination definitely comes with its disadvantages in Morocco and in many countries for that matter, it is not without its perks.  

A few of the better highlights:
- Free Taxi Ride: It only happened once, but one afternoon when I had caught an empty taxi to La Mimosas, we stopped to pick up some other people who were going in the same direction (a completely normal occurrence here). They were two gentlemen who seemed very nice and tried to engage me in conversation, but the language barrier prevented most of that. When my stop came up, I attempted to pay the driver, but was stopped by one of the other passengers who said he would take care of it.
- Front of the Line: Aside from the fact that people in Morocco didn’t understand the idea of a queue (a line), I would occasionally find myself being pushed to the front of the line because I was a white girl. This especially paid off at the waterpark where they not only allowed us to go down the waterslides after turning away large groups of guys, but additionally, if there was a line they would call us up to the front so that we wouldn’t have to wait. It was a pretty sweet deal!
- VIP Access: The absolute best perk thus far of being a Foreign Female in Morocco came about on Throne Day when my roommate and I found ourselves stuck in a massive mob of concert goers, most of whom were male. Not wanting to place ourselves in a potentially risky situation, we noticed a group of people up front. Trying to make our way up to them, we quickly found ourselves blocked by three rows of jersey barriers. Noticing a security entrance at the side of the stage we decided to try and see just how far we could take the foreign card. Thanks to my amazing roommate and her impeccable grasp of the language, we had a nice little discussion with security who asked us if we had passes. Politely explaining that we did not but asking if we could still get in, with a smile, they asked us to wait while they conferred. Waiting a few minutes nothing seemed to be happening, so we inquired again. Being asked to wait yet again we just stood there, until a moment later they decided to let us in. Score another point for being foreign and female. We were granted VIP access (basically front row) to a concert with a lineup comprising some of the most well known Moroccan groups the country had to offer.

Determining the Camel Price

Tonight my roomie and I headed over into Old Fes to visit with a family that she knows there. Walking through an area that obviously did not see many (if any) tourists, I felt like quite the spectacle. Finally arriving at the house, we were ushered in, being greeted by a flurry on introductions and the customary kissing. As we were seated, it seemed like the extent of the family was never exhausted, as the house continually filled with new faces and names. As it turns out, 4 generations of family members were all living in the one house.  

Hospitable as always, the traditional tea was poured, and following it was plates of food and bread, LOTS of bread! “Cooli, Cooli, Cooli! (Eat, Eat, Eat! ),” their mom said as she piled even more food in front of my place. “Shbet!” I finally cried, declaring that I was full and would die if I ate another bite. Unconvinced she continued, I refused, and she asked again. Becoming like steps to an all too familiar dance, the pattern of being offered and refusing repeats itself at nearly every Moroccan meal. As all this is going on, numerous conversations in multiple languages are carrying across the table, most of which I cannot understand. That is until an all too familiar question sails my way.

Not realizing that I understand, someone at the table asks my friend in Arabic if I am married. Not even wanting to start up that conversation, I let her handle it and went back to my discussion with their mom about the fact that I REALLY was full. All the sudden I caught wind of a series of numbers being flung back and forth across the table, like a ball in a game of tennis. It was apparent that they were bartering for something, but I hadn’t heard enough to gather the full extent of the conversation. Deciding to switch my focus, I quickly realized that it wasn’t something they were bargaining over,
but someone… ME!  

As I would later come to fully understand, my roommate had begun to sell me off for marriage and they were going back and forth to determine my camel price! I heard the numbers climb, “50” “no” “150” “still too low” and on and on. When the discussion was finally finished and I was about 7 shades of red, it was decided that I had a very high camel price: ALL THE CAMELS IN THE WORLD!  

I have decided that this is a reasonable price, but they have to all be present before I will consent.

A Royal Affair

Holidays in Morocco seem to come out of nowhere. Walking into school the other day I learned that this Wednesday was Throne Day. A fairly significant yet unpublicized event that apparently happens every year around this same time. This Throne Day was especially significant, as the King was coming to Fes.  

In preparation, all the streets had been decorated with flags of all different colors and massive billboards of the King lined every road.  

Throne Day itself, from what I can gather, is a celebration of the current King’s succession to the Throne and the day he was formally recognized as King. (This information may be slightly off as I didn’t wikipedia it ☺ ).

Regardless, the city was a buzz with activity and excitement. The evening of Throne Day my roommate and I were out, walking along one of the major streets when we noticed thousands of people all standing around. Thinking that something must be happening (like the King passing through), we decided to wait around too. Having stood on the corner for over an hour and finding out that many of the people were also waiting because they saw everyone else waiting, we decided to head back home to see if the concert by our apartment had started up yet.

Walking up the street the air seemed eerily quiet and I was beginning to wonder if we had missed it.  Rounding the corner I realized there was nothing to worry about as the entire field was packed with people as far as the eye could see.  Now the only challenge was getting into the crowd and finding our way towards the front.  It was crazy!  Here is a little taste of what we experienced:

BBall

Futbol is the sport of the world, and as much as I admire those who excel at it, I simply do not have the skills.  

In Morocco the situation is no different as I daily pass by fields of kids playing futbol (soccer) wherever they can find a surface to play on. Wishing to join in but knowing I can’t, I press on, longing for sports and more ways to be active. My first weekend in Fes I participated in a Futbol game of adults verses youth at the church, which was a blast, but I don’t know how much I actually contributed to the team…

Spending an evening with friends at the Pharmacie Club, some kids were starting up a game of basketball. Seeing how antsy I was, my friend asked if I wanted to join them. Not knowing if it would be culturally appropriate, I said I was interested, but wasn’t sure if it was ok. They said it was fine and asked the other guys I could join them. They all agreed and I joined in. I had a blast, even though it was obvious the guys I was playing with weren’t used to having a girl in the game, and especially not one who didn’t back down. It felt so freeing (not quite as great as dancing, but probably the next closest thing!)

Crispy!

Valuable Life Lesson: there is no amount of sunscreen that can protect you while spending 5 hours outside during the hottest parts of the day playing at the waterpark.

I apparently had to learn this the hard way, through experience. Having slightly burned only once thus far during my summer in Morocco I figured that I finally had my sun screen application down to a science. Obviously I was wrong!

Today we spent nearly 5 hours playing in the pool and sliding down the waterslides at Dimont Vert, SO FUN!!! A few hours later the memories were still fun, but the feeling had shifted a little as my skin became its own oven, multiplying the intensity of the heat I was already feeling from the sun. There was no mild way to put it, I was burnt, crispified!

Le Glace on Muhammad Cinq

Perhaps one of the best ways to beat the heat in Morocco is with ice cream. Located everywhere, ice cream is hard to miss. However, knowing where to go for the best deal is an art form.

Living in a community where tourists are often ripped off, it is important to know what everyday items are supposed to cost. For example, ice cream should not cost 14 dh (dirhams) as some café’s attest. Instead, ice cream or le glace in French, should be 3 dh for 1 boule (scoop), 6dh for 2, and 9dh for 3. Saada where I live has this reasonably priced ice cream, but the best place to go is on Muhammad Cinq just down from le Poste where there are three tiny ice cream shops located one after the other.

Packed in the evenings the shops are hard to miss and equally challenging to get into, as my friend quickly discovered. Sent in to be the ice cream point person, she managed to make it inside, but soon found herself smashed up against the glass, nose down, glaring at the colorful treats. With no way out and impatient people all around, it was an eternity before she was able to fight above the noise, shouting to be heard and giving up completely on the idea of a queue (a line).

Tasting victory at last, she emerged slightly sticky with two beautiful melting cones of ice cream. Cool, Refreshing, TOTALLY worth it!

Surviving Sickness

It finally happened. After six weeks in the country I finally became incredibly ill. I have graciously been informed that it happens to the best of us, but it was just a bit disheartening because I had begun to think that perhaps I had finally developed an iron stomach. Alas it was not to be as my body decided to reject everything I had consumed for the past day and half. Taking it easy for a day, I rebounded quicker than expected and was feeling normal less than 24 hours later. Pushing myself a bit too quickly I learned early the next morning that all was NOT well and then was sick for two additional days. Learning from my previous mistake I have decided to take things slow… very slow and am cautiously reintroducing food into my diet.

Still Sweet

Quickly become my local hotspot, I once again found myself at the modern French restaurant So Sweet. Congregating after church for lunch, the café was quickly taken over by foreigners. Arriving with my American Family and being joined shortly there after by our South African friends and pastor of the church, I enjoyed a lively lunch. While eating I noticed that my roommates and others from church had unknowingly decided to stop off for lunch at the same place. Moving from one meal to the next when my group disembarked, I was afforded the opportunity to meet a wide range of other foreigners that were both traveling through and residing within Morocco.

Hammamin’ It

Hardly a word one can expect to find in Webster’s Dictionary, but potentially located within the depths of Wikipedia, Hammamin’ It is a phrase my friends and coined to encompass an unforgettable bonding experience.

Hammams are traditional community bath houses that have served as a communal exchange points for centuries. Prevalent in numerous cultures around the globe, it had be a bit daunting for the native western thinker.

Accustomed to the intimate act of bathing alone I will admit that the idea of stripping down in front of a bunch of strangers was anything but thrilling. Overcoming my insecurities to partake in this tradition I proceeded with caution but finally succumbed to curiousity and entered an unknown world.

When in Rome… right?

Okay, so this certainly wasn’t Rome, but the experience was none-the-less unforgettable and surprising enjoyable. I will say that I am now the cleanest I have probably ever been in my life thanks to help from some older and wiser women who were present. Did I mention that bathing in a hammam is a communal experience!

Without giving away all the details because I think the only way to truly understand an event such as this is to experience it yourself, this is basically how it goes down…
-You walk in your respective door (guys and girls are separated!).
-Hand your money over
-Strip down and stow away your belongings
-Grab a bucket and head through a series of three rooms with each one growing in intensity of heat
-In the final room there are two pools of water, one scalding hot and the other freezing cold
-Through a mixing process your desired water temperature is created, then its back to the second room to grab a patch of tile and the splashing and scrubbing commences.

Serving not only as an opportunity to wash the dust of the streets off, Hammams also act as gossip central where family updates, the latest news and tabloid worthy stories are exchanged.

*please note picture is not mine, but representative of the experience

Moroccan Hospitality

Morocco is an amazing country filled with breathtaking sites, wondrous adventures and the most welcoming society of people I have ever met. Flying into the country, traveling around by train, taking tea in a café and even walking down the street are just a few of the many opportunities one has to interact with people here.

Unlike in most western societies, people here are quick to open their hearts and homes to complete strangers. Inviting a new friend over for coffee, a meal or a night is nothing but ordinary. While sometimes a clash in language presents a problem most hosts remain undaunted and will extend as many pleasantries as gestures, pictures and mixed dialogue will allow.

Having experienced pool parties, fine dining and countless cups of tea, an invitation for lunch was just another welcome invitation to an unforgettable experience. Located just outside the sprawling Fes Medina, my friend and I made our way through a less traveled section of town of winding roads and windowless houses. Arriving at our destination we were exurberantly greeted with a kiss and ushered into the house.

Served with drinks and later lunch, she provided us with the very best her humble home had to offer. The longer I live in this land, the more impressed I become with the hearts of the people here. Regardless of their economic status they are quick to extend a helping hand and welcome in new friends.

If I take nothing else away from my time here, I hope it is a hospitable spirit.

Moving Day!

The first of what promises to be many moves came all to quickly today as I packed up all my worldly possessions into a series of bags and drug them several blocks to my new abode.

Having lived in one house for all but the first year of my life, I am not accostumed to moving and was in for a very harsh reality. I have too much stuff!

Knowing that I came over with a few to many items, I had planned to drop some of the weight as time progressed and be down to only one bag when December came to a close. However, reflecting back on this latest move I realize the time to downsize is NOW!

I cannot lug two large bags across the Middle East and into East Africa while still being able to enjoy the journey. Therefore, prioritization is in order, but it is proving to be a tough process.

Learning to live with less is an essential part of nomadic living and along with it comes a required shift in thinking. Everything is replaceable. It is my new motto.

Traveling to other countries it can be tempting to think that they won’t have what you need, but the reality is that unless you are out in the jungle or desert you can probably find nearly everything you could ever need or want it just might take a little extra time to find.

They’re Green!

Rice Krispies. An American staple and classic treat, it is unfathomable that there are people in this world who have not had the joy of experiencing their sticky goodness. Therefore, I am on a mission: To Bring Rice Krispy Treats to the World!

Beginning this endeavor in 2005 when I discovered that my South African friends I was visiting with had no knowledge of the goodness, I have nominated myself as the Unofficial Rice Krispy Embassador to the World! (Seriously, at some point Kellogs should sign up to sponsor me because I am going places!)

With only 3 ingredients and a fairly forgiving reciepe, Rice Krispy treats are versatile, delicious and a Snap to create! Locating the ingredients in the store is generally entertaining since the words for cereal, butter and marshmellows vary from place to place. Finding the proper tools can also be a bit daunting especially since nearly everything abroad is measured by the metric system. This is when it becomes key to simply “Make it work!”  

Here in Morocco, a trip to Marjane (A wal-mart type establishment), was all it took to gather the necessary ingredients. Cooking the krispies on a camping stove was another matter all together. With only two settings, Hot and Hotter, my friendly little green stove is less than ideal for melting mellows, but undaunted I proceeded. I was going to make Rice Krispies, failure was not an option!  

Starting out was a bit rough. On the first attempt the pan heated too quickly sizzling the butter into a light brown color. Cleaning out the pot and beginning again I switched to the smallest burner on the lowest setting and carefully placed the butter in. Watching intently I poured in the unmeasured bags of multi-colored mellows and began stirring. Delighted to be progressing so smoothly, I got a bit ahead of myself in taking pictures and measuring krispies until I smelled the essence of flame. Taking on a slight campfire-esque aroma, I rationalized that the marshmellows were still palatable. Removing the pan from the heat and dumping in the krispies I quickly discovered how ineffective bendable spoons are for stirring sticky jumbles. Switching last minute to a large metal spoon I fought against the solidification process, trying to add in krispies to find the proper sticky to krispy ratio. Never quite achieving the right proportions I finally settled with a near miss and then set about looking for an adequate container to house the goodness. Finding nothing, I reasoned that the best option was simply to leave them in the semi non-stick pot. The result was a 3 inch tall rice krispy round that due to the heat never fully hardened. The unusual collection of marshmellow colors also melded together to form an intriguing glistening pastel green.  

Unusual in color, but familiar in taste, the entire batch was quickly devoured. Another country down, just a hundred or so to go!

Saying Goodbye

Embarking on this adventure across the world I knew that I was saying goodbye to the stability of home and exchanging it for the transience of nomadic living. However, what I never really planned on was how many goodbyes my new lifestyle would entail.  

Traveling through an area you can’t help but meet people. In fact, meeting new people and the sharing of lives is what makes traveling such a wondrous adventure. Yet after a matter or minutes, hours, days or weeks you must inevitably bid farewall to your new found friends, forging ahead to new places and into new lives.  

Living, on the other hand, in one new location, you begin to make a home. Discovering favorite food stops, the best places to shop, learning to get around and establishing friendships. Having the opportunity to live life daily with people you cannot help but bond. Then, when the time to let go suddenly comes all to soon you are left with no choice but to say goodbye.
With each adeau little pieces of your new world fall away.  

The past two weeks I have had to say goodbye to my roommates, new friends, and my best friend here in Morocco. Looking ahead, I know it is just the start of the farewell’s and it gives me a new appreciation for all those who call a foreign country home.  

Living a life where change is the only constant can be a rough reality, I am not sure if I will ever get used to it, and I don’t think I want to.

The Best Group Ever!

Today I had the opportunity to spend an afternoon with a group from a school in California. Having encountered several different groups traveling through Morocco before, I figured this bunch would be no different than your typical American bunch. Wow, was I ever wrong.

This joyous group of six welcomed me into their lives as they opened up their hearts and hands helping me to feel right at home. Swapping stories in the hotel lobby and over lunch at Mc Donalds, you couldn’t help but see the light of Christ shining through as they spoke sweetly with hope. They were exactly the encouragement and inspiration I needed as I found myself growing discouraged and worn out from living in this society.  

It was refreshing to see a group who radiated love for one another and respect for the people of this country. Prayerful and open, I know they’ve blessed the lives of countless people they encountered throughout their travels.

I know they have touched my life and it will never be the same.

At a time when I needed it most, they encircled me with love, treating me like a sister and dear friend. I am blessed to be a part of their family.

No Longer A Tourist!

Completed!!! The following is my submission for my Glimpse Application... Feel free to read it if you want, its a bit long!

Morocco. The very name itself conjures up mystical thoughts of an exotic land full of bright colors, a rich ancient history and endless pursuits of adventure. Romanticized in literature, pictures and movies, Morocco's enchantment beckons travelers from around the globe. First encountering this majestic country two years ago on a school trip, I quickly became enraptured by the sites, smells and sounds. Morocco was unlike any place I had seen before, as influences from Europe, Africa and the Arab world collided to form an extraordinary culture of tradition and grace.

Departing from the airport with the thrill of the train, I watched in wonder as the beauty of the land flowed on. Brown, tan and light green hills rolled by, as sheep were herded along, the tranquility of it all only momentarily interrupted by the passing hustle and bustle of a booming city. No amount of research or reading can fully prepare you for actually stepping foot into another land. Finally arriving in Casablanca, our team walked off the train and into whirlwind of activity. Larger than life, the city loomed, with cabs, cars and motorbikes streaming through town. Quickly we made our way to our hotel and from that point on we never stopped running. Our eight-day excursion towards the heart of the Atlas took us through countless cities and towns, furthering the enchantment and awe of this place. When all was said and done we had toured mosques, robed ourselves in traditional garb, taken tea in Meknes, wound through countless streets in the famed Fes el-Bali, marveled at the imperial grandeur of Rabat, romped through the ruins of Moulay Idriss and watched the sunset from atop the Middle Atlas mountains. By the time we were finished we had 'seen it all,' conquering Morocco in one fowl swoop; we were masters of culture and ready to take on the world, or so we thought.

Returning two years later for a longer stint, I was excited to revisit the people and places that had so captured my heart. "Reentry would be a breeze," I reasoned, naively assuming that my short tango with country two years before would prepare me for living out a summer there. With little idea of what lay in store, I packed up my bags and boarded a plane once more. Hours later I arrived, and wiping the sleep from my eyes, I set out on my next grand adventure.

Driving into Fes, the heart of Morocco, I was greeted with a surge of anxiety and joy as I breathed in the surroundings of my new home. Having spent the least amount of time in this city on my tour before I recalled little more than the McDonalds, two streets and a door. Stopping for only a moment at my new home I had just enough time to toss in my belongings, freshen up and survey our first floor. Then we were off for an evening of fun where I was introduced to new friends and instant family, all helping to welcome me home. Collapsing that evening on my bed I dreamed of the days to come, never realizing the shock that lay ahead.

During my first two weeks in Fes I quickly learned one very important fact: touring through a country is nothing like residing in one. The little I thought I knew was little indeed as I discovered that life in Morocco is more than tea, trains and travel. When living in a new environment you have to learn to play by their rules, adapting a new system of thought and in this case time. I had more than a little adjusting to do.

My first major adjustment was probably time. Life in Morocco doesn't run like clockwork, in fact I can't even remember the last clock I have seen. Instead life takes a softer pace, ebbing and flowing with the natural rhythm of daylight and heat. The city begins to awake around eight with shutters slowly opening and life trickling through the streets. Building to about one activity bustles until the heat wins out and life ceases. Aside from the unknowing tourists and those who have no other option, locals seek out cool shelter waiting until the worst hours pass. Then almost like floodgates opening, Fes teams with life as everyone enjoys the cool of the night. Here in Morocco more importance is placed on relationship than punctuality and I have quickly discovered that plans can seemingly change in each new minute. For a planner like me this is all quite depressing, but I am learning to cope and roll with each moment, adapting the motto "nothing is happening until it actually happens."

In Moroccan society your reputation is everything. Coming from a western background I was taught to be yourself and not to worry about what other people thought of you. I lived my life in an honoring manner and never had a reason to be concerned about reputation. However, after being warned on countless occasions as to how vital the community’s perception of one was, especially for single foreign women, I came to the sobering reality that I had better start paying attention. Always attempting to be culturally sensitive when I travel, I had sought to follow the basic guidelines I was originally given. Yet after a time of open questions at the end of my first week of Arabic class I became gripped with fear as our teacher articulated a laundry list of rules that formed the line between a respectable and loose woman.

These unwritten cultural rules stretch back through time hinging on some of the basic tenants of faith upheld by this vast community. Everything from casually touching your hair, to making eye contact or laughing loudly was an attention grabbing act and could instantly single you out as being loose. Actions intrinsic to American society were suddenly outlawed. Innocent gestures with ones hands, conversing with an unknown guy or putting on chap stick could also be taken as flirtatious activity. Overwhelmed and taken aback by this latest revelation I began to rehearse nearly every step I had taken since entering the country and would certainly be keeping myself on constant check as I continued my time here. Boarding myself up for a day straight I was certain I had unknowing committed one of these seemingly unpardonable actions thereby tarnishing my reputation forever. Regaining composure a day or two later I had found a balance between being me and being respectful of this new culture, stepping forward with a greater awareness that I was not at home and in order to survive I needed to observe first and act second.

Transforming myself into a student of life, I began to observe every detail that occurred around me. From the wide-ranging styles of dress to the differences in greetings I slowly began to adapt and conform, seeking to meld into the Moroccan culture. In a land where the same gender exchanges kisses when meeting and can hold hands when walking, I discovered that the concept of personal space is drastically different from the Western stay-out-of-my-bubble perspective. Traditional cultural roles still rule society and family is everything. Being a single woman traveling alone I am ever more the spectacle and seem to draw a following of stares and murmurs wherever I room. Taking a cue from my sisters here I have learned to only enter facilities where women are present, walk alone only during the day and to keep my eyes from wandering when walking. I realize coming from an outside perspective this may all sound quite archaic and unnecessary and I held a similar view walking in, but after trying to go it my way for a few days I now recognize that survival is based on fitting in, which is already a challenge when you are strikingly white with blond hair and blue eyes.

Having lived in Fes for a month now I discover with each new day how little about Morocco I know and how much more I still have to learn. From nailing the art of hailing a taxi, to washing my clothes by hand, growing accustomed to a squatty potty and bartering with the best of them, I am becoming Moroccan suia b'suia (bit by bit). However, just when I think I have grasped a new piece of the culture I make some tell tale rookie mistake like walking on the side walk, waving my hand in the wrong direction to get a friend's attention or committing an unknown cultural faux pau, instantly bringing me back to reality. No longer a tourist, but not quite a local, I am sitting in the undefined middle ground while continuing to be a student of life, taking in the vast diversity that is Morocco.

Evening Colors

This weekend marks five weeks of living in Morocco, I am happy to report that even now I am still blown away by the sites here. Tonight, it was all about the sky...

... brilliant lights...

...and magnificent colors!

Poulet!

Walking around this area you will notice three general types of dining options.  The most prevalent are cafes which dot both sides of the main road and serve primarily as conversation corners for men.  The next are tiny little 'restaurants' that make 'sandwiches' and usually have a table or two in front of their establishments.  A bit harder to locate are restaurants that have one of two menus.  The first generally consist of paninis, pizza, sandwiches and the like, while the other is roasted chicken!  

In recent weeks we have begun to frequent our neighborhood roticesori chicken establishment where they have nearly gotten to know us on a first name basis.  We always order the same thing, drink the same thing and sit of one of our two usual tables.  Most likely being the only foreign people to frequent the establishment they can spot us coming a mile away.  They also seem to remember what excellent customers we are (we tip very generously) and this time it seemed to pay off in a big way.  Instead of receiving our usual plates of chicken with rice and a side of french fries they brought us all that and more!  Today we were treated to the finer parts of the chicken... the innards!  

Not wanting to be rude we all tried some.  I managed to swallow and we will just leave it at that.  

However the greatest joy of the meal for us was the gift of forks. Usually stuck eating our chicken and rice with spoons, which is surprisingly challenging, today after our waiter brought out our plates of food, opened up the waiting 7up bottles and set out a paper 'napkin' in front of us all he ran next door and brought us each a four pronged wonder. We were a bit taken a back by this kind gesture and I was incredible thankful. Being used to life in the States it is amazing how many of the little things we take for granted.

Learn to appreciate your forks!

A Lovely Night

Tonight I had the best evening walk yet.  Not only had the temperature cooled off today making the entire day more pleasant, but there was also a lovely light cool breeze blowing.  Having drastically cut back on my afternoon/evening walks the longer I have been here mainly because I have grown tired of the staring, pointing and catcalls, I decided to give it another try.  Taking a deep breath and saying a prayer as I stepped up onto the main street I walked forward in confidence.  Trying to relax and enjoy simply being outside, I allowed myself to slow down and carefully take in more sites.  Walking into every women's clothing store on the street for the first time I gingerly made my way down the street across traffic and into my favorite store.  

Getting to that store was actually my entire goal. Via Seta! Nicole and I each bought a shirt from there the other day and they are definitely more of a high end retailer.  I have begun to build a relationship with one of the girls who works there who actually remembered my name, even though I can't for the life of me remember how to pronounce hers.  So helpful and kind she asked if I needed anything, I told her that I was just looking, lingering a while as I contemplated the walk home.  

Departing the store, I made a sport a visiting every store where women were present.  Looking, admiring, soaking up the life I was loving it.  Noticing a large group of women heading down the stairs to a glittering store of glass, I followed suit, discovering what I now hold to be my greatest find on "Happiness".  Yes, the english translation of the major street we live near is Happiness.  Down the stairs and around the corner was a jam packed walkway lined with stores carrying everything a girl could need.  Surely annoying a few salesmen, I touched everything and bought nothing.  I also seemed to surprise a few people, we don't exactly live in a big tourist area, so we are still a bit of an oddity.  

Walking out I was feeling great and appreciating being out and unbothered.  Passing our chicken place I stopped for an icecream, juz boule (two scoops) for s'ta dirhams (6dh = $.83!).  It was lovely!  A wonderful end to a relatively uneventful day.

Oh No!

It finally happened!!!  After 5 weeks of being in Morocco the moment I have been dreading since I set foot into this country has finally come to pass... 

It is 80'F outside and I am wearing a sweatshirt!!!

What has become of me?!?  Where did my I-wear-a-T-shirt-even-in-the-snow cold tolerating capabilities go?  I vowed that I would never cave to the pressure or succumb to adjusting to the heat here.  To my credit though, their is a slightly cool breeze, which is obviously to blame for this.  However, I will say that this sweatshirt is quite comfy!

Listen To Your Mother...

... Wash The Dishes!!!

If you don't, you might just end up with some unwelcome visitors

Cafe Christina

Bonjour! Welcome to Cafe Christina.

The perfect little spot and the favorite among one very special person here.  Critics are raving about the "quaint and delightful" atmosphere this cosy little cafe has to offer.  

"Breakfast here is a real treat!  Enjoying my little cup of sunshine, I peacefully watched the happenings of the neighborhood unfold as the sun rose warming my face and soul."

"The birds were chirping; the view divine!  If it weren't for school, I would never leave."

Today has been brilliant!  Returning home from my run I cut up, sqeezed and enjoyed a Starbucks mug of naturally sweet fresh orange juice!  I love Morocco!

Sbah l-hir Fes

Good Morning Fes!

Each day I discover something new about this city.  Yesterday my friend Emily and I were actually remarking about the fact that the longer we are here, the less we realize that we know.  This morning was no different.  

Waking up at 5am, I hit the ground running extra early this morning to meet up with Jennifer, another American who has recently arrived in Fes for a month long stay.  Planning to meet up at 6am near her apartment I left my place at 5:30ish just to make sure I was there on time.  With a posted sunrise at 5:17am I was surprised to find it dark when I stepped outside.  Not thinking much of it, I was off and making my way through my neighborhood, across the unusually empty main drag that separates us from the next section of town.  The street was lit and the sky was just starting to lighten when the lights went out.  A bit stunned, I watched as all the street lamps went dull.  Apparently just after 5:30 they shut off, good to know.  

Continuing on I made my way down the barren streets to the artistically cultivated boulevard where I was meeting up with Jenn.  I had never seen the streets so quiet and calm, it was almost like I was living in an entirely different city.  As we ran I watched as the city began to wake up and life filled the air.  City workers were out sweeping streets, cafe's were setting out chairs and a few fellow runners were enjoying the last moments of peace of the day.  It was marvelous.  

Returning home I was exhausted, but refreshed.  I am always in awe how a good run can complete wipe you and out recharge you at the same time.  Now it is time for a shower, breakfast and some quiet reading on my balcony! 

Arabic Amusement

Monday I began a new session at school, Salam I.  Essentially a month long intensive class that is supposed to help you develop your understanding, comprehension and pronunciation of Arabic.  It has been interesting, overwhelming and confusing.  Not content with the normal route, I get the added adventure of a third language.  Joining me for class each day is a fun couple from Argentina who primarily speak Spanish.  I am actually quite happy to report that my Espanol is receiving a much needed workout.  However, what it means for class each day is that about 75% of the communication is conducted in Arabic, 20% in Spanish and a measely 5% in English.  It is no wonder my English language skills are rapidly declining!  All of this makes for a serious growing experience and as my mentor succinctly stated, 

You haven't really learned Arabic until you have Cried!

I will admit that on Monday I came seriously close to breaking down in class, but thankfully I managed to hold it together.  This was of course before the previous pearls of wisdom were tossed my way otherwise I may have been half tempted to let out a tear.  Then at least I could say I have really learned Arabic!  

Overall the class has been going fairly well.  Learning to read and write backwards with a new alphabet is interesting, not to mention dealing with sounds that are not present in the english language, like the flem sound that accompanies some H's.  I finally have that one down, but still have problems with one of the other H's and rolling my R's.  My teachers keep telling me it will come with time and practice, I am not so confident.

Working through the booklets in class there are times that I cannot help but laugh.  Learning such helpful phrases like "Hello, how are you?" "My name is ______. What is your name?" and the always useful, "and this is my husband."  Comical at first it seems that nearly every practice conversation in the books involves a married couple, so I have had to create an imaginary husband, given him a profession and a hometown.  Now if I could only get through a conversation in class without cracking up!  The teacher isn't helping any either laughing when we get to those parts knowing full well that I am very single.  Glad I can lighten the mood for everyone!  Now if only I could understand half of what we were learning...

Growing Disenchantment

At first they were cute.  All brown and shiny with their little antennas that wiggled back and forth as they scurried about.  But now, especially in light of last night and a not so welcome appearance in my bedroom, I have grown increasingly disenchanted with the little buggers.  While not exactly 'Man's best friend,' I do feel that cockroaches have received a bit of a bad rap.  In fact, I was quite content coexisting with them for weeks, only occasionally running into the little irritations that are bound to happen in any living situation.  That was until they broke the cardinal rule of space sharing, Crossing the Line!  In this case the line was the staircase.  The outlawed area, anything past the first step, definitely not beyond the 5th step and absolutely not onto the upstairs floor.  Apparently though they have become a bit cocky and forward deciding that they should have full run of the house.  After one shot out from my under my bed all pleasantries were abandoned.  Needless to say there have been some casualties along the way and it is entirely possible that Fred is dead.  

....mondays

I think Garfield said it best...
Every aspect of today had the ring of "one of THOSE Mondays." The kind of Monday where you are certain life would have been better if you had just stayed in bed and slept right on through to Tuesday. Waking up tired and trekking to a new day of arabic class was less than thrilling. Not to mention feeling completely overwhelmed and stupid as everyone else present seemed to understand every question being hurled at us.

My exact sentiments while sitting in class...

Today is not a good day!

I don't understand what I am learning. I know I am not saying it right and I cannot seem to pronounce these sounds properly. It is really frustrating! I am expected to know things I never learned. Ugh.

The rest of the day pretty much carried on it a similar fashion.

Attacked!

Creeping, crawling they made their way under the door, across the floor and around the bed. Flanking all sides they had their offensive strike planned out perfectly. Eyeing one to another all stations silently signaled their readiness.
Waiting for the captains call they stood like statues as the moments passed painfully by. Then with a knowing nod they were off!

The Mission: Find Dinner.
The Object: To Eat.
The Target: ME!

While I didn't actually see the critters who mauled me, I bare the burden of one wounded in a fierce battle. Quite literally covered from head to toe I have given up counting and have resigned myself to surrender. Waving the white flag it is all I can do but to keep from itching the pesky remnants of a night gone awfully wrong when I was apparently the tastier of the bunch with my roommate escaping virtually unscathed by the encounter.

Next time I leave town, I am bringing bug spray and my own sheets!

Hola Asilah

Asilah small but mighty is a costal town with a tumultuous past but calming presence. Having heard raving reviews of the "quiet little romantic town" with "stunning beaches" we decided it was worth a stop. Well that and because all of our other plans had fallen through. Regardless, Sunday morning we hopped a train headed south and jumped off for a few hours in town.

Deciding to tour the medina first we exited the train and made our way through the station and out the doors. Not planning on taking a taxi we were unaffected by their amusing absence, but bewildered by the starkness of the lot. Sure it was tiny, but not a single car was in sight, neither for that matter was another soul. We had clearly made a rookie mistake evermore labeling ourselves as foreigners. All of the other experienced and most likely more observant travelers had crossed to the other side of the tracks and gone immediately down through the grass towards the road and beach. Shrugging it off we continued our walk into town generating quite a bit of curiosity from the locals who were surely wondering how we had become so separated from our tour group.

Eyeing the beach and small port we pressed on to the fortified walls surrounding the medina and holding back the raging seas. Walking through the massive stone arch we entered into another time and place. The glistening whitewashed walls and spotless streets felt at odds with the rest of Morocco and even the sandy beaches lying just outside. Moving further in, the peaceful lines of white were only periodically interrupted by bursts of brilliant colors taking the forms of murals and flowers adding ever more to the enchantment of the city. Feeling much more like a European postcard and containing more tourists than I am comfortable with, I loving dubbed the town "little Espana."

Tortillas!

Round, flat, delicious little pieces of heaven that are a staple in many Latin American diets, Tortillas are universal, or rather they should be! Here in Morocco and I would venture to say nearly the entire continent of Africa over (save for one known 'Mexican' restaurant in Cairo) tortillas are unheard of. Describing one leads to rather amusing conversations generally revolving around pancakes, don't even ask, the story is not worth retelling. Those few ex-patriots who know the intricate delicacies of the tortilla periodically recreate it in the privacy of their own homes, savoring the perfectly balanced flavor and slightly crisp exterior, but to those on the outside a tortilla-less world is a bleak one. The world is especially dark and dismal when one has had the pleasure of partaking in such a treat and then is mercilessly snatched away from them (ie. me!). Scouring the local hanutes, bakeries, and grocery stores had led only to disappointment and heartbreak. Therefore you can imagine ones joy when waltzing down the Boulevard in Tanger all movement came to a screaching halt with the words "tortilla con queso"! Tortilla with Cheese! Not only did they have Tortillas, but it said they made Quesadillas! Yum! We instantly snagged a table, waited more or less patiently for our waiter and then ordered. What seemed like an eternity later he returned again with our order. Looking down in wonder we hovered over the plate, "tortilla con queso". Let's just say that my order was perfect, it takes a lot of talent to mess up an orange juice. Tortillas on the other hand... I guess they are subject to a bit more interpretation. Looking down at the food, which frankly I was thankful that I didn't order despite my recommendation of it, we struck with only one thought, what is it? Ever remaining the optimist I ventured to say that maybe it was just a different type of tortilla. "It looks like egg," was the only reply. Thinking the same thing but refusing to verbalize it given the expression of disgust across my friends face I kindly retort, "No, it isn't egg." "It's egg." I tasted it, it was egg. So much for a tortilla con queso. It was certainly something with cheese, but despite the round shape not much else was all that tortilla-esque. Ah well, Welcome to Morocco!

Tanger

Tanger (or Tangier for the english speaking people) is a coastal town residing on the northern coast of Morocco eyeing Spain across the Straits of Gibraltar.  For well over 2,000 years this strategic town has been the desire of many looking to conquer this region of the world.  "Phoenicians, Romans, Visigoths, Arabs, Portuguese, British," and more have all left their mark on this well worn town as thousands of other still flock to it this day.  In years past it was known for its scandalous nature and wayward settlers who dealt in drugs, sex, and money.  Being incorporated into mainstream Morocco the city has settled down and now is an expanding industrial powerhouse.  

Neither African, nor European, nor Arab, the culture in Tanger stands alone.  Among first time visitors fresh off the boat from Spain, Tanger can seem overwhelming and ghastly.  Everyone is after your money and the majority of friendly faces on the street are really touts trying to direct you to the 'right' hotel, ie. their hotel!  However, if you can push past the hustling the city has much to offer with soft yellow sand beaches, palm lined walkways and cafe's galore.  

Walking off the train, we were taken aback by what has to be the most beautiful train station in Morocco.  Making our way through the doors and around the masses of people we spotted the beach off in the distance.  Wasting no time, Hil and I beelined to the shore.  We had reached our destination and it was glorious!  Not wanting to move we spent a good hour walking up and down the beach, sinking our toes into the luscious sand and playing in the waves.  As our stomaches began to growl we unwillingly departed from the water making our way to solid ground and on a comic search for a hotel.  Having been warned by our trusty guidebook about the numerous "guides" and "friends" who will seek to help you find your way, we decided to pursue a place on our own.  With no shortage of hotels we began making our way up and down the Blvd inquiring about prices for double rooms and whether or not they included a hot shower.  Less than thrilled with our findings we switched to looking for the youth hostel, which we came to find out closed down a year ago.  A bit frustrated we decided to call off the search and eat!  Finding a lovely Moroccan restaurant across from the water we dug into dishes of tagine and couscous!

Feed up with the hassling and hustling, we asked our friendly waiter if he could recommend a reasonably priced hotel.  He was more than happy to oblige and recommended a hotel just up the street ( a street we had already walked up nearly 6 times - we were becoming regulars).  Without thought we decided to check it out.  However, its hidden location proved near impossible to find and we had nearly given up when we stumbled upon it.  The fact that we had the name wrong at first probably didn't help either.  Walking in it was anything but a dream, but we didn't care, we only wanted a safe place to drop our bags and stop for the night.  Receiving our cheapest quote so far we settled and threw our stuff in our less than sparkling room.  Then it was back to the beach!

Relaxing, Beaching it and enjoying the cool breeze we spent the rest of the evening taking it all in.  I also took in tons of photos, some of which I will hopefully be able to post soon.

Train to Tanger?

Welcome to Morocco, where plans change every 30 seconds!

After an unplanned delay, see July 4th, we were off for a weekend adventure.  Well, we thought we were off for a weekend adventure.  Having staked out the various travel options the day before, my friend Hilary and I had planned to catch the 8am bus to Chefchaouen.  Arriving early at the station I encountered a lady who was looking for a group of foreigners also headed up to Chefchaouen, I mentioned that I was not a part of the group, but I was headed that way as well.  When Hil arrived we proceeded to the counter to book our tickets.  The kind lady behind the counter asked if we wanted seats on the 11am bus.  Figuring we simply had not been heard we repeated our request for two seats on the 8am bus.  It was full!  Thanks to the lovely group of foreigners who had taken up a considerable number of seats.  Not to be defeated we decided to head to the train station and basically catch the next train to somewhere that sounded nice, regardless of what happened, we were leaving town!

Arriving at the train station few options sounded exciting.  However a train was headed up north to Tanger at 10:50 so we decided that would be our best option.  With time to kill and tickets in hand, we settled in for breakfast at the neighboring cafe.  Attempting to be effective with my time I tried to complete a few more post cards, an activity that lasted all of about ten minutes before curiosity got the best of me.  People watching is a fascinating pastime, even though here in Morocco I feel like more of a fish trapped in the fish bowl with everyone seemingly watching my every move.  Before long my observations were starring me directly in the face as a foreigner walked up to our table.  In a gesture of international kindness we greeted one another and began the all too familiar conversation of where we were from, going, living, doing, etc.  This exchange of pleasantries usually lasts a matter of minutes with both parties continuing on, but with time to kill and no place to go we invited the young man to sit down.  

In the States people don't just usually walk up and sit down at your table uninvited, but when you are overseas every foreigner instantly becomes a friend.  I like to lovingly refer to them as "my people".  Each one provides a small reminder of home and the familiar.  I especially enjoy hearing about the various adventures across the globe and the language/cultural blunders that are common to all travelers.  Today our new friend was Simon, a 19-20 year old kid who knew 3 if not 4 languages and is an international wilderness guide.  He has scaled numerous mountains, has a passion for the outdoors and a knack for story telling.  Quite the character he made for a unique break while waiting for the train.  

When 10:30 rolled around we moved out to the platform and boarded our train.  Settling in we began to relax until we began talking with a guy who had entered our compartment.  Innocently inquiring into where he was headed we were taken a back when he responded with Marrakesh, a city in the complete opposite direction!  Informing us that we were on the wrong train, we quickly thanked him and then bustled along.  Making our way just feet down the isle we began to have second thoughts, asking another we were told that this was indeed the right train.  Sighing a breath of relief we searched for a new abandoned compartment and once again made ourselves at home.  A few moments later we were joined by an American girl who was traveling through Morocco.  Exchanging greetings and formalities we discovered that we were headed to different locations, and again her destination was south of ours instead of north.  She informed us that we were on the wrong train.  Panicked we grabbed our stuff and booked it out of the compartment, this was getting ridiculous and the train was going to be leaving any minute!  Finding yet another person, a Moroccan, we asked one final time exasperated by the varying degree of responses we had received thus far.  He kindly told us that we were indeed on the CORRECT train and that we would switch trains at Sidi Kacem in order to board a train heading north.  Drained by the events of the morning, we found yet another empty compartment and plopped down in what we determined was our final resting spot just as it pulled away from the station.  It no longer mattered where the train was headed, we were simply leaving town. 

Burgers, Beer & Belly Dancing?

Before I get myself into trouble, I did not partake in any of it!!!  

This 4th of July I was supposed to be enjoying a relaxing evening at the beach in Tanger (for you english speakers - Tangier), but that fell through when some unexpected drama occurred.  Welcome to Morocco!  where plans change every second and nothing is for sure.  

Instead, I was invited to join up with some fellow Americans for a BBQ a la' Moroccan style.  Set to kick off between 6 and 7, we arrived at 7pm.  Yes, take note, I was LATE to an event!  However, we still managed to be the first guests there!  Welcome to Morocco!  where time runs on a very different and relaxed schedule.  We hung out and spent time getting to know each other, since 4 of the guests had just arrived in the country early that morning.  

As the night wore on, it looked exactly like your typical American BBQ with burgers cooking away on the grill, an assortment of drinks in peoples hands (I had water and sprite!) and music wafting through the terrace.  Throughout the evening I had to keep reminding myself that I wasn't in the States, but in a foreign land.  The food was excellent with enough burgers, hot dogs, and chicken to feed a small army!  Oh, and they had the best spicy grilling sauce on the chicken, delish!  For dessert we had plates full of ice cold watermelon, incredibly sweet and refreshing!  

After dinner the lively conversations continued as we all swapped stories of our adventures in Morocco, strange situations we encountered and tips we had picked up along the way.  We also spent quite a while talking about dancing, but sadly no dancing actually materialized.  However, on a side note, the girls here in Morocco certainly know how to dance!!!  At a pool party a while ago some of them were trying to teach my friend and I how to move... we didn't do so well.  

4th of July!

Happy 4th of July!!!

It is currently the 4th of July and wafting in through the door is a burnt smell however, it is not from fireworks, but trash! Here in Morocco we have a 4th of July but not a nation wide celebration of independence. This fact has led to some occasional glum faces around the American camp here, as many of my friends have taken turns reminecsing over what they will miss most about being away from America during this time. As they were talking I began to think about the nonchalant approach I was taking to the whole matter. It isn't that I don't like the 4th of July, I have actually had some of the best memories celebrating the 4th. It is just that I began to realize that I have missed numerous 4th of July celebrations, especially in recent years!

Growing up, back in the days before personal fireworks were banned in Kirkland, our whole cul-de-sac would come together usually for a potluck dinner & BBQ and then a home grown fireworks display. I was always so anxious to start the fun that I never wanted to wait until it was dark. Pop-its kept us occupied for a while as we went through boxes and boxes of the little white popping packets. Then it was the sparklers! All the kids would take them and run around waving them about, writing our names, and making fun designs. Then when we were finished we would run through the smoke clouds that settled in a neighboring driveway, pure bliss! Finally, when the grown-ups conceded that it was indeed dark enough to begin, we would all line up our chairs around one side of the cul-de-sac and watch as our own private fireworks show began. Over the years we had a few close calls with tree branches and mis-firing pyrotechnics, but all it all it was a beautiful event.

The summer before my sophmore year, I was down in Oaxaca, Mexico for the 4th of July. Disappointed to be missing out on the joys of blowing things up back in the States. Our boys set out to find some fireworks of their own, returning with some type of local hand made explosives. Unsure of the safety of this undertaking, the group opted to light them on the rail road track behind the wall of the house where we were staying. I don't remember much of the actual explosion except that no one was hurt and I think it may have attracted the attention of some local authorities.

The following summer I was down at Boot Camp in Florida watching our own private professional display of fireworks and chowing down on piles of watermelon with my team that was preparing to head out to Tanzania for a backpacking trip. It was glorious and one of our only relaxing evenings we had during training. At about 3am though we were all feeling the watermelon and I think the entire team made a pre-dawn trek out to the bushes for a bathroom break!

The last 4th that I remember spending locally was either last year or the year before when I friend of mine and I decided very last minute that we were going to head over to the Bellevue Square Park to catch the fireworks display. The whole evening was fantastic as we found a glorious spot on the grass, enjoyed a beautiful display, got stuck inside the parking garage traffic for over 30minutes.. or was it an hour? Then we took a scenic drive home and listened to the most random assortment of music ever.. including appearance of Barbie Girl and a song from Aladdin!

My 4th of July's have certainly been varied if nothing else and I am sure this year will be the same! The current plan is to head up north for a weekend adventure, so we will see what today brings!

Watermelon Weirdness

If you haven't heard, it is stinking HOT here in Fes!  And what could possibly be a more refreshing snack than ice cold watermelon, yum!  Both my roommate and I ended up craving some of this local delicacy a few nights ago when we went off in search of an ice cream first and then decided to talk a waltz passed our fruit & vegetable stand.  We arrived, gave our greetings to our produce guy, YES, we have our OWN produce guy! then made our selections.  One small-ish watermelon.  Our produce guy picked it out for us, presented it for our examination and then proceeded to weigh it.  B'shal? we asked (how much?). He responded with what sounded vaguely like "hums mia" which we took to be humsa mia.          Either way the price didn't make sense.  Using our limited understanding of Arabic we knew that humsa was five and mia was hundred, but 500 dirhams for a watermelon was a bit much!  (1 USD = 7.2 DH)  

    Noticing our confusion, he pulled out a calculator to show us what he meant.  The numbers read 250.  How you could get 25o or potentially 25 from what sounded like five hundred was beyond either of us.  Even more unsure of what he was actually asking for we debated amongst ourselves.  Not anticipating what seemed to be a high price for watermelon we counted up our money and found that we were seriously lacking!  Realizing there was still confusion he kindly tried again, this time showing us 2500!  

      Now we had absolutely no idea what the price was but we knew we didn't have enough.  Not willing to give up though we resolved to walk to a nearby ATM, telling the fruit guy that we would be right back, in english of course... incredibly helpful since he didn't speak a word of English!!!  Laughing at what had truly turned into an amusing situation we gathered our money from the only english speaking ATM on the road and made our way back across 3 lanes of traffic to get our watermelon!  

     Walking back down the row we inquired, in English, about our watermelon, thankfully he understood and smiled as we prepared to pay him.  A look of shock quickly spread across his face though as we attempted to hand him the 250 dirhams.  In the very wildly animated exchange that followed he explained that for that sum of money we could have ALL the watermelon and that our one watermelon was only 25 dirhams!  

     We all ended up laughing at the language and culturally botched exchange.  As Nicole and I left in ongoing fits of uncontrollable laughter, I was certain our watermelon story would be told and retold up and down the shops for hours if not days and years to come.  After the whole incident though he gave us each free plums and now every time I visit he always hands me a few yellow plums after every purchase.  

I have also now learned what he had been trying to communicate.  He was actually saying "khmps miah" which actually means 500 but what he didn't include was rials!  Apparently no one actually says rials when they are referring to that form of currency, you are just expected to know.  A rial is 20francs or 1/5 of a dirham.  Therefore 500 rials = 25 dirhams!  They really should have this printed somewhere!

Trapped

Note to readers: this post is actually from June 14th, while the sentiments it expresses are completely true, I am doing much better than the writing would suggest.

My hands are raw, my eyes are damp and my heart is weak.  For the past few days I have been "fine".  Trying to stuff away the emotions that have been surfacing as sunset looms.  Telling myself to smile, adjust and deal.  Putting on a 'happy' face or hiding in my room, I have been looking for different ways to cope, but nothing seems to be working.  

I have been hesitant to write about the less then pleasant side of adjusting to life here in Morocco, because I didn't want anyone to worry about me.  Even now as I sit typing I wonder if it is the right thing to do.  There is certainly no cause for alarm or concern, life isn't sunshine and smiles all the time (well... I guess here it is always sunny... but you know what I mean!).  

Having been to Morocco once before I entered with the naive assumption that I easily slip into Moroccan life and culture.  In the beginning everything went smoothly, I adjusted to the time difference effortlessly, loved the food and quickly worked to establish a basic routine for myself.  Life was great!  However as time wore on the romance of this exotic land began to fade as cultural and societal precedence took center stage.

The freedoms I have in the States as a single female do not exactly apply here, and as I alluded to before, the instant loss of such freedoms can be very frustrating.  Having to be in by dark, feeling stifled by the culture which watches every move you make, living under a set of double standards, it has all become too much to take!  Being locked inside when sounds of life resound on the other side of the cement walls is torture as my balcony transforms into a lonely perch from which I can observe, but not participate.  I feel completely trapped!

I don't know how women here can live like this!  I was talking online with a young Moroccan lady I met a few days before.  Both of us were home and bored, I was on the verge of tears.  Cautiously I vented my sentiments of being stuck inside to her and surprisingly she responded with similar feelings.  In order to be a 'good' Moroccan girl there are certain rules you are expected to follow.  Every culture has standards and guidelines under which society operates, but sometimes they simply seem unfair!

A New Name

note to readers: post originally from June 16th - yes, i am a little behind with my postings!

"What's in a name? That which we call a rose

By any other name would smell as sweet." - William Shakespeare

The importance of a name can vary from person to person and culture to culture.  Here in the Middle East and more specifically Morocco, ones name seems to be of the utmost importance.  Your surname (last name) can indicate your prestige, area of origin, and your family's reputation/connections.  As one highschooler shared with me, in some areas/families when a young person becomes interested in dating someone the mother's first question is always for their last name, so that they can determine the suitability and worthiness of the match.  

So far in Morocco everyone I have asked has known the meaning of their name.  I find it both fascinating and incredible that each is aware of the deep history and roots from which they come and are often very eager to share this knowledge with you.  A bit embarrassed that I don't know the full meaning of my own name, I have been reluctant to share. 

Today though, I became Moroccan when a new friend gave me the greatest gift I have received since arriving, a new name.  Jamila.  In Arabic it means "beautiful" and I was a bit shocked to receive such a gift and such a name.  I actually view the whole moment as quite ironic as I would say the young lady who gave me the name is far more beautiful than myself, but apparently she didn't see it that way.  Regardless it was an honor and certainly a defining moment of the trip thus far.

pasta antics

Going Italian in Morocco while speaking English... just another typical night. If you haven't already caught the theme of tonight's dinner it was spaghetti with pasta sauce, cheese from Marjane (in other words we don't know what kind of cheese it was) and I made my usual cucumber & tomato salad which has recently been spiced up with onions (adventurous I know!). Having already completed the intricacies of my vegi creation, I was sitting at the table in the other room waiting for Ryan & Nicole to finish up the main course of the meal when a fit of laughing erupted from the kitchen. Rushing in I found Ryan searching the floor for the rouge noodle explaining: 

"You throw the noodles at the wall to see if they're done." Ours obviously were NOT sticking! "But I know they are done," Nicole states as she slips one into her mouth. 

"They are supposed to stick!" Ryan retorts laughingly. 

"Maybe these noodles are different," suggests Nicole. Trying again he flings a noodle on the opposite wall, just above the tiles, luck at last! Flipping around he hurls a noodle at the wall above our camping stove (yes, we cook on a camping stove everyday!) going, "see, it sticks!" The noodle certainly stuck... about 6-7 feet up the wall! "Oops, I should have thought about that first," Ryan concludes as we all smile and stare at the stylized noodle on our wall. 

I will admit that it was quite a stylized noodle though, very artistic! We retrieved the noodle successfully and had a wonderful Italian dinner, complete with all the entertainment cooking brings.

Welcome To Morocco!

Ok, ok, I can hear you all saying it... "Welcome to Morocco"? But Christina, don't you realize you have already been there for weeks, a welcome seems a bit outdated. Overall, I would agree with you as some days it feels that all I have ever known is Morocco while some moments I actually have to remind myself that I am here. However, when I have those "Oh, yes, I AM in Morocco" moments a phenomenon that I like to call "Welcome to Morocco!" occurs.
Usually occurring at the least opportune times, these moments occur in fashions that words cannot describe, but are always justifiable by the phrase, "Welcome to Morocco!". Ants crawling across the floor after you just killed 50 of their closest relatives? Welcome to Morocco! When even the cold water runs warm - Welcome to Morocco! When the dryer flings lint all across the kitchen (sorry Emily) - Welcome to Morocco! When the plans you made 2 minutes ago change for the 30th time - Welcome to Morocco! When empty taxis refuse to stop for you, but full taxis will stop just to find out where you are going. Welcome to Morocco!
In Morocco, nothing happens until it happens. You can plan, but only with the understanding that your plans won't work out 99% of the time. Living here presents you with two choices: 1) to grow increasingly frustrated with the often perplexing everyday flow of life, or 2) to shrug it all off with a smile and shout WELCOME TO MOROCCO!!!