Someone in my neighborhood got married tonight. Evelyn and I were sitting in our courtyard studiously avoiding doing any homework, when we heard the sounds of tambourines and ululations. Rahma, our housekeeper, immediately ran out to the balcony that overlooks the street, with Evelyn and I right behind her. A large group of people surrounding two trucks were slowly making their way down the street. The first truck held a live ram and assorted other foods, the section had what looked to be gifts and flowers. The people following the tucks were all dressed up, and the women were singing, clapping, and ululating. It was so cool. Rahma, Evelyn, and I just stood there smiling at each other and the people below. Later, my sister Sarah came home and we learned that the bride was only 15, and the previous moments lost much of their initial shine and wonder. Morocco is an incredible experience, sometimes wonderful, sometimes disturbing, and sometimes overwhelming, because every day brings random new events like this one.
Speaking of overwhelming, last weekend, AMIDEAST took all of us in the program on a trip to Meknes, Volubilis, and Fez. This trip was intense, first because all thirty of us were traveling together in close quarters, and also because Fez (where we spent most of our time) is a city designed to produce sensory overload. I won't talk much about Meknes, because although we saw some really cool things, like the underground prison where king Moulay Hassan housed the poor souls captured by Barbary pirates until they could be ransomed off to their fellow countrymen. In truth, we were only in Meknes for a few hours because it was a Friday and everything was closed. In Rabat, Fridays are pretty much like every other day of the week, stores might close for a few hours in the afternoon, and you see a lot more guys in caftans carrying prayer rugs on the street, but nothing major. In Meknes, people are more religious, and the city shuts down Friday afternoons as everyone is in the mosque. Anyways, I hope to go back to Mekens and give you a more detailed account them.
Volubilis was awesome. It's an ancient city first inhabited by the Romans, and later by Moulay Idriss, the founder of Fez. The site if full of gorgeous ruins, including complete pillars, carvings, and tile work. Our guide told us that it was incredibly impressive, the shape Volubilis is in, given the fact that people used to use the stones, columns, and land from old Roman sites to build houses, mosques, and farms. I would also add that the fact that Volubilis is in such good shape is astounding given that (since this is Morocco) there is virtually nothing fenced off in the whole premises. Visitors are free to climb over the ruined walls and columns to their heart's content.
We arrived in Fez Friday night and spent all of Saturday and Sunday morning there. It is an incredible city. Fez is old, like 1200 years old, and is the first big city in Morocco. It was founded by this king, Moulay Idriss, whose shrine is right in the heart of the old Medina. Fez is made up of three parts, the old Medina, Fez Jedid, or new Fez (which means that it was only built a few centuries ago), and the section that the French colonizers built alongside the existing city. Our hotel was in the European section, but my friends and I spent all of our free time in the old Medina. I have to say that the old Medina in Fez is one of the most singularly intense places I've been in my entire life. The streets are incredibly narrow, in fact they were designed to be just wide enough that two camels could pass through side by side. Given the width of the streets, no cars can enter the old city and mules are still used to transport goods. The streets are winding and rather confusing unless one knows where they are going. My friends and I got totally lost after being shanghaied into following some random Moroccan guy around when we asked him for a restaurant suggestion, and we eventually had to exit the medina proper and follow the city wall back to the gate that we were supposed to be meeting at.
Parts of the medina also smell. Fez is known for the quality of its pottery and leather works. Leather means tanneries, and tanneries mean smells. We went up to the roof of a leather shop and looked down at the groups of men soaking skins in lye and natural dies. The only men wearing any sort of protective clothing were the ones working with the lye. The rest were literally standing in vats of natural dyes (mint for green, poppy for red, cedar for brown, saffron for yellow, henna for orange, and indigo for blue) soaking, rinsing, and cleaning skins with their bare hands and feet. We were given springs of mint to sniff when we stood above the tanneries, but the smell still cut through. As I said before, Fez is a city designed for sensory overload with the smells, sounds, overly friendly shopkeepers, and massive crush of people. It was astonishing to see the huge groups of European and American tourists competing for space in the narrow streets with native Fezians, Moroccan visitors, store keepers hawking their wares, and the every present mules (especially given that all of the former were constantly trying to avoid stepping in the mess left by the latter). Needless to say, the weekend was rather exhausting, and very fun.
Fez is also an intensely religious city. The oldest and most prominent mosques, madrassas, and shrines are located right in the heart of the old medina. Saints are a big part of the popular religious tradition in Morocco and people visit the shrines of important saints for cures for sickness, good luck, or solutions to the problems faced in everyday life. Every city in Morocco is full of shrines for local saints, and some like Moulay Idriss, have made it to the ranks of big time sainthood. People in Morocco will go on pilgrimages to the shrines of major saints as a substitute for the Hajj if they do not have the money to make it to Mecca. Anyways, we walked passed the shrine of Moulay Idriss. We were not allowed to enter, but the building was gorgeously ornate. All of the shops around the shrine sold candy, incense, and goods such as wedding dresses, that are of more religious importance than the wares sold in the shops crowding the rest of the medina. There were also so many people around Moulay Idriss. The shrine is a huge pilgrimage spot and tourist attraction to the rush of people was almost unbearable. I was surprised that no one in our group got swept away!
When we got back to Rabat, our family was eager to talk about the trip with Evelyn and I. It's nice, because we've been talking to our family a lot more recently, and I think that discussing the trip and visits that they had made to Fez brought us a little closer together. Rahma also made couscous for dinner (because our mom knows that Evelyn and I like it, according to Ranya), and she gave me a crash course in Moroccan cooking. Clearly, I still have a long ways to go before I'm making couscous solo, but Rahma and my dad found the situation hilarious. My dad told me that I need to learn how to make Moroccan food for my family back at home and future husband.
Talking about marriage is a common occurrence here. I've had no less than four cab driver enquirer after my marital status and my one last night seemed pretty interested until I told him I was only twenty and wanted to focus on my studies. Surprisingly, saying that I want to pursue an education before getting married is widely accepted and the quickest way to shut down awkward marriage questions. My host parents are always pleased when they see me doing homework, and random cab drivers and waiters have expressed approval when I tell them I got to university. Evelyn and I had a conversation with our sister Sarah this afternoon about how she thinks it's best for girls to finish their education, work, and travel before marriage. She says that she can't even imagine getting married now and she's two days shy of her 25th birthday! I really enjoy talking to Sarah. She's really chill, likes to joke, and was able to fix my camera for me after I dropped it in Meknes.
Back to the couscous! After the meal was prepared, Evelyn, my mom, and I ate the couscous with large spoons from a communal dish. Most of our meals are eaten with bread or fingers from a communal dish, but I guess couscous is messy enough to warrant silverware. My dad, however ate it with his hands. My dad likes to tease me about food. When I say that something is hot, or that I'm full and can't eat any more, he tells me that there is no such thing in Morocco. Towards the end of the meal, he told me to "eat like a Moroccan" and scoop up a bit of coucous with my hands. I did, and made a spectacular mess of eating it. My dad, mom, and Evelyn all laughed and laughed. I seem to get laughed at a lot here, but mostly it's in good fun, so I don't mind.
The next time my family found hilarity in my actions was when I went to the hammam on Friday, and fell flat on my bum, right in the middle of the room, when filling up my water bucket. I have a really nice bruise on my back, but am fine other wise, hamdulillah (thanks be to God)! Ranya and her friends were in the hammam at the same time, so the entire family heard about my misadventure. All of the Moroccan women in the hammam were initially very concerned and wanted to make sure I was OK, which was sweet. Luckily I know how to say, "no problem" in Darija. During dinner, Ranya told my mom about the accident and the two of them cracked up, they laughed and laughed, and I got really, really red. I was sternly told to always wear my shoes (a fact of which I am now rather painfully aware), but I felt a bit better after Ranya and my mom assured me that they have fallen multiple times. Sarah told me it was especially bad to fall in the hammam because your body is hot so you break things more easily. The whole episode made me feel about three years old again, and as Evelyn says, you really can't take me anywhere!
That's about it for this week's excitement. I went bowling at the MegaMall (which is just like a mall in the US, except in the nicest part of Rabat), which was fun even though we are all terrible. Tomorrow I am going to my Arabic teacher's farm with the rest of the class. He wants us to see his village and meet his family, which should be quite the experience. Stay tuned for the full report next week!
Saturday, October 10, 2009
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Chefchaouen
Sorry for the delay in getting a new post up! Things have really started to pick up here in Morocco. Between traveling on the weekends and a sudden increase in Arabic homework, it seems that I have rather neglected my readers. Well, I guess this just means that I have an extra lot to tell you in this post!
Last weekend, I took my first big trip outside Rabat, to Chefchaouen, a small city nestled in the Rif, or the mountainous region of Northern Morocco. I went with five other girls from AMIDEAST. One of the wonderful things about studying abroad in Morocco is that, in Rabat, I am only a couple of hours away from great cities, mountain getaways, and the desert. Chefchaouen is considered one of the most beautiful places in Morocco, and it has a growing reputation as a great tourist destination, so I was eager to check it out.
My companions and I began our journey with a five hour long bus ride on Friday afternoon. Given that this is Morocco, we were happy when our bus only showed up half an hour late, and two thirds full. The ride up to Chefchaouen was rather uneventful, but I had a great time just looking out the window and catching glimpses of life outside of Rabat. Once we cleared the city limits it was not unusual to see herds of cows or men minding sheep right next to the highways that we were traveling on! The scenery gradually changed from grassy plains and scattered trees to hilly farmland, and finally rough mountainous terrain. In the farming areas, we passed by tiny little stone houses surrounded by fields and hours away from any decently sized town. It was a little strange thinking about what life must be like for the people who live in those little houses, isolated, so it seems, from the rest of the world.
We arrived in Chefchaoen at around 8 PM. It was dark by that time and the drive up to the city was gorgeous. Once we cleared the last bend in the road, Chefchaouen, which looked like a brilliant cluster of lights nestled into the mountainside was spread out in front of us, with the moon and stars shining on from above. I know that this sounds really cheesy, but you have to understand that right from the start Chefchaouen looked like the post-card perfect picture of Morocco, and this continued to hold true for the rest of the weekend. Anyways, we arrived at the bus station, just outside the city proper, and were immediately thrust into our first adventure: finding a cab in a section of the city that clearly goes to sleep after the sun sets. We walked out to the main street and began to wait. We knew that we were in the right place, as some men sitting across the street in the cafe informed us that taxis could be found, after laughing at our strange mix of French and Arabic. Being laughed at when I talk is beginning to define my life here. After ten minutes with no taxis, we called the hotel we were staying at and asked them to send us a cab. They did indeed send us one, but it was a "petit taxi" or a small car that only seats three passengers...not so good when you have six people! Luckily another cab came by, and our driver was nice enough to give us his number in case we needed anything.
The section of Chefchaouen that our hotel was located in is the main square area, around the old kasbah. It is full of touristy restaurants and shops selling the trademark Chefchaouen woolen blankets, shoes, and djellabas. Everything was so pretty! The architecture was charming, the square was delightful, and everything was painted a lovely shade of blue. Our hotel was on a narrow street right near the souq, and was just about the cutest place ever. It was three stories, and had a terrace on the roof. All of the stairways and hallways were narrow and the doorways were barely high enough for me to pass though. I felt like I was in a hobbit house! My room had a bathroom, with hot water, which was amazing, a double bed, and windows that looked out on the street below. There was also a little seating area with couches right outside the room. It was one of the most picturesque hotel rooms I've ever stayed in, mostly because everything from the headboard, to the light fixtures, to the sink and shower stall had some cool detail in the carving, metal, or tile work.
We only spent one full day in Chefchaouen, due to the fact that the only bus headed back to Rabat leaves Sundays at 7:00 AM. As such, we needed to make good use of our Saturday. The day started with a walk up to the ruins of an old mosque in the mountains near the city. We weren't sure how to get up there by ourselves, but one of the men who worked at the desk of the hotel volunteered to take us up. Apparently booking a hotel room in Morocco also means booking yourself your own personal travel guide, taxi caller, and general go to guy. Our companion was named Muhammad and was an incredibly nice guy. He put up with our terrible Arabic, stupid jokes, and constant questions about what something is called in Darija. Muhammad even kept his cool after telling us the word for "goat" no less than three separate times!
For our first stop, Muhammed took us to a spring, which produces the water that the women use to wash their clothes. We saw all of the local ladies standing at their washing stations on the banks of the stream washing their clothes by hand. Some women were washing out wool that will at some point be turned into the yarn that is used to make the blankets that Chefchaouen is famous for. After seeing the washing women, we continued on up the mountain. We walked along a rough path, stopping about every five seconds to take pictures of the gorgeous views of Chefchaouen and the surrounding mountains. After passing awkwardly by some people's houses (we totally spent five minute photographing their well), we climbed across this kind of sketchy bridge and were at the mosque! It is a lovely little building, although ruin is a very good description of its physical condition. There were a group of men doing construction on it, and we spent a few minutes hanging out and taking even more pictures. We ran into another group of Americans just as we were leaving, which was fun. In Morocco, it's always a little shocking to hear people speaking English, especially in Rabat, which is not a touristy town. In Chefchaouen it was a little refreshing to be able to understand snippets of conversation from some of the other groups we passed by on the street or sat near in a restaurant. I love hearing and speaking Arabic, but sometimes it's nice to hear one's mother tongue being spoken in a strange land.
Upon arriving back in Chefchaouen, we took a break for lunch. We chose a restaurant where we were served by a slightly creepy waiter and ended up befriending a stray cat which we named Jnoon (or mischievous spirit) and fed our left over chicken to. The afternoon was a little rainy, so we spent it in the markets darting from shop to shop. I purchased a lovely woolen blanket that I know I did not pay too much for, as I asked my host mom for acceptable prices before I left. She was definitely happier with me upon my return from this trip! Chefchaouen also had some cool jewelry stores and I purchased a few new additions to the rather meager collection of earrings and necklaces that I brought with me. Almost everyone in Chefchaouen was incredibly friendly. The store owners were chatty and highly amused by our attempts at speaking Arabic and Darija. After living in Morocco for six weeks, my bartering skills have definitely improved and I was able to put them to good use. The one exception to the welcoming Chefchaoueans was the complete jerk who owns a jewelry store near our hotel. I was trying to argue down the price of a necklace, and he first said that we needed to conduct our business "democratically" which meant that I should pay like 30 dirhams more than my top price. After I got him down he then proceeded to mock me for not looking happy enough. He also said that my Arabic accent was "interesting" (with a decidedly snooty smirk) after I tried to have a brief conversation about the weather while one of the other girls bought something. I have to say that he is one of the first unfriendly Moroccans I've met! Everyone else was beyond excellent.
Dinner was couscous at a nice restaurant, and I toddled off to bed after taking a lovely, hot shower. Sunday morning found us up at 5 so we could catch our 7 AM bus. I mostly passed the bus ride back to Rabat asleep under my new blanket or staring out the window.
My trip to Chefchaouen was incredible. I think that the city is one of the most beautiful places I've been in my life and I'm looking forward to going back again during my time here. It was also a lot of fun to just be a tourist. Now that I've been here for over a month, Rabat is starting to feel like home. I know my area really well and I'm more comfortable with daily activities like getting cabs or buying fruit in the local hanut, or store. Going to Chefchaouen was a great way to rediscover a little the magical feeling, almost like wonder, that I first had upon arriving in Morocco. It was also nice to have a real feeling of coming back home when I arrived at my host family's apartment.
This post is sort of epic in length, so I'll have to hold off on some other stories until my next post. Be looking forward to tales of Fez (my trip for this weekend) and my first attempt at teaching English to a class of Moroccan teenagers!
Last weekend, I took my first big trip outside Rabat, to Chefchaouen, a small city nestled in the Rif, or the mountainous region of Northern Morocco. I went with five other girls from AMIDEAST. One of the wonderful things about studying abroad in Morocco is that, in Rabat, I am only a couple of hours away from great cities, mountain getaways, and the desert. Chefchaouen is considered one of the most beautiful places in Morocco, and it has a growing reputation as a great tourist destination, so I was eager to check it out.
My companions and I began our journey with a five hour long bus ride on Friday afternoon. Given that this is Morocco, we were happy when our bus only showed up half an hour late, and two thirds full. The ride up to Chefchaouen was rather uneventful, but I had a great time just looking out the window and catching glimpses of life outside of Rabat. Once we cleared the city limits it was not unusual to see herds of cows or men minding sheep right next to the highways that we were traveling on! The scenery gradually changed from grassy plains and scattered trees to hilly farmland, and finally rough mountainous terrain. In the farming areas, we passed by tiny little stone houses surrounded by fields and hours away from any decently sized town. It was a little strange thinking about what life must be like for the people who live in those little houses, isolated, so it seems, from the rest of the world.
We arrived in Chefchaoen at around 8 PM. It was dark by that time and the drive up to the city was gorgeous. Once we cleared the last bend in the road, Chefchaouen, which looked like a brilliant cluster of lights nestled into the mountainside was spread out in front of us, with the moon and stars shining on from above. I know that this sounds really cheesy, but you have to understand that right from the start Chefchaouen looked like the post-card perfect picture of Morocco, and this continued to hold true for the rest of the weekend. Anyways, we arrived at the bus station, just outside the city proper, and were immediately thrust into our first adventure: finding a cab in a section of the city that clearly goes to sleep after the sun sets. We walked out to the main street and began to wait. We knew that we were in the right place, as some men sitting across the street in the cafe informed us that taxis could be found, after laughing at our strange mix of French and Arabic. Being laughed at when I talk is beginning to define my life here. After ten minutes with no taxis, we called the hotel we were staying at and asked them to send us a cab. They did indeed send us one, but it was a "petit taxi" or a small car that only seats three passengers...not so good when you have six people! Luckily another cab came by, and our driver was nice enough to give us his number in case we needed anything.
The section of Chefchaouen that our hotel was located in is the main square area, around the old kasbah. It is full of touristy restaurants and shops selling the trademark Chefchaouen woolen blankets, shoes, and djellabas. Everything was so pretty! The architecture was charming, the square was delightful, and everything was painted a lovely shade of blue. Our hotel was on a narrow street right near the souq, and was just about the cutest place ever. It was three stories, and had a terrace on the roof. All of the stairways and hallways were narrow and the doorways were barely high enough for me to pass though. I felt like I was in a hobbit house! My room had a bathroom, with hot water, which was amazing, a double bed, and windows that looked out on the street below. There was also a little seating area with couches right outside the room. It was one of the most picturesque hotel rooms I've ever stayed in, mostly because everything from the headboard, to the light fixtures, to the sink and shower stall had some cool detail in the carving, metal, or tile work.
We only spent one full day in Chefchaouen, due to the fact that the only bus headed back to Rabat leaves Sundays at 7:00 AM. As such, we needed to make good use of our Saturday. The day started with a walk up to the ruins of an old mosque in the mountains near the city. We weren't sure how to get up there by ourselves, but one of the men who worked at the desk of the hotel volunteered to take us up. Apparently booking a hotel room in Morocco also means booking yourself your own personal travel guide, taxi caller, and general go to guy. Our companion was named Muhammad and was an incredibly nice guy. He put up with our terrible Arabic, stupid jokes, and constant questions about what something is called in Darija. Muhammad even kept his cool after telling us the word for "goat" no less than three separate times!
For our first stop, Muhammed took us to a spring, which produces the water that the women use to wash their clothes. We saw all of the local ladies standing at their washing stations on the banks of the stream washing their clothes by hand. Some women were washing out wool that will at some point be turned into the yarn that is used to make the blankets that Chefchaouen is famous for. After seeing the washing women, we continued on up the mountain. We walked along a rough path, stopping about every five seconds to take pictures of the gorgeous views of Chefchaouen and the surrounding mountains. After passing awkwardly by some people's houses (we totally spent five minute photographing their well), we climbed across this kind of sketchy bridge and were at the mosque! It is a lovely little building, although ruin is a very good description of its physical condition. There were a group of men doing construction on it, and we spent a few minutes hanging out and taking even more pictures. We ran into another group of Americans just as we were leaving, which was fun. In Morocco, it's always a little shocking to hear people speaking English, especially in Rabat, which is not a touristy town. In Chefchaouen it was a little refreshing to be able to understand snippets of conversation from some of the other groups we passed by on the street or sat near in a restaurant. I love hearing and speaking Arabic, but sometimes it's nice to hear one's mother tongue being spoken in a strange land.
Upon arriving back in Chefchaouen, we took a break for lunch. We chose a restaurant where we were served by a slightly creepy waiter and ended up befriending a stray cat which we named Jnoon (or mischievous spirit) and fed our left over chicken to. The afternoon was a little rainy, so we spent it in the markets darting from shop to shop. I purchased a lovely woolen blanket that I know I did not pay too much for, as I asked my host mom for acceptable prices before I left. She was definitely happier with me upon my return from this trip! Chefchaouen also had some cool jewelry stores and I purchased a few new additions to the rather meager collection of earrings and necklaces that I brought with me. Almost everyone in Chefchaouen was incredibly friendly. The store owners were chatty and highly amused by our attempts at speaking Arabic and Darija. After living in Morocco for six weeks, my bartering skills have definitely improved and I was able to put them to good use. The one exception to the welcoming Chefchaoueans was the complete jerk who owns a jewelry store near our hotel. I was trying to argue down the price of a necklace, and he first said that we needed to conduct our business "democratically" which meant that I should pay like 30 dirhams more than my top price. After I got him down he then proceeded to mock me for not looking happy enough. He also said that my Arabic accent was "interesting" (with a decidedly snooty smirk) after I tried to have a brief conversation about the weather while one of the other girls bought something. I have to say that he is one of the first unfriendly Moroccans I've met! Everyone else was beyond excellent.
Dinner was couscous at a nice restaurant, and I toddled off to bed after taking a lovely, hot shower. Sunday morning found us up at 5 so we could catch our 7 AM bus. I mostly passed the bus ride back to Rabat asleep under my new blanket or staring out the window.
My trip to Chefchaouen was incredible. I think that the city is one of the most beautiful places I've been in my life and I'm looking forward to going back again during my time here. It was also a lot of fun to just be a tourist. Now that I've been here for over a month, Rabat is starting to feel like home. I know my area really well and I'm more comfortable with daily activities like getting cabs or buying fruit in the local hanut, or store. Going to Chefchaouen was a great way to rediscover a little the magical feeling, almost like wonder, that I first had upon arriving in Morocco. It was also nice to have a real feeling of coming back home when I arrived at my host family's apartment.
This post is sort of epic in length, so I'll have to hold off on some other stories until my next post. Be looking forward to tales of Fez (my trip for this weekend) and my first attempt at teaching English to a class of Moroccan teenagers!
Monday, September 21, 2009
The Hammam and Eid
This past week was pretty quiet. I went to school, did homework, hung out with my friends, pretty much all of the stuff that I do during the semester in the US. I guess that means I'm finally settling into a routine. Just in time for Ramadan to end and have everything change...but we'll get to that later. That being said, I did have two interesting experiences this week, the first being my trip to the hammam and the second being Eid.
According to my Contemporary Moroccan Culture professor, every foreigner who visits Morocco has to write about the hammam. I see no reason to be an exception in this regard, so I'll tell you all about my visit to the hammam, or public baths, this past Friday. Evelyn and I arrived home from school and our sister Neda was ready and waiting to take us. Before we left, we gathered together all of our hammam accouterments. These include a mat or stool to sit on, black soap made from olives, a kees, or scrubby mitten, a pumice, shampoo, body wash, toothpaste, toothbrush, hairbrush, and any other personal hygiene products of your choosing. We also brought towels and a change of clothes for after the bath. Neda piled all of our stuff into a duffel bag and two buckets and we were off! We ran into several neighbors/family members along the way and all wished us a happy trip to the hammam, which is pretty standard Moroccan behavior. You thank God, or give good wishes before and after bathing, before and after eating, before and after taking a trip...I think you get the picture.
Upon arriving at the hammam, we payed our entrance fee, which was 11 dirhams, and procured several more buckets. We then proceeded into the changing room. Here's where things get a little uncomfortable for us North Americans. After stowing our bag on a shelf, Neda proceeded to strip right down to her panties, and Evelyn and I quickly followed suit. We then walked into the hammam itself. I have to say that I expected to be much more self conscious about washing myself in full view of other women wearing only my underwear, especially given that Neda and Evelyn are in much better shape than I am. I've never been ashamed of my body in any way, I happen to like it quite a lot with clothes on, but I've never felt the desire to reveal any more flesh than necessary, particularly in public. In reality, after the initial awkwardness, which I got over quickly, I did not feel uncomfortable at all. I can't really describe the sensation, because it is like nothing I've ever experienced before. I wouldn't say that the experience was liberating, or particularly profound in any way, I still won't be wearing shorts outside the house anytime soon (even in the US). All I can say is that being almost completely naked in front of people I'd never seen before in my life was actually totally fine, since we were all there to simply enjoy the process of getting clean. We all had the same bits, even if they were different sizes and different ages, and bathing in the same space was like the most natural thing in the world. One thing that this phenomenon does serve to emphasize is the incredibly sharp difference between private and public spaces in Morocco, and probably the Muslim world in general. Women who are normally covered by a hijab or djelleaba can wear what they want in the privacy of their own home (Ranya usually opts for short shorts and a tank top, and my friend says that even her more conservative host sisters usually wear pajamas in the house) and nothing at all in the company of other women, which is something that many women in the US would not be comfortable with.
Anyways, Neda, Evelyn, and I set up camp in the middle, or medium hot, room. The hammam has three rooms, the farthest back being the hottest and the one closest to the changing room the coolest. We put down our mat and stool and proceeded to fill the buckets up with a mixture of hot and cold water. We then doused ourselves with water and slathered ourselves with the black soap. This soap is apparently very good for the skin so we just sat for a couple of minutes letting the heat open our pores and the soap work its magic on our skin. It was lovely. Step two of the hammam process is washing to soap off and scrubbing oneself with the kees. Now, when I say scrub I mean scrub. You take this rough cloth and go at your skin in a way that takes off several layers of dead skin and leaves you all pink and tingly. This process is slightly painful and a little gross, but afterward you feel so wonderful. As I said in a previous post, living in Morocco means taking very short showers that are oftentimes few and far between, at least according to our Western sensibilities. This means that you don't get as clean as you might like, and certain parts of the body, such as feet, continue to get dirtier day by day, no matter how many showers you take. Going to the hammam means taking off all of the old, dirty skin, and becoming well and truly clean. It was an incredible sensation. My feet were almost unrecognizable they looked so good by the end of our trip!
After scrubbing all of our skin off, we used the water in the buckets to rinse off. We then soaped ourselves up with body wash, and rinsed again. Now bathing began to take a more familiar tone. I washed my hair with my shampoo, used a pumice to attack any lingering dirt on my feet, shaved my legs (hallelujah! first time in two weeks!) and brushed my teeth. Our trip ended with a body wash rinsed off with buckets of slightly cooler water. We then proceeded into the changing room where we toweled dry, changed into clean clothes, brushed our hair, and chatted a bit with the other women. All in all, the trip probably took about an hour, and I felt like a new person afterward. I was really, completely clean, relaxed, and ready to face another week in Morocco. I think that I need to make a trip to the hammam my new Friday ritual.
So, that's the hammam trip described in probably too much detail. I know that not everyone who reads this blog cares/wants to know about my body image or cleaning habits, but it's a rather important part of culture, so you'll just have to soldier through it! The other exciting occurrence of the week does involve me wearing clothes, though. This event is Eid al-Ftour (Eid of breaking the fast) or Eid soghreer (the small Eid). This Eid, or celebration, marks the ending of the month of Ramadan. My host family was so excited to see this Eid come. My dad kept saying how much he wanted to drink coffee in the morning, and on Sunday was very pleased to inform me that Ramadan was "finis" the next day. Our ftour Sunday night was a happy one with my host dad announcing that Ramadan was over with a huge grin on his face every ten minutes. It was great! Just an interesting side-note while talking about my host dad. Besides Ranya and Sarah he is quickly becoming the member of my family that I talk to the most. Twice this week we have spent the evening chatting in a mix of MSA, Darija, and French. It's great for my Arabic and he's a really nice guy who genuinely wants to know me better. I've really enjoyed our chats and hope they continue!
Back to Eid! This morning (which Evelyn and I have off from school), we woke up to the smell of our mother preparing tea and breakfast. Most of the family stumbled out of bed rather earlier than usual and sat down to break their fast in the daylight hours for the first time in a month. Our meal consisted of tea, a dense cake, and bheeer, or this spongy bread with holes in it that is soaked in honey. Our little cousin Khalid and his mother also joined us, which was great. Khalid was all dressed up in his little caftan and fez-like hat and was just about the cutest thing I've ever seen in my entire life. Breakfast was a prolonged affair with the women sitting around the table sipping tea and playing with Khalid.
After breakfast we headed to the house of some relatives and hung out for a while. Evelyn and I just stayed in the background, listening to the rapid fire Darija and enjoying the festive atmosphere. We returned to the house around noon, and my mom began to prepare lunch. I wandered into the kitchen and helped her make the salad. Now, many of you know that cooking is not my forte by any stretch of the imagination, and so "helping" really means that I mangled one tomato in the time it took my mom to expertly peel and slice three. I was much more successful in my efforts to assist with the dish washing, as I am an excellent dish dryer!
Lunch was also a festive affair with everyone sitting around the table laughing and enjoying being able to eat during the day. We had the salad and the most delicious chicken I've tasted since coming here. My host dad still insists that I eat way more than I want to, he says that there is no such thing as being full in Morocco, but I can usually get across that no means no after repeating it five or six times. My mom also backed up Evelyn and I last week when she chastised our dad, apparently telling him (as translated by Ranya), that we would get sick if we ate too fast.
The rest of the day was pretty slow. Evelyn and I watched TV with Ranya for a while and then did some homework in the evening. We though that we were going to visit more relatives with our mom, but her plans changed, so we ended up hanging out at home with Ranya's friends and eating dinner with the family, which was fine.
Now that Ramadan is over, everything is going to change for us AMIDEAST students. In some ways the change will be good. Cafes and restaurants will be open during the day, meaning that we will have new places to hang out and do homework. Museum hours will go back to normal, movie theaters will reopen, and we will no longer eat two meals at night. Other changes will be harder to adjust to. It will be much harder for us women to go out at night, as our schedules will once again be orientated around the daytime and sexual harassment will probably increase, as cat calling counts as breaking one's fast during Ramadan.
I know that Sharon, one of my most faithful readers, requested pictures in her last comment, and I will try to deliver this week, as well as describe my new non-Ramadan schedule.
According to my Contemporary Moroccan Culture professor, every foreigner who visits Morocco has to write about the hammam. I see no reason to be an exception in this regard, so I'll tell you all about my visit to the hammam, or public baths, this past Friday. Evelyn and I arrived home from school and our sister Neda was ready and waiting to take us. Before we left, we gathered together all of our hammam accouterments. These include a mat or stool to sit on, black soap made from olives, a kees, or scrubby mitten, a pumice, shampoo, body wash, toothpaste, toothbrush, hairbrush, and any other personal hygiene products of your choosing. We also brought towels and a change of clothes for after the bath. Neda piled all of our stuff into a duffel bag and two buckets and we were off! We ran into several neighbors/family members along the way and all wished us a happy trip to the hammam, which is pretty standard Moroccan behavior. You thank God, or give good wishes before and after bathing, before and after eating, before and after taking a trip...I think you get the picture.
Upon arriving at the hammam, we payed our entrance fee, which was 11 dirhams, and procured several more buckets. We then proceeded into the changing room. Here's where things get a little uncomfortable for us North Americans. After stowing our bag on a shelf, Neda proceeded to strip right down to her panties, and Evelyn and I quickly followed suit. We then walked into the hammam itself. I have to say that I expected to be much more self conscious about washing myself in full view of other women wearing only my underwear, especially given that Neda and Evelyn are in much better shape than I am. I've never been ashamed of my body in any way, I happen to like it quite a lot with clothes on, but I've never felt the desire to reveal any more flesh than necessary, particularly in public. In reality, after the initial awkwardness, which I got over quickly, I did not feel uncomfortable at all. I can't really describe the sensation, because it is like nothing I've ever experienced before. I wouldn't say that the experience was liberating, or particularly profound in any way, I still won't be wearing shorts outside the house anytime soon (even in the US). All I can say is that being almost completely naked in front of people I'd never seen before in my life was actually totally fine, since we were all there to simply enjoy the process of getting clean. We all had the same bits, even if they were different sizes and different ages, and bathing in the same space was like the most natural thing in the world. One thing that this phenomenon does serve to emphasize is the incredibly sharp difference between private and public spaces in Morocco, and probably the Muslim world in general. Women who are normally covered by a hijab or djelleaba can wear what they want in the privacy of their own home (Ranya usually opts for short shorts and a tank top, and my friend says that even her more conservative host sisters usually wear pajamas in the house) and nothing at all in the company of other women, which is something that many women in the US would not be comfortable with.
Anyways, Neda, Evelyn, and I set up camp in the middle, or medium hot, room. The hammam has three rooms, the farthest back being the hottest and the one closest to the changing room the coolest. We put down our mat and stool and proceeded to fill the buckets up with a mixture of hot and cold water. We then doused ourselves with water and slathered ourselves with the black soap. This soap is apparently very good for the skin so we just sat for a couple of minutes letting the heat open our pores and the soap work its magic on our skin. It was lovely. Step two of the hammam process is washing to soap off and scrubbing oneself with the kees. Now, when I say scrub I mean scrub. You take this rough cloth and go at your skin in a way that takes off several layers of dead skin and leaves you all pink and tingly. This process is slightly painful and a little gross, but afterward you feel so wonderful. As I said in a previous post, living in Morocco means taking very short showers that are oftentimes few and far between, at least according to our Western sensibilities. This means that you don't get as clean as you might like, and certain parts of the body, such as feet, continue to get dirtier day by day, no matter how many showers you take. Going to the hammam means taking off all of the old, dirty skin, and becoming well and truly clean. It was an incredible sensation. My feet were almost unrecognizable they looked so good by the end of our trip!
After scrubbing all of our skin off, we used the water in the buckets to rinse off. We then soaped ourselves up with body wash, and rinsed again. Now bathing began to take a more familiar tone. I washed my hair with my shampoo, used a pumice to attack any lingering dirt on my feet, shaved my legs (hallelujah! first time in two weeks!) and brushed my teeth. Our trip ended with a body wash rinsed off with buckets of slightly cooler water. We then proceeded into the changing room where we toweled dry, changed into clean clothes, brushed our hair, and chatted a bit with the other women. All in all, the trip probably took about an hour, and I felt like a new person afterward. I was really, completely clean, relaxed, and ready to face another week in Morocco. I think that I need to make a trip to the hammam my new Friday ritual.
So, that's the hammam trip described in probably too much detail. I know that not everyone who reads this blog cares/wants to know about my body image or cleaning habits, but it's a rather important part of culture, so you'll just have to soldier through it! The other exciting occurrence of the week does involve me wearing clothes, though. This event is Eid al-Ftour (Eid of breaking the fast) or Eid soghreer (the small Eid). This Eid, or celebration, marks the ending of the month of Ramadan. My host family was so excited to see this Eid come. My dad kept saying how much he wanted to drink coffee in the morning, and on Sunday was very pleased to inform me that Ramadan was "finis" the next day. Our ftour Sunday night was a happy one with my host dad announcing that Ramadan was over with a huge grin on his face every ten minutes. It was great! Just an interesting side-note while talking about my host dad. Besides Ranya and Sarah he is quickly becoming the member of my family that I talk to the most. Twice this week we have spent the evening chatting in a mix of MSA, Darija, and French. It's great for my Arabic and he's a really nice guy who genuinely wants to know me better. I've really enjoyed our chats and hope they continue!
Back to Eid! This morning (which Evelyn and I have off from school), we woke up to the smell of our mother preparing tea and breakfast. Most of the family stumbled out of bed rather earlier than usual and sat down to break their fast in the daylight hours for the first time in a month. Our meal consisted of tea, a dense cake, and bheeer, or this spongy bread with holes in it that is soaked in honey. Our little cousin Khalid and his mother also joined us, which was great. Khalid was all dressed up in his little caftan and fez-like hat and was just about the cutest thing I've ever seen in my entire life. Breakfast was a prolonged affair with the women sitting around the table sipping tea and playing with Khalid.
After breakfast we headed to the house of some relatives and hung out for a while. Evelyn and I just stayed in the background, listening to the rapid fire Darija and enjoying the festive atmosphere. We returned to the house around noon, and my mom began to prepare lunch. I wandered into the kitchen and helped her make the salad. Now, many of you know that cooking is not my forte by any stretch of the imagination, and so "helping" really means that I mangled one tomato in the time it took my mom to expertly peel and slice three. I was much more successful in my efforts to assist with the dish washing, as I am an excellent dish dryer!
Lunch was also a festive affair with everyone sitting around the table laughing and enjoying being able to eat during the day. We had the salad and the most delicious chicken I've tasted since coming here. My host dad still insists that I eat way more than I want to, he says that there is no such thing as being full in Morocco, but I can usually get across that no means no after repeating it five or six times. My mom also backed up Evelyn and I last week when she chastised our dad, apparently telling him (as translated by Ranya), that we would get sick if we ate too fast.
The rest of the day was pretty slow. Evelyn and I watched TV with Ranya for a while and then did some homework in the evening. We though that we were going to visit more relatives with our mom, but her plans changed, so we ended up hanging out at home with Ranya's friends and eating dinner with the family, which was fine.
Now that Ramadan is over, everything is going to change for us AMIDEAST students. In some ways the change will be good. Cafes and restaurants will be open during the day, meaning that we will have new places to hang out and do homework. Museum hours will go back to normal, movie theaters will reopen, and we will no longer eat two meals at night. Other changes will be harder to adjust to. It will be much harder for us women to go out at night, as our schedules will once again be orientated around the daytime and sexual harassment will probably increase, as cat calling counts as breaking one's fast during Ramadan.
I know that Sharon, one of my most faithful readers, requested pictures in her last comment, and I will try to deliver this week, as well as describe my new non-Ramadan schedule.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Casablanca
Finally, the post about my trip to Casablanca! Last Saturday I took my first trip outside of Rabat since coming to Morocco with five other girls from my program. Our day started at 9:15 when we met at the train station in downtown Rabat to take the hour long train ride to Casablanca. We decided to travel first class, because here in Morocco, the little extra cost is definitely worth it for the more private seating compartments and the luxury of air conditioning. This past summer, my friend Erin and I rode many trains throughout our summer adventures, which are chronicled here and I have to say that the trains in Morocco are certainly more romantic than the Amtrak version that I have experienced previously. On the train to Casa, we rode in style in our own compartment with plushy seats and curtains that could be drawn if we didn't want anyone in the outside corridor to see in.
We arrived in Casablanca at around 11:00 AM. Upon leaving the train station, we were immediately hailed by a cab driver named Hicham. Initially, we thought that we would walk around the city, and so politely told Hicham no, thank you, but after he showed us a map (information is apparently free) and pointed out that most of the places we wanted to visit were a rather far walk, we decided to take him up on his offer to drive us around for five hours for the price of 100 dirhams each. Now, I feel the need to clarify at the outset that we all had a pretty good idea that we were getting scammed, but Casablanca is a much bigger city than Rabat, and given our inadequate level of preparation for our day trip, we decided that having Hicham as our chauffeur was worth the $15 US. So, all six of us piled into Hicham's taxi and we were off!
Our first stop was the old Portuguese Kasbah, which is now a restaurant, and very unimpressive compared to the one in Rabat. Much more interesting was the fact that the Kasbah is located right near the port, and affords a view of the massive ships docked there. Rabat is a fairly small, quiet city, and that fact was really brought home when faced with the physical evidence of Casa's role as an economic center in Morocco. Located right near the Kasbah is Rick's Cafe, which I'm sure all of you Casablanca fans are familiar with. This Rick's Cafe was opened in 2003 or 2004 by an American and is a major tourist destination. We took pictures, but did not go inside.
Next on the list was the Hassan II Mosque. This was probably the highlight of our trip, and rightfully so as the structure is gorgeous, majestic, and absolutely immense. Hicham explained that this mosque was built in the 1980s by King Hassan II after the image presented by a sura in the Koran of a mosque built on the sea facing Mecca. The Hassan II mosque does indeed stretch over the ocean and is the second largest mosque in the world after Mecca. The whole structure is built out of creamy, pale stone with aquamarine mosaics. The detailing in the ornamental tile work around the doorways and water fountains was incredible and all of the doors, walls, and ceilings are intricately carved. The plaza outside the mosque is so vast, I was reminded of standing in St. Peter's Square in the Vatican, and ends with a sheer drop into the ocean below. It was so funny walking around this mosque and seeing all of the little kids who go to the Koranic school next door darting between the European and American tourists who have come to see the only mosque that gives guided tours in Morocco. We decided not to take the tour as we will be heading back to Casablanca with AMIDEAST on one of our weekend trips and the tour is included in that trip.
When we returned to the cab, starry eyed and slightly overwhelmed after the trip to the mosque, Hicham took us through this random shanty town to an outlook that affords a great view of the mosque jutting out into the Atlantic. It was so strange standing on this strip of land covered with bottle caps and broken glass from beer bottles staring at the mosque on one side and the slum on the other. Hicham told us that during Ramadan the mosque is mostly full, which is impressive given that I think he said it fits 25,000, despite the fact that in Morocco people, especially the young people are free to do as they please. He said it was the young people's own choice to drink beer and hang out with their girl friends, but that it was better to do it out of sight of the mosque, as the building and what it stands for still needs to be respected.
Hicham also took us through some of the more touristy, beachfront areas with the hotels, and the pools, and the nicest McDonald's I've ever seen in my life. One of the beaches is even called Miami Plage, which I thought was hilarious. He drove us through the wealthy neighborhoods where houses are very expensive, but instead of having us walk around there, he took us to this little island, which can be walked to when the tide is out, where 12 poor Moroccan families live in an old fortress that was built by either the Portuguese or the Spanish (I forget which) in the 16th century. The men of these families make their living by fishing, which they do in these rubber inner tubes, which are also used to ferry people to and from the island when the tide is in. The women are fortune tellers who practice their trade by melting bits of tin and reading the signs that the metal makes when dropped in cold water. Hicham took us right into the settlement, which was incredible with its aging, white walls, tiny homes honeycombed throughout the structure, and finally, at the very top, stunning view of the Atlantic. Some of Casa's main draws are its beaches and upscale shopping, but I was glad that Hicham took us to this unglamorous, decidedly rough around the edges area where real Moroccans make their living.
Our last historic site visit was to the old Sacred Heart Cathedral built by the Spanish. I don't think it's a functioning church anymore, as the alter and pews were no where to be found and the building was currently housing an art exhibition, which was cool in its own right. Three of the other girls and I walked up the 120, pigeon poop encrusted stairs to the very top of the building. We were literally standing on the roof of the cathedral, no guard rail or anything, staring out at the city of Casablanca. It was intense!
After the cathedral was when things started to get a little sketchy. Let me say again, that we knew what we were getting into when we decided to stick with Hicham, and I don't regret our decision at all. The man was very friendly, chatted to us in Arabic and English, showed us pictures of his little baby, and gave us lots of friendly advise and information about Casablanca and our study of the Arabic language. He took pictures of us at every site we visited and let us wander around as long as we wanted. After the cathedral, though, we began to meet some of Hicham's friends. The first ones, own a tradition pharmacy. We were ushered inside, sat down, and given a demonstration of some tradition herbal remedies. We saw herbs and spices that help with colds and digestive difficulties, henna for dying skin, lips, and hair, cremes and oils for softening the skin, and musk for scenting the body and the home. The pharmacist answered all of our questions and let us test out his products. It was a really cool experience to have had and I love the rose scenting moisturizer that I purchased.
Out most uncomfortable encounter came at the carpet shop. As soon as we walked in I knew that none of us were walking out without a carpet. We were ushered into a back room, sat down and shown every kind of carpet the store owned. I tried to set the tone of the meeting by saying that we were poor students and asking how much something cost, but the owner was having none of it. He deftly refused giving any prices and said he would give us good rates. We saw carpet, after gorgeous carpet being unfolded and placed into piles when someone expressed an interest in a particular piece. After every one of us had a good sized pile of rugs in front of us the manager asked if we wanted tea. At this point I was feeling decidedly uncomfortable, but some of the other girls were ready to do some serious bargaining and the tea was sent for regardless of my trepidation. The manager and his assistant had us go through our piles and choose which rugs we were most interested in, and then the bargaining began.
The manager would take us aside, one at a time and break out the calculator, whispering and writing down numbers on a sheet of paper. When my turn came, I had narrowed down my choice to one white carpet covered with Berber designs in red, blue, and yellow. It's big enough to be spread on a bed and I though it would look lovely on my crimson duvet at home. Well, I was only willing to spend $100 US, as that's all my bank account could afford to take, and when the manager gave me his opening offer of 2,000 dirhams (300 US), I flat out told him no. He kept lowering by degrees, and I kept telling him that I simply did not have the money. H finally stopped at 1,300 dirham, saying that it was the price he would give his sister, and I did really want the rug, but it was too much. After some serious thinking, mental calculations, and a call to my mom, I decided to hell with it, I was going to buy a rug in Morocco sometime or another, and went ahead and purchased it, knowing full well that I was probably paying too much. I wasn't the only one though. Five of us bought carpets, and I was pretty proud of the fact that I managed to get mine at almost half price, even if my bargaining strategy was simply repeating that I didn't have money over and over again. All in all, the rug shop adventure was a little stressful but also quite humorous. The experience of sitting in this rug shop with this little Moroccan man whispering prices me in heavily accenting English as I absently sipped tea and attempted mental dirham to dollar conversions was totally surreal and certainly laughable in hindsight. It was clear that all six of us had been suckered into a situation that had spiraled slightly out of our control, and the most we could do was sit back and enjoy how the events unfolded. I really do love the rug I purchased, and for about $150 US, I really can't complain. I can now say that I've had my inevitable tourist scamming experience and move on with it.
After the rug shop we convinced Hicham to drop us at the train station and ten minutes later we were on the train back to Rabat. Upon arriving home, I showed my host family my rug, and although my host mom told me I payed way too much and should never buy things like that without her, my host dad seemed to think I did OK for myself and Ranya and Sarah just found the whole situation hilarious. My host mom promised to take me to the market in Rabat next time I want to make a big purchase and show me where the good stores are and how to get a good price.
All in all, the Casablanca trip was certainly a great experience, a ton of fun, and produced many fabulous memories. I think that I did well for my first voyage outside Rabat and it was heartening to note that I can be a good tourist as well as a good student. I now think that I will be able to approach longer trips outside Rabat with more confidence and experience, and can hardly wait for my next adventure!
We arrived in Casablanca at around 11:00 AM. Upon leaving the train station, we were immediately hailed by a cab driver named Hicham. Initially, we thought that we would walk around the city, and so politely told Hicham no, thank you, but after he showed us a map (information is apparently free) and pointed out that most of the places we wanted to visit were a rather far walk, we decided to take him up on his offer to drive us around for five hours for the price of 100 dirhams each. Now, I feel the need to clarify at the outset that we all had a pretty good idea that we were getting scammed, but Casablanca is a much bigger city than Rabat, and given our inadequate level of preparation for our day trip, we decided that having Hicham as our chauffeur was worth the $15 US. So, all six of us piled into Hicham's taxi and we were off!
Our first stop was the old Portuguese Kasbah, which is now a restaurant, and very unimpressive compared to the one in Rabat. Much more interesting was the fact that the Kasbah is located right near the port, and affords a view of the massive ships docked there. Rabat is a fairly small, quiet city, and that fact was really brought home when faced with the physical evidence of Casa's role as an economic center in Morocco. Located right near the Kasbah is Rick's Cafe, which I'm sure all of you Casablanca fans are familiar with. This Rick's Cafe was opened in 2003 or 2004 by an American and is a major tourist destination. We took pictures, but did not go inside.
Next on the list was the Hassan II Mosque. This was probably the highlight of our trip, and rightfully so as the structure is gorgeous, majestic, and absolutely immense. Hicham explained that this mosque was built in the 1980s by King Hassan II after the image presented by a sura in the Koran of a mosque built on the sea facing Mecca. The Hassan II mosque does indeed stretch over the ocean and is the second largest mosque in the world after Mecca. The whole structure is built out of creamy, pale stone with aquamarine mosaics. The detailing in the ornamental tile work around the doorways and water fountains was incredible and all of the doors, walls, and ceilings are intricately carved. The plaza outside the mosque is so vast, I was reminded of standing in St. Peter's Square in the Vatican, and ends with a sheer drop into the ocean below. It was so funny walking around this mosque and seeing all of the little kids who go to the Koranic school next door darting between the European and American tourists who have come to see the only mosque that gives guided tours in Morocco. We decided not to take the tour as we will be heading back to Casablanca with AMIDEAST on one of our weekend trips and the tour is included in that trip.
When we returned to the cab, starry eyed and slightly overwhelmed after the trip to the mosque, Hicham took us through this random shanty town to an outlook that affords a great view of the mosque jutting out into the Atlantic. It was so strange standing on this strip of land covered with bottle caps and broken glass from beer bottles staring at the mosque on one side and the slum on the other. Hicham told us that during Ramadan the mosque is mostly full, which is impressive given that I think he said it fits 25,000, despite the fact that in Morocco people, especially the young people are free to do as they please. He said it was the young people's own choice to drink beer and hang out with their girl friends, but that it was better to do it out of sight of the mosque, as the building and what it stands for still needs to be respected.
Hicham also took us through some of the more touristy, beachfront areas with the hotels, and the pools, and the nicest McDonald's I've ever seen in my life. One of the beaches is even called Miami Plage, which I thought was hilarious. He drove us through the wealthy neighborhoods where houses are very expensive, but instead of having us walk around there, he took us to this little island, which can be walked to when the tide is out, where 12 poor Moroccan families live in an old fortress that was built by either the Portuguese or the Spanish (I forget which) in the 16th century. The men of these families make their living by fishing, which they do in these rubber inner tubes, which are also used to ferry people to and from the island when the tide is in. The women are fortune tellers who practice their trade by melting bits of tin and reading the signs that the metal makes when dropped in cold water. Hicham took us right into the settlement, which was incredible with its aging, white walls, tiny homes honeycombed throughout the structure, and finally, at the very top, stunning view of the Atlantic. Some of Casa's main draws are its beaches and upscale shopping, but I was glad that Hicham took us to this unglamorous, decidedly rough around the edges area where real Moroccans make their living.
Our last historic site visit was to the old Sacred Heart Cathedral built by the Spanish. I don't think it's a functioning church anymore, as the alter and pews were no where to be found and the building was currently housing an art exhibition, which was cool in its own right. Three of the other girls and I walked up the 120, pigeon poop encrusted stairs to the very top of the building. We were literally standing on the roof of the cathedral, no guard rail or anything, staring out at the city of Casablanca. It was intense!
After the cathedral was when things started to get a little sketchy. Let me say again, that we knew what we were getting into when we decided to stick with Hicham, and I don't regret our decision at all. The man was very friendly, chatted to us in Arabic and English, showed us pictures of his little baby, and gave us lots of friendly advise and information about Casablanca and our study of the Arabic language. He took pictures of us at every site we visited and let us wander around as long as we wanted. After the cathedral, though, we began to meet some of Hicham's friends. The first ones, own a tradition pharmacy. We were ushered inside, sat down, and given a demonstration of some tradition herbal remedies. We saw herbs and spices that help with colds and digestive difficulties, henna for dying skin, lips, and hair, cremes and oils for softening the skin, and musk for scenting the body and the home. The pharmacist answered all of our questions and let us test out his products. It was a really cool experience to have had and I love the rose scenting moisturizer that I purchased.
Out most uncomfortable encounter came at the carpet shop. As soon as we walked in I knew that none of us were walking out without a carpet. We were ushered into a back room, sat down and shown every kind of carpet the store owned. I tried to set the tone of the meeting by saying that we were poor students and asking how much something cost, but the owner was having none of it. He deftly refused giving any prices and said he would give us good rates. We saw carpet, after gorgeous carpet being unfolded and placed into piles when someone expressed an interest in a particular piece. After every one of us had a good sized pile of rugs in front of us the manager asked if we wanted tea. At this point I was feeling decidedly uncomfortable, but some of the other girls were ready to do some serious bargaining and the tea was sent for regardless of my trepidation. The manager and his assistant had us go through our piles and choose which rugs we were most interested in, and then the bargaining began.
The manager would take us aside, one at a time and break out the calculator, whispering and writing down numbers on a sheet of paper. When my turn came, I had narrowed down my choice to one white carpet covered with Berber designs in red, blue, and yellow. It's big enough to be spread on a bed and I though it would look lovely on my crimson duvet at home. Well, I was only willing to spend $100 US, as that's all my bank account could afford to take, and when the manager gave me his opening offer of 2,000 dirhams (300 US), I flat out told him no. He kept lowering by degrees, and I kept telling him that I simply did not have the money. H finally stopped at 1,300 dirham, saying that it was the price he would give his sister, and I did really want the rug, but it was too much. After some serious thinking, mental calculations, and a call to my mom, I decided to hell with it, I was going to buy a rug in Morocco sometime or another, and went ahead and purchased it, knowing full well that I was probably paying too much. I wasn't the only one though. Five of us bought carpets, and I was pretty proud of the fact that I managed to get mine at almost half price, even if my bargaining strategy was simply repeating that I didn't have money over and over again. All in all, the rug shop adventure was a little stressful but also quite humorous. The experience of sitting in this rug shop with this little Moroccan man whispering prices me in heavily accenting English as I absently sipped tea and attempted mental dirham to dollar conversions was totally surreal and certainly laughable in hindsight. It was clear that all six of us had been suckered into a situation that had spiraled slightly out of our control, and the most we could do was sit back and enjoy how the events unfolded. I really do love the rug I purchased, and for about $150 US, I really can't complain. I can now say that I've had my inevitable tourist scamming experience and move on with it.
After the rug shop we convinced Hicham to drop us at the train station and ten minutes later we were on the train back to Rabat. Upon arriving home, I showed my host family my rug, and although my host mom told me I payed way too much and should never buy things like that without her, my host dad seemed to think I did OK for myself and Ranya and Sarah just found the whole situation hilarious. My host mom promised to take me to the market in Rabat next time I want to make a big purchase and show me where the good stores are and how to get a good price.
All in all, the Casablanca trip was certainly a great experience, a ton of fun, and produced many fabulous memories. I think that I did well for my first voyage outside Rabat and it was heartening to note that I can be a good tourist as well as a good student. I now think that I will be able to approach longer trips outside Rabat with more confidence and experience, and can hardly wait for my next adventure!
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Happy Birthday!
Hi Everyone. So I know that I promised a post about my trip to Casablanca, and I will hold true to that promise...tomorrow. Today, however, is a very special day, and I feel the need to deviate slightly from the original purpose of this blog in order to address a most pressing issue. On this the 12th of Semptember in the Year of Our Lord 2009, my grandfather, Donald Kane, celebrated his 80th birthday. In honor of the occasion, I have decided to post a short tribute to my Grampy on the interwebs as I know that he is one of my biggest followers, and so that everyone else who reads this blog can come to know (if they don't already) what an extraordinary person Mr. Kane really is.
I've always known that I have had an excellent grandfather. When I was young this meant that there was a really tall guy with a moustache who we visited in the summer and who was always ready to play with me or show me how to use the super high tech remote for his TV. My earliest memories of Grampy are mostly centered around lazy summer days spent at the Kane residence in Newton, MA, filled with visits to the local bakeries and playgrounds and day trips to Boston. As a youngster I was slightly obsessed with the American Revolution and both of my grandparents were quite willing to accommodate my desire to see every single battlefield, momument, and famous grave multiple times.
I don't think that I truly began to appreciate just how special my grandfather really is until my later years of high school and these past two years of college. When I was little, I can remember going to bed in the summer, in Newton, with my bedroom windows open, and listening to the voices of my parents and grandparents floating up to the room as they talked for hours into the night. I think that my relationship with my grandfather really deepened once I reached the age where I was allowed to stay up and actively partipate in those after dinner discussions. Through these talks, I learned that Donald Kane is a very intelligent, well read, and fiercely opinionated man. He has also had an incredible life full of many unique and interesting experiences. I now know that when I think about my grandfather, for the rest of my life, some of my best memories will incude sitting at the dining room table discussing, many times heatedly, subjects ranging from Bosnia, to Somali pirates, to Presidential elections, to the various merits of Oprah's Book Club. Through my grandfather, I learned the excitement of debating, not just to prove my point or persuade others to my postion, but just for the sheer joy of coming together and sharing my thoughts with other intelligent, opinionated people.
For those of you that don't know, I study International Relations at American University. I didn't realize, until starting college, what an incredible resource I had in Donald Kane, when it comes to first hand knowledge about the international system. I've always known that my granparents, along with my mom and uncle, lived in France when my mother was very small, but I didn't realize the exact nature of why they moved to Europe until very recently. It was completly incredible for me to hear Grampy start to share stories about his work at the US Embassy and with various international organizations. I love showing Grampy off to all of my IR friends because, although the field has changed much in recent years, his knowledge of international affairs is as keen as ever, and his stories remain brilliant no matter how many years pass.
I feel very lucky that in my grandfather I have someone who loves me, who supports me, and who is always happy to hear about any adventures my life brings. I also feel incredibly blessed to have a grandparents with whom I share so many interests and who is willing to sit down and talk to me like an equal, about subjects that engage both of us, despite my rather obvious youth.
I guess what I really want to say is that, Grampy, in you I have someone who I can love, respect, and admire in great quanities. On the occasion of your 80th birthday I would like to tell you just how grateful I am that I have had you in my life these past 20 years, and how much I hope to have you in my life for many years to come.
I've always known that I have had an excellent grandfather. When I was young this meant that there was a really tall guy with a moustache who we visited in the summer and who was always ready to play with me or show me how to use the super high tech remote for his TV. My earliest memories of Grampy are mostly centered around lazy summer days spent at the Kane residence in Newton, MA, filled with visits to the local bakeries and playgrounds and day trips to Boston. As a youngster I was slightly obsessed with the American Revolution and both of my grandparents were quite willing to accommodate my desire to see every single battlefield, momument, and famous grave multiple times.
I don't think that I truly began to appreciate just how special my grandfather really is until my later years of high school and these past two years of college. When I was little, I can remember going to bed in the summer, in Newton, with my bedroom windows open, and listening to the voices of my parents and grandparents floating up to the room as they talked for hours into the night. I think that my relationship with my grandfather really deepened once I reached the age where I was allowed to stay up and actively partipate in those after dinner discussions. Through these talks, I learned that Donald Kane is a very intelligent, well read, and fiercely opinionated man. He has also had an incredible life full of many unique and interesting experiences. I now know that when I think about my grandfather, for the rest of my life, some of my best memories will incude sitting at the dining room table discussing, many times heatedly, subjects ranging from Bosnia, to Somali pirates, to Presidential elections, to the various merits of Oprah's Book Club. Through my grandfather, I learned the excitement of debating, not just to prove my point or persuade others to my postion, but just for the sheer joy of coming together and sharing my thoughts with other intelligent, opinionated people.
For those of you that don't know, I study International Relations at American University. I didn't realize, until starting college, what an incredible resource I had in Donald Kane, when it comes to first hand knowledge about the international system. I've always known that my granparents, along with my mom and uncle, lived in France when my mother was very small, but I didn't realize the exact nature of why they moved to Europe until very recently. It was completly incredible for me to hear Grampy start to share stories about his work at the US Embassy and with various international organizations. I love showing Grampy off to all of my IR friends because, although the field has changed much in recent years, his knowledge of international affairs is as keen as ever, and his stories remain brilliant no matter how many years pass.
I feel very lucky that in my grandfather I have someone who loves me, who supports me, and who is always happy to hear about any adventures my life brings. I also feel incredibly blessed to have a grandparents with whom I share so many interests and who is willing to sit down and talk to me like an equal, about subjects that engage both of us, despite my rather obvious youth.
I guess what I really want to say is that, Grampy, in you I have someone who I can love, respect, and admire in great quanities. On the occasion of your 80th birthday I would like to tell you just how grateful I am that I have had you in my life these past 20 years, and how much I hope to have you in my life for many years to come.
Friday, September 11, 2009
Rain in Rabat
It rained today and yesterday. This might not seem like a big, news worthy event, especially for all of you Pacific Northwest readers, but here in Morocco, rain in September is apparently almost unheard of. In fact, just last week Ranya told me with much conviction that it was not going to rain at all until January. I'm rather enjoying it, personally, as rain makes the place feel more like home, and lowers the temperature by a good 10 degrees.
Because it rains so infrequently this time of year here in Rabat, neither the streets nor the people can really handle it. I walked back from school yesterday, sans umbrella, which was fine for the first 10 minutes, when it was drizzling, and by the time the rain started in earnest I was too close to home to justify taking a taxi. Not that I would have wanted to anyways. Traffic in Rabat is frightening under the best of circumstances and the rain just made everything worse. The streets were full of standing water due to inefficient drainage and there seemed to be twice as many cars on the road as usual, which led to twice the amount of honking, shouting, and near death experiences for my fellow pedestrians and me at busy intersections. The rain did provide me with some nice Moroccan bonding experiences. I ran into a group of hijab and djellaba wearing women at one of the intersections along my route. They all had umbrellas and got a chuckle out of the fact that by this point I was definitely dripping wet. They got an even bigger laugh over the fact that instead of walking around puddles like they did, I decided to attempt leaping over them. A couple of the women attempted a conversation in Darija with me, but once they realized my language skills are still basically nil we had to make do with more laughter and hand gestures. When I finally arrived home, my sister Neda opened the door and began laughing her head off as soon as she beheld me in all of my clothes sopping, shoe squelching, and glasses fogging glory. I wasted no time in toweling off and putting on comfy clothes, and then proceeded to spend the rest of the afternoon sitting in my window doing homework and watching my host dad and our housekeeper cleaning off the patio.
My host family and I are still getting along well, and I've had a few good bonding experiences in recent days. Last night, Neda and Sarah decided to help Evelyn and I study for the Arabic quizzes that we had today. Neda took charge of Evelyn, who is in beginning Arabic, because Evelyn speaks French. It was so funny watching Evelyn say or write a word only to be told "Non!" or "La!" very sternly by Neda who would then proceed to say the word again repeatedly or force Evelyn to rewrite it. As part of my graduation to Arabic 202, I've moved onto a new book that gives me three times the vocab my old one did. Sarah's contribution to my studying was having me read all of my thirty plus vocab words out loud while she corrected my pronunciation. It was actually very helpful and funny as Sarah is a huge tease. I also learned that Sarah is a fellow Stevie Wonder fan, and has been to one of his concerts, of which I am extremely jealous!
This afternoon, Neda took Evelyn and I to the souq to by the things we need to go to the hamamm, or public baths, namely special soap and a scrubby glove. The expedition turned into a visit to all of Neda's favorite stalls, and Evelyn and I ended up purchasing shoes, 5 dirham panties (with 8 dirhams to the dollar that's really good), and 20 dirham knock off designer brand perfume that was mixed right in front of us. The perfume stall was a lot of fun, as the employees there were very chatty and one guy wanted to improve his English so he talked to me for a good 10 minutes. He told me that I need to speak Darija all the time and invited me to come back to the stall for a visit if I ever need someone to talk to. He was very nice about listening to my terrible MSA and laughed when I attempted Darija, but it was all good, or mashee mushkeel (not a problem), in the local tongue.
Tomorrow I am heading to Casablanca for the day with a group of girls in my program. I think it should be fun. My host mom seems rather anti-Casablanca trip though, as she immediately pointed out that it is supposed to rain when I told her what I was doing. She also told me that she was going to make couscous tomorrow and asked if I didn't want to see her make it. I made Ranya tell her that I really did want to help with the couscous (which I do!) and that I couldn't back out of my plans as I already told the other girls I was going with them. She agreed to push back the couscous making to Sunday, but still seems skeptical of the trip.
I really like my host family, but sometimes it's weird living with them as I'm just not used to having parents around all the time. At school, and this past summer, I rather got out of the habit of telling people where I was going and when I would be back whenever I left the house. The language barrier also complicates things. If I had known that the couscous making and a trip the the hamamm were on the agenda for Saturday, I would not have agreed to my Casa trip, but I did, and I want to go, so now I'm missing host family bonding time. I have to keep reminding myself that I am here for nine months, and that I don't have to do everything right away. There will be other trips to the hamamm! All that aside, my family does seem to be getting used to Evelyn and mine's presence, as is evidenced by the fact that I am now only urged to eat more twice a meal, instead of every two minutes. At dinner tonight, we had a celery and beef tajine and Evelyn and I had a great time trying to explain eating celery with peanut butter and also stir fried beef and snow peas to our host mom, as she didn't immediately understand our description of peanut butter and Evelyn had to draw a picture of the snow peas before anyone could even begin to conceive of such a vegetable.
Well, regardless of my host mom's disapproval I am off to Casablanca at 9:00 AM tomorrow, so be on the look out for my first non-Rabat centered Morocco posting!
Also, just a random interjection here at the end. Evelyn and I were told by our host dad that Ranya was leaving Wednesday for Canada, but she is still very much here in Rabat. I guess that Moroccans plan trips differently than we do in the US, as when I asked Ranya when she was leaving, she looked at me like I was crazy and said that she is leaving when she decides to buy her plane ticket...which might be tomorrow...or next week...I have no idea. I have a feeling I'll come home from school one day and Ranya will just no longer be here!
Because it rains so infrequently this time of year here in Rabat, neither the streets nor the people can really handle it. I walked back from school yesterday, sans umbrella, which was fine for the first 10 minutes, when it was drizzling, and by the time the rain started in earnest I was too close to home to justify taking a taxi. Not that I would have wanted to anyways. Traffic in Rabat is frightening under the best of circumstances and the rain just made everything worse. The streets were full of standing water due to inefficient drainage and there seemed to be twice as many cars on the road as usual, which led to twice the amount of honking, shouting, and near death experiences for my fellow pedestrians and me at busy intersections. The rain did provide me with some nice Moroccan bonding experiences. I ran into a group of hijab and djellaba wearing women at one of the intersections along my route. They all had umbrellas and got a chuckle out of the fact that by this point I was definitely dripping wet. They got an even bigger laugh over the fact that instead of walking around puddles like they did, I decided to attempt leaping over them. A couple of the women attempted a conversation in Darija with me, but once they realized my language skills are still basically nil we had to make do with more laughter and hand gestures. When I finally arrived home, my sister Neda opened the door and began laughing her head off as soon as she beheld me in all of my clothes sopping, shoe squelching, and glasses fogging glory. I wasted no time in toweling off and putting on comfy clothes, and then proceeded to spend the rest of the afternoon sitting in my window doing homework and watching my host dad and our housekeeper cleaning off the patio.
My host family and I are still getting along well, and I've had a few good bonding experiences in recent days. Last night, Neda and Sarah decided to help Evelyn and I study for the Arabic quizzes that we had today. Neda took charge of Evelyn, who is in beginning Arabic, because Evelyn speaks French. It was so funny watching Evelyn say or write a word only to be told "Non!" or "La!" very sternly by Neda who would then proceed to say the word again repeatedly or force Evelyn to rewrite it. As part of my graduation to Arabic 202, I've moved onto a new book that gives me three times the vocab my old one did. Sarah's contribution to my studying was having me read all of my thirty plus vocab words out loud while she corrected my pronunciation. It was actually very helpful and funny as Sarah is a huge tease. I also learned that Sarah is a fellow Stevie Wonder fan, and has been to one of his concerts, of which I am extremely jealous!
This afternoon, Neda took Evelyn and I to the souq to by the things we need to go to the hamamm, or public baths, namely special soap and a scrubby glove. The expedition turned into a visit to all of Neda's favorite stalls, and Evelyn and I ended up purchasing shoes, 5 dirham panties (with 8 dirhams to the dollar that's really good), and 20 dirham knock off designer brand perfume that was mixed right in front of us. The perfume stall was a lot of fun, as the employees there were very chatty and one guy wanted to improve his English so he talked to me for a good 10 minutes. He told me that I need to speak Darija all the time and invited me to come back to the stall for a visit if I ever need someone to talk to. He was very nice about listening to my terrible MSA and laughed when I attempted Darija, but it was all good, or mashee mushkeel (not a problem), in the local tongue.
Tomorrow I am heading to Casablanca for the day with a group of girls in my program. I think it should be fun. My host mom seems rather anti-Casablanca trip though, as she immediately pointed out that it is supposed to rain when I told her what I was doing. She also told me that she was going to make couscous tomorrow and asked if I didn't want to see her make it. I made Ranya tell her that I really did want to help with the couscous (which I do!) and that I couldn't back out of my plans as I already told the other girls I was going with them. She agreed to push back the couscous making to Sunday, but still seems skeptical of the trip.
I really like my host family, but sometimes it's weird living with them as I'm just not used to having parents around all the time. At school, and this past summer, I rather got out of the habit of telling people where I was going and when I would be back whenever I left the house. The language barrier also complicates things. If I had known that the couscous making and a trip the the hamamm were on the agenda for Saturday, I would not have agreed to my Casa trip, but I did, and I want to go, so now I'm missing host family bonding time. I have to keep reminding myself that I am here for nine months, and that I don't have to do everything right away. There will be other trips to the hamamm! All that aside, my family does seem to be getting used to Evelyn and mine's presence, as is evidenced by the fact that I am now only urged to eat more twice a meal, instead of every two minutes. At dinner tonight, we had a celery and beef tajine and Evelyn and I had a great time trying to explain eating celery with peanut butter and also stir fried beef and snow peas to our host mom, as she didn't immediately understand our description of peanut butter and Evelyn had to draw a picture of the snow peas before anyone could even begin to conceive of such a vegetable.
Well, regardless of my host mom's disapproval I am off to Casablanca at 9:00 AM tomorrow, so be on the look out for my first non-Rabat centered Morocco posting!
Also, just a random interjection here at the end. Evelyn and I were told by our host dad that Ranya was leaving Wednesday for Canada, but she is still very much here in Rabat. I guess that Moroccans plan trips differently than we do in the US, as when I asked Ranya when she was leaving, she looked at me like I was crazy and said that she is leaving when she decides to buy her plane ticket...which might be tomorrow...or next week...I have no idea. I have a feeling I'll come home from school one day and Ranya will just no longer be here!
Monday, September 7, 2009
Of Classes, Museums, and Personal Hygiene
So, it has been almost a week since I last updated. Sorry about that! I got this cool little device this past weekend that serves as a USB modem thing-y for my laptop. Anyways, this means that I will be able to use the internet from my host family's house and hopefully post more often, as long as I keep having interesting things to say!
This past week has been good. I started classes, as I mentioned in my last post. My Arabic and Darija classes are still intense, but I definitely feel like I'm learning a lot. My Gender, Islam, and Society class has a ton of interesting readings, and I'm glad that we're looking at both secular and Islamist feminist movements. We also get to take field trips to visit organizations working with women's issues in Rabat. My Contemporary Moroccan Culture class seems cool, mostly because we get to read short stories, and look at art, and listen to music as well as read academic journal articles. I think that this class will also be really useful since I am going to be here for a year and having a higher level of cultural awareness can only be a good thing. My last class, Islam and the West, is a history class taught by this little old American man who claims to have wanted to be a professor since the age of 17. He's lived in North Africa for many years and knows everybody who's anybody in North African politics and culture. The readings all seem really interesting and the class is entirely discussion based, which is great.
Classes starting has also been good because I feel like I'm finally settling into a routine. I go to class in the morning, work on homework in the afternoon, and explore the city with my particular group of friends in the rest of the afternoon and early evening. I head back to my host family for ftour, and then finish any homework I have left. The homework load hasn't been too bad so far (except Arabic), and so I've had plenty of time to explore. This past week, we spent the afternoons wandering around the older parts of the city with the huge markets and colorful stalls. My best find so far has been the modern art museum. The grounds are comprised of beautiful houses that have been converted into art galleries and large lawns with huge water fountains. Unfortunately, and this is throughout the entire city, water is expensive, so although there are many lovely fountains, they are almost never turned on! This is especially disappointing as it is very hot here and some fountains would go a long way towards making the city cooler. Also, they just look kind of depressing standing there all dry and empty.
Back to the museum. When we visited during the afternoon on Saturday, there were very few other guests and we discovered that one of the buildings has these lovely, cool marble floors. Given the absence of other museum goers and any sort of security, we just decided that it was too hot to walk around and lay down right on the floor. It was heavenly! My other favorite thing about the modern art museum is that it has evening programs that are free, or inexpensive, and open to the public. Saturday was a demonstration of Capoeira, or Brazilian dance-fighting. It was so intense! The people doing it moved so fast and so close to each other that I thought someone was going to get hurt for sure, but the dancers were so graceful and in control that nothing happened. Next week is a weird puppet show that looks kind of cool.
Evelyn and I also went out with Ranya again last Friday. I think that she's nervous about leaving for Canada and decided to assuage her anxiety by making out with a guy in the back of Ali's car. Whatever works I guess! Ali was also in rare form, and proved to be a very enthusiastic teacher of Arabic. He wants to improve his English, and in return is more than happy to give Evelyn and I new Darija and MSA vocab to work with. When teaching me the word for breeze, he was so excited that I knew a certain pronunciation point in Arabic that he started banging on the horn of the car! Unfortunately, with Ranya and Ali both leaving for school in the coming weeks, I am afraid that I will have no more Moroccan friends. Oh well, I suppose I'll just have to try and founder along on my own.
And now for my interesting cultural adjustment issue of the week. As I mentioned before, water is expensive in Morocco. As such, bathing every day is a luxury that few can afford. Now, I'm not a huge shower stickler, but I do like to have one every morning to wash my hair at least. No, that does not happen here. I get up and wash my face and hair in the sink (thank God my hair is so short), but I'm lucky if I get a real shower every three days. Most of my host family showers in the afternoon or evening, which I think I need to start doing, as I feel awkward asking my host mom to turn on the hot water for just me in the mornings. This week, I went five days without a real shower. I wiped myself down with a damp towel and wet wipes, and shaved my legs in the sink, but that's it! My feet are the worst part. I wear mostly sandals here and so my feet are absolutely filthy all the time. I usually rinse them off before bed, but I have a feeling they won't be fully clean until I'm back in the States. I'm always paranoid that I'm going to start to smell, so I'm glad I remembered to bring a bunch of deodorant with me!
Well, that's all for now. My friends and I are about to head to TGI Friday's so that we can have American food for ftour. My host mom is an excellent cook, but traditional Ramadan food is eaten for every ftour and there's only so much soup I can take before needing a break! I'm meeting my language and culture partner, a Moroccan student I'm supposed to meet with every two weeks to practice my language skills with, tonight, so hopefully I'll have good things to report in my next post.
This past week has been good. I started classes, as I mentioned in my last post. My Arabic and Darija classes are still intense, but I definitely feel like I'm learning a lot. My Gender, Islam, and Society class has a ton of interesting readings, and I'm glad that we're looking at both secular and Islamist feminist movements. We also get to take field trips to visit organizations working with women's issues in Rabat. My Contemporary Moroccan Culture class seems cool, mostly because we get to read short stories, and look at art, and listen to music as well as read academic journal articles. I think that this class will also be really useful since I am going to be here for a year and having a higher level of cultural awareness can only be a good thing. My last class, Islam and the West, is a history class taught by this little old American man who claims to have wanted to be a professor since the age of 17. He's lived in North Africa for many years and knows everybody who's anybody in North African politics and culture. The readings all seem really interesting and the class is entirely discussion based, which is great.
Classes starting has also been good because I feel like I'm finally settling into a routine. I go to class in the morning, work on homework in the afternoon, and explore the city with my particular group of friends in the rest of the afternoon and early evening. I head back to my host family for ftour, and then finish any homework I have left. The homework load hasn't been too bad so far (except Arabic), and so I've had plenty of time to explore. This past week, we spent the afternoons wandering around the older parts of the city with the huge markets and colorful stalls. My best find so far has been the modern art museum. The grounds are comprised of beautiful houses that have been converted into art galleries and large lawns with huge water fountains. Unfortunately, and this is throughout the entire city, water is expensive, so although there are many lovely fountains, they are almost never turned on! This is especially disappointing as it is very hot here and some fountains would go a long way towards making the city cooler. Also, they just look kind of depressing standing there all dry and empty.
Back to the museum. When we visited during the afternoon on Saturday, there were very few other guests and we discovered that one of the buildings has these lovely, cool marble floors. Given the absence of other museum goers and any sort of security, we just decided that it was too hot to walk around and lay down right on the floor. It was heavenly! My other favorite thing about the modern art museum is that it has evening programs that are free, or inexpensive, and open to the public. Saturday was a demonstration of Capoeira, or Brazilian dance-fighting. It was so intense! The people doing it moved so fast and so close to each other that I thought someone was going to get hurt for sure, but the dancers were so graceful and in control that nothing happened. Next week is a weird puppet show that looks kind of cool.
Evelyn and I also went out with Ranya again last Friday. I think that she's nervous about leaving for Canada and decided to assuage her anxiety by making out with a guy in the back of Ali's car. Whatever works I guess! Ali was also in rare form, and proved to be a very enthusiastic teacher of Arabic. He wants to improve his English, and in return is more than happy to give Evelyn and I new Darija and MSA vocab to work with. When teaching me the word for breeze, he was so excited that I knew a certain pronunciation point in Arabic that he started banging on the horn of the car! Unfortunately, with Ranya and Ali both leaving for school in the coming weeks, I am afraid that I will have no more Moroccan friends. Oh well, I suppose I'll just have to try and founder along on my own.
And now for my interesting cultural adjustment issue of the week. As I mentioned before, water is expensive in Morocco. As such, bathing every day is a luxury that few can afford. Now, I'm not a huge shower stickler, but I do like to have one every morning to wash my hair at least. No, that does not happen here. I get up and wash my face and hair in the sink (thank God my hair is so short), but I'm lucky if I get a real shower every three days. Most of my host family showers in the afternoon or evening, which I think I need to start doing, as I feel awkward asking my host mom to turn on the hot water for just me in the mornings. This week, I went five days without a real shower. I wiped myself down with a damp towel and wet wipes, and shaved my legs in the sink, but that's it! My feet are the worst part. I wear mostly sandals here and so my feet are absolutely filthy all the time. I usually rinse them off before bed, but I have a feeling they won't be fully clean until I'm back in the States. I'm always paranoid that I'm going to start to smell, so I'm glad I remembered to bring a bunch of deodorant with me!
Well, that's all for now. My friends and I are about to head to TGI Friday's so that we can have American food for ftour. My host mom is an excellent cook, but traditional Ramadan food is eaten for every ftour and there's only so much soup I can take before needing a break! I'm meeting my language and culture partner, a Moroccan student I'm supposed to meet with every two weeks to practice my language skills with, tonight, so hopefully I'll have good things to report in my next post.
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