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!!!

Going Apes!

No real adventure is ever complete without its fair share of horse play and monkey business.  Today we all took a break from our UNscheduled lives for a day trip up to the mountains and a much coveted break from the heat!  Meeting up in Ifrane we decided to get right down to business piling into Matt's car for a swift jaunt further into the Mid-Atlas Mountains to get some personal primate interaction.  

The trip itself is truly a tale as we squeezed 7 adults into a smallish-mid sized sedan (think the size of my car at best), we have all become quite cozy with one another during our time here to say the least!  Our ride began quite joyously with questions and curiousities buzzing throughout the car in anticipation of seeing real monkeys roaming free.  However the carefree moment was quickly halted when a seemingly random police roadblock presented itself.  Having encountered numerous such stops in the Middle East before I simply sat back and waited out the exchange - not as though any of us really had a choice in the matter.  A group of cramped foreigners was evidently a site and we were held to the side while Matt was questioned and asked to provide every piece of identification and validation humanly possible.  Catching only one in about every 100 words of Darija being spoken, I didn't actually know what was being shared, but body language and tone was enough to indicate that something was amiss.  Sitting silently I prayed for a peaceful and easy resolution.  A short while later we were allowed to pass with a warning.  Matt explained a few minutes later that we were in violation of 2 laws, one of which he had never heard of before.        Nonetheless, we were free and headed once again to see the Monkeys!

Unsure of if there would even be any monkeys (technically apes), my eyes began scouring the trees for all signs of movement and life.  As we approached the primate pad I spotted the first fur ball, "A MONKEY!" I shouted!  I was so excited!!!  Seeing monkeys in real life is WAY more fun then seeing them in the zoo.  Pulling into the gravel lot we found that we were not the only interested visitors.  Several other tourists both native and not were checking out the apes who were casually sitting on rocks and playing in the trees.  Evidently used to human presence they were relatively unaffected by our arrival instead focusing on picking insects off one another.  

    With the introduction of a round of bread the hills became alive with the sounds of Monkeys.  In a fashion that shames all of our modern communication devices, word spread about the feast and bushes came to life as trees rustled with the movement of the monkeys.  In a fairly evident hierarchy of food protocol the elder primates indulged first with minor squables among the youngsters as time wore on.  Despite clear posted warnings against feeding the primates some visitors couldn't resist - we however heeded the warning, mainly because we didn't come prepared with bread.  

     The apes were quite appealing and charming as they played, howled, and cared for one another.  There were several primate families in attendance making for some sweet and memorable moments.  Several monkeys (yes, I am using monkeys, apes and primates all interchangeably!) decided to try their hand a mechanics as they checked out the inner workings of a nearby automobile.  Packing only a monkey wrench they determined there was nothing they could do for the questionable piece of metal that contained these rather peculiar looking pink primates.  

    Joining into the fun was truly irresistible as their playfulness and curiosity was contagious!  Running about, swinging from trees, and calling to one another the apes were quite entertaining and amusing.  Some of the primates opted for a more relaxing route as they lounged about perched on rocks, nested snugly in branches or hitching the ride on the back of a loved one.  The petite primates definitely stole the show and the hearts of everyone watching.  Their cute little furry faces and actions were beyond precious and led one to feel like they had stepped into an issue of National Geographic!  

   I could have spent hours watching the apes interact and live out life.  Every action they took was interesting and they were each so photogenic!  (I have TONS of pictures!) However, it is important to be reminded these are still wild and unpredictable animals.  One of my friends was nearly peed on by a seemingly innocent monkey hovering quizzically above us.  We all quickly learned to not only watch what was going on on the ground around us, but to always check the branches above, just in case!