Wednesday, October 14, 2009
um.
I did that wrong. Don't read the following post first. Read the one after it. That's where the story starts.
i rode in a horse cart again. yes, again.
Day Two.
We went to breakfast around 9. The only hiccup at breakfast was a lack of communication between our waiter and us, which could have been written off as poor language skills. However, many of the girls felt that this "miscommunication" was a recurring event here in Morocco - as women we have often found that we are given sub-par service at restaurants (when we order food they'll bring us out something else and inform us after the fact that they didn't have what we ordered) and when getting taxis (which is next to impossible for whatever reason). So we set off for Paradise Beach a little grumpily.
And then the walk to the beach was a two hour endeavor. In summation: it was long and hot. The end.
The beach was as beautiful as before, even if there were a few more Spanish tourists there. We sunbathed and read our massive homework assignment for sociology: an article all about Morocco, and I do mean ALL about Morocco. Around 2, two of the girls went to find their taxi, which had come to the beach to pick them up; they told me, Elaine and Katie that they would ask the taxi to come back and pick us up at 3.
At around 2:50, the three of us started walking up the hill that ran along one edge of the beach to meet our taxi. We weren't sure where he would pick us up but saw our friend's footmarks in the sand stop a little ways up the hill, so we figured we'd walk a little further and wait for the taxi in the small bit of shade we could find. We sat down and waited for a good 30 minutes. During that time, the youngest cousin on the horse-cart from the night before passed us again, this time with a mule attached to a cart ladden with horse feed. He asked us if we wanted a ride, but the poor mule looked like he was having a really hard time of it, so we told him that we were fine with walking and he went on his way. When we finally admitted to ourselves that the taxi simply wasn't going to come for us, Katie pulled out three energy bars (claiming that we had a LONG walk ahead of us a very little sustenance to make it - really it wasn't that dramatic) and we ate them before heading off along the sand path through the fields to Asilah. The walk was very hot and very dry, and we were a bit loopy by the time we reached the main road. And who should we see riding back to us but little cousin and his empty mule cart. He had come back to give us a ride. We nearly cried when we saw him. We hopped into his cart, and he drove us back to the city, jabbering uselessly at us in dereeja because he didn't know Spanish, unlike his cousins. We nodded and smiled and pretended like we had a clue what he was saying, because he was so nice in giving us a ride.
When we made it back to the hotel, we managed to relax for a while before heading off to dinner - seafood again. Very good seafood, as well. And very much still alive. The plate that they brought out to show us was ladden with lobsters that were still twitching at us. It was relatively un-nerving. After dinner we went back to the hotel and looked at the stars, which still twinkled in a familiar northern pattern, even if we were on another continent.
Day Three:
The next morning we packed up our stuff, checked out of our hotel, and walked to find a breakfast of cheese omlettes, chocolate filled croissants and cafe ole. After breakfast we caught a taxi to the train station and got onto the train, which had the worst air circulation of any mode of transporation I have yet to have the misfortune of being on. By the time the train pulled into the train station at Fes, we were all dripping sweat and desperate to breathe fresh air again. I have no possible clue how the women who were wearing jilabas and head scarves didn't faint dead away. There are some hardy women here in Morocco.
I heard it's snowing in Minnesota. That is really, really sad. It's super hot here, which I'm not so sure I prefer to the snow. I'd like a happy medium for us all.
Stay well!
We went to breakfast around 9. The only hiccup at breakfast was a lack of communication between our waiter and us, which could have been written off as poor language skills. However, many of the girls felt that this "miscommunication" was a recurring event here in Morocco - as women we have often found that we are given sub-par service at restaurants (when we order food they'll bring us out something else and inform us after the fact that they didn't have what we ordered) and when getting taxis (which is next to impossible for whatever reason). So we set off for Paradise Beach a little grumpily.
And then the walk to the beach was a two hour endeavor. In summation: it was long and hot. The end.
The beach was as beautiful as before, even if there were a few more Spanish tourists there. We sunbathed and read our massive homework assignment for sociology: an article all about Morocco, and I do mean ALL about Morocco. Around 2, two of the girls went to find their taxi, which had come to the beach to pick them up; they told me, Elaine and Katie that they would ask the taxi to come back and pick us up at 3.
At around 2:50, the three of us started walking up the hill that ran along one edge of the beach to meet our taxi. We weren't sure where he would pick us up but saw our friend's footmarks in the sand stop a little ways up the hill, so we figured we'd walk a little further and wait for the taxi in the small bit of shade we could find. We sat down and waited for a good 30 minutes. During that time, the youngest cousin on the horse-cart from the night before passed us again, this time with a mule attached to a cart ladden with horse feed. He asked us if we wanted a ride, but the poor mule looked like he was having a really hard time of it, so we told him that we were fine with walking and he went on his way. When we finally admitted to ourselves that the taxi simply wasn't going to come for us, Katie pulled out three energy bars (claiming that we had a LONG walk ahead of us a very little sustenance to make it - really it wasn't that dramatic) and we ate them before heading off along the sand path through the fields to Asilah. The walk was very hot and very dry, and we were a bit loopy by the time we reached the main road. And who should we see riding back to us but little cousin and his empty mule cart. He had come back to give us a ride. We nearly cried when we saw him. We hopped into his cart, and he drove us back to the city, jabbering uselessly at us in dereeja because he didn't know Spanish, unlike his cousins. We nodded and smiled and pretended like we had a clue what he was saying, because he was so nice in giving us a ride.
When we made it back to the hotel, we managed to relax for a while before heading off to dinner - seafood again. Very good seafood, as well. And very much still alive. The plate that they brought out to show us was ladden with lobsters that were still twitching at us. It was relatively un-nerving. After dinner we went back to the hotel and looked at the stars, which still twinkled in a familiar northern pattern, even if we were on another continent.
Day Three:
The next morning we packed up our stuff, checked out of our hotel, and walked to find a breakfast of cheese omlettes, chocolate filled croissants and cafe ole. After breakfast we caught a taxi to the train station and got onto the train, which had the worst air circulation of any mode of transporation I have yet to have the misfortune of being on. By the time the train pulled into the train station at Fes, we were all dripping sweat and desperate to breathe fresh air again. I have no possible clue how the women who were wearing jilabas and head scarves didn't faint dead away. There are some hardy women here in Morocco.
I heard it's snowing in Minnesota. That is really, really sad. It's super hot here, which I'm not so sure I prefer to the snow. I'd like a happy medium for us all.
Stay well!
i rode in a horse cart. what? i rode in a horse cart.
I went to Asilah, a little village near the coast, this weekend. Here is how things went down.
Day One.
I got up at 5:30 to take a taxi from Batha (closest hub) to the train station for a 6:50 train. Kirsten, a girl on the trip, walked with me; the night guard, who watches over the neighborhood until sometime mid-morning, walked with us. It was nice to have a male presence there, just in case. It was not so nice that he felt the need to pull the back of both mine and Kirsten's shirts down, like we were showing off too much flesh (of which there was none visible) or were being too skanky (a label which realistically cannot be applied to either of us). We thanked him awkwardly, and he nodded gravely like he had done us some vital service. We were happy to be rid of him when we finally got a taxi to the train station.
Our group of 9 girls hopped on to the train at around 6:30. It was old and rather dirty, but we had individual compartments and the train was red. Hogwarts Express jokes took up about 30 minutes of the ride. Talking about Harry Potter in general was another few minutes. The rest of the time was girl gossip, which seems to be characterize 90% of our conversations. Example #2334 of there being way too much estrogen on this trip. We switched trains at Sidi Kacem, and for the rest of that train ride I slept. Well, almost all of it - I woke up when some train worker shoved me roughly on the shoulder to see my ticket. He was apparently grumpy and I was unhappy at being woken up so rudely. We had a glarefest. Not sure who won.
When we finally got off the train it was with relief. We had watched the ocean slowly come into view for a good 15 minutes, and were itching to get into the water. At least, the rest of the group was. As is typical with me, I forgot my swimsuit, arguably the single most important thing to bring to a beach vacation. So I was excited to go buy a swimsuit. We caught a ride into Asilah with a super sketchy but cheap van/taxi, and arrived at our hotel without incident. The hotel was relatively cheap and very clean, and (like almost all of the buildings in Asilah) was whitewashed. There were green and blue mosaic tiles on the walls of the room and the floor tiles were green and blue; the windows were closed off by green shutters, and the doors were green. It was a cute hotel.
After checking in and paying our room fee for the night, we headed off to get lunch. Using our LonelyPlanet travel guide we found a good restaurant near the Medina (old city) that served both traditional Moroccan dishes and the local delicacy: fresh seafood. I got spaghetti with "fruits of the sea", which ended up being small shrimp and a mystery fish. The mystery fish was questionable but the shrimp was good. As was the sword fish that other girls got.
After lunch, two other girls and I went to the Medina to try and find a swimsuit while the rest of the group headed to find a taxi to Paradise Beach. In the medina we were informed that the shops had closed for the afternoon because it was Friday, the Muslim holy day, and everyone had gone home for a big lunch of cous cous. So we gave up the swimsuit hunt and caught a taxi to the beach, which we would soon realize was very far off the beaten path. The taxi had to manuever through the twists and turns of a dirt/sand road that wound its way through agricultural fields and desert brakken for a good few miles before beginning the descent down towards the beach. But what a breathtaking descent! The ocean was a clear blue with a decent sized swell, and the sand was dark on the beach where the tide had rushed in and trampled by hooves where multiple horses had been walked by their owners. There were three small shacks that served as restaurants, a few chairs spread along the length of the beach, and only a few beachgoers. The beach was framed by yellow hills on the far side, and the greenery was low shrubs and small trees. There was an afternoon mist over the far side of the beach. It was very beautiful.
We told our taxi to return for us at 6:30, just after sunset, and set out our towels to catch some sun. By 5, however, it was starting to get dark and too chilly for laying out. So we decided to start walking towards the road in the hopes of meeting our taxi along the way. During our walk we were passed by a horse cart with three boys who asked us if we were going to Asilah. As a typical response to Moroccan men we ignored them, and they drove past us. But a few minutes later we saw one of the boys waiting for us further up the path. He asked if we were going to Asilah in Spanish (side note: almost everyone in Asilah spoke fluent Spanish. It was so nice to FINALLY understand what someone was telling me without needing some sort of translation) and we said yes. He asked if we wanted a ride on the cart, telling us that he didn't want any money, just to help us out. We were reluctant but he and his friends didn't seem like trouble, so we got into the cart.
Through a roughly translated Spanish conversation, we found out that the boys were all cousins. The owner of the cart and horse was Jamal, who was 21; the others were Ahmed, 17, and a little cousin of and uncertain name who was 15. They tried to teach us how to say "I am 20 years old" in Dereeja, but we've all forgotten by now. They also sang songs for us, told us the names of random objects in Dereeja, and asked us questions about America.
The ride itself was wonderful. The sun was setting on the horizon in a wash of purple, pink and orange, and it was so quant to be bouncing along in the back of a cart through fields of melons and yellow sand. Despite Ahmed attempting to hold my hand (and succeeding for about 5 minutes while I awkwardly wondered if I should tell him I was unfortunately off the market - until his cousins made fun of him and he dropped my hand), the entire adventure was one I'll never forget. After dropping Ahmed and little cousin off at their respective houses, Jamal drove us as far as he could with his horse cart, and then dropped us off at a well-lit street and pointed us in the direction of our hotel. He was friendly and waved goodbye after we thanked him profusely for the ride.
After we put our stuff in our hotel room, we all went out for dinner. I had a Spanish omlette. It is my new love. It is the only thing I will cook for my future family.
See next blog for days two and three...
Day One.
I got up at 5:30 to take a taxi from Batha (closest hub) to the train station for a 6:50 train. Kirsten, a girl on the trip, walked with me; the night guard, who watches over the neighborhood until sometime mid-morning, walked with us. It was nice to have a male presence there, just in case. It was not so nice that he felt the need to pull the back of both mine and Kirsten's shirts down, like we were showing off too much flesh (of which there was none visible) or were being too skanky (a label which realistically cannot be applied to either of us). We thanked him awkwardly, and he nodded gravely like he had done us some vital service. We were happy to be rid of him when we finally got a taxi to the train station.
Our group of 9 girls hopped on to the train at around 6:30. It was old and rather dirty, but we had individual compartments and the train was red. Hogwarts Express jokes took up about 30 minutes of the ride. Talking about Harry Potter in general was another few minutes. The rest of the time was girl gossip, which seems to be characterize 90% of our conversations. Example #2334 of there being way too much estrogen on this trip. We switched trains at Sidi Kacem, and for the rest of that train ride I slept. Well, almost all of it - I woke up when some train worker shoved me roughly on the shoulder to see my ticket. He was apparently grumpy and I was unhappy at being woken up so rudely. We had a glarefest. Not sure who won.
When we finally got off the train it was with relief. We had watched the ocean slowly come into view for a good 15 minutes, and were itching to get into the water. At least, the rest of the group was. As is typical with me, I forgot my swimsuit, arguably the single most important thing to bring to a beach vacation. So I was excited to go buy a swimsuit. We caught a ride into Asilah with a super sketchy but cheap van/taxi, and arrived at our hotel without incident. The hotel was relatively cheap and very clean, and (like almost all of the buildings in Asilah) was whitewashed. There were green and blue mosaic tiles on the walls of the room and the floor tiles were green and blue; the windows were closed off by green shutters, and the doors were green. It was a cute hotel.
After checking in and paying our room fee for the night, we headed off to get lunch. Using our LonelyPlanet travel guide we found a good restaurant near the Medina (old city) that served both traditional Moroccan dishes and the local delicacy: fresh seafood. I got spaghetti with "fruits of the sea", which ended up being small shrimp and a mystery fish. The mystery fish was questionable but the shrimp was good. As was the sword fish that other girls got.
After lunch, two other girls and I went to the Medina to try and find a swimsuit while the rest of the group headed to find a taxi to Paradise Beach. In the medina we were informed that the shops had closed for the afternoon because it was Friday, the Muslim holy day, and everyone had gone home for a big lunch of cous cous. So we gave up the swimsuit hunt and caught a taxi to the beach, which we would soon realize was very far off the beaten path. The taxi had to manuever through the twists and turns of a dirt/sand road that wound its way through agricultural fields and desert brakken for a good few miles before beginning the descent down towards the beach. But what a breathtaking descent! The ocean was a clear blue with a decent sized swell, and the sand was dark on the beach where the tide had rushed in and trampled by hooves where multiple horses had been walked by their owners. There were three small shacks that served as restaurants, a few chairs spread along the length of the beach, and only a few beachgoers. The beach was framed by yellow hills on the far side, and the greenery was low shrubs and small trees. There was an afternoon mist over the far side of the beach. It was very beautiful.
We told our taxi to return for us at 6:30, just after sunset, and set out our towels to catch some sun. By 5, however, it was starting to get dark and too chilly for laying out. So we decided to start walking towards the road in the hopes of meeting our taxi along the way. During our walk we were passed by a horse cart with three boys who asked us if we were going to Asilah. As a typical response to Moroccan men we ignored them, and they drove past us. But a few minutes later we saw one of the boys waiting for us further up the path. He asked if we were going to Asilah in Spanish (side note: almost everyone in Asilah spoke fluent Spanish. It was so nice to FINALLY understand what someone was telling me without needing some sort of translation) and we said yes. He asked if we wanted a ride on the cart, telling us that he didn't want any money, just to help us out. We were reluctant but he and his friends didn't seem like trouble, so we got into the cart.
Through a roughly translated Spanish conversation, we found out that the boys were all cousins. The owner of the cart and horse was Jamal, who was 21; the others were Ahmed, 17, and a little cousin of and uncertain name who was 15. They tried to teach us how to say "I am 20 years old" in Dereeja, but we've all forgotten by now. They also sang songs for us, told us the names of random objects in Dereeja, and asked us questions about America.
The ride itself was wonderful. The sun was setting on the horizon in a wash of purple, pink and orange, and it was so quant to be bouncing along in the back of a cart through fields of melons and yellow sand. Despite Ahmed attempting to hold my hand (and succeeding for about 5 minutes while I awkwardly wondered if I should tell him I was unfortunately off the market - until his cousins made fun of him and he dropped my hand), the entire adventure was one I'll never forget. After dropping Ahmed and little cousin off at their respective houses, Jamal drove us as far as he could with his horse cart, and then dropped us off at a well-lit street and pointed us in the direction of our hotel. He was friendly and waved goodbye after we thanked him profusely for the ride.
After we put our stuff in our hotel room, we all went out for dinner. I had a Spanish omlette. It is my new love. It is the only thing I will cook for my future family.
See next blog for days two and three...
Friday, October 2, 2009
seriously. i can't eat any more.
Salam uAlakum!
I'm in Morocco now, and enjoying my homestay immensely. My host family consists of Jamal, our host dad and the man of the house (28 ish), his wife Fadua (young, although I'm not sure how young...younger than Jamal, I would say), his two children SiMohammed (Simou for short - 6 years and 9 months) and Zizou (I'm sure this kid has a full name but I have no idea what it is - he just turned three a few days ago), his sister Majda (21), and his mother whose name Jill and I have yet to determine. We call her Grandma.
Here is what a normal day at the House of Jamal looks like.
Jill and I get up around 7:45 and get ready in our room, which is a floor below the main house. The house itself is more of an apartment, taking up the top floor of the building with one room (our room) on a lower floor. Then we go upstairs for breakfasts, saying hello to Jamal and Fadua before we eat what is normally a meal of bread, butter and jam. Jamal recently got into a car accident (around 10 days before we arrived at his front door), so he's been confined largely to one room in the house. Jill and I feel really bad for him - he broke his arm and leg and has multiple face lacerations and who knows how many other injuries - so we try to sit down and talk a bit with him whenever we go to the "Big House". He knows a bit of English that he learned in high school, and it's been really nice to get to know him and the family without an extreme language barrier.
We walk to class then with a big group of people, which usually takes around 45 minutes. It's really hot here on a fairly regular basis, but we've been trying to cover up as best we can to be more culturally aware of the modesty required for most women here as far as dress is concerned. Then we'll have Arabic language class or a class on Moroccan society at the Arabic Language Institute in Fes. Class mostly consists of us staring semi-intently at the teacher while we pretend to know what they're talking about. Really we have no clue. They're not very good at explaining themselves or having a point to their lectures at all...
At around 1 we go back to our house to eat lunch. Lunch is the biggest meal of the day for Moroccan families, which is hard to stomach sometimes because it isn't such a big deal in the states. We eat with out hands out of a common bowl and use bread as our utensils. Jill and I both had colds coming in to the homestay experience, and now that we're getting over ours, our host families are starting to get the sniffles. Wonder why. Lunch usually consists of some sort of salad (not with leafy greens, mind you - sometimes salty carrots, sometimes a mixture of parsley and tomatoes and onions) and a main dish of potatoes and chicken, followed by fruit. We eat until we're full, and then Grandma grabs my thigh (because I inevitably sit next to her) and says "Kul! Kul!" which means, "Eat! Eat!" and pushes more food towards me. This goes on until I absolutely refuse. By then I'm so full it's obscene. Grandma is going to be the death of me.
After lunch we'll go back to school for evening classes, or we'll stay in the living room and do homework. at some point the kids come over and bother us, and we play with them for a while until they get bored. Or I start to ignore them. I'm not really good with kids, but they seem not to notice. One of Zizou's favorite games, by the way, is to run over my feet with his little bike. When I put my feet up on the couch, he hefts the bike up just so he can put the tires on my toes. He's an adorable little brat.
We eat dinner around 10 at night. Last night we had brinner, which I'm not sure Fadua, Grandma and Majda were aware of. Jill and I were ecstatic. The meal was a bowl of creamed rice that we added sugar to, with pomegranates and vanilla yogurt as side dishes. Grandma is diabetic but she was ladling sugar into her bowl like there was no tomorrow. Her diabetes must be selective. As long as she's happy and continues to giggle at us, Grandma can have all the sugar she wants.
Our family is super sweet. Grandma and Fadua laugh at us when we do funny American things, like eat too little or ask how to work a wash board when cleaning our clothes. Majda speaks English, so it's so wonderful to talk to her about what it's like to be our age in Morocco. She's so modern - she wears skinny jeans every day and talks on AIM to her friends. We're Facebook friends, which obviously means we'll be bffls.
All in all, I'm having such a great time at my homestay, even if it makes me miss Minnesota. I'm collecting such stories and memories, though, that it makes the trip completely worthwhile.
I hope you all remain in good health.
B'slama!
I'm in Morocco now, and enjoying my homestay immensely. My host family consists of Jamal, our host dad and the man of the house (28 ish), his wife Fadua (young, although I'm not sure how young...younger than Jamal, I would say), his two children SiMohammed (Simou for short - 6 years and 9 months) and Zizou (I'm sure this kid has a full name but I have no idea what it is - he just turned three a few days ago), his sister Majda (21), and his mother whose name Jill and I have yet to determine. We call her Grandma.
Here is what a normal day at the House of Jamal looks like.
Jill and I get up around 7:45 and get ready in our room, which is a floor below the main house. The house itself is more of an apartment, taking up the top floor of the building with one room (our room) on a lower floor. Then we go upstairs for breakfasts, saying hello to Jamal and Fadua before we eat what is normally a meal of bread, butter and jam. Jamal recently got into a car accident (around 10 days before we arrived at his front door), so he's been confined largely to one room in the house. Jill and I feel really bad for him - he broke his arm and leg and has multiple face lacerations and who knows how many other injuries - so we try to sit down and talk a bit with him whenever we go to the "Big House". He knows a bit of English that he learned in high school, and it's been really nice to get to know him and the family without an extreme language barrier.
We walk to class then with a big group of people, which usually takes around 45 minutes. It's really hot here on a fairly regular basis, but we've been trying to cover up as best we can to be more culturally aware of the modesty required for most women here as far as dress is concerned. Then we'll have Arabic language class or a class on Moroccan society at the Arabic Language Institute in Fes. Class mostly consists of us staring semi-intently at the teacher while we pretend to know what they're talking about. Really we have no clue. They're not very good at explaining themselves or having a point to their lectures at all...
At around 1 we go back to our house to eat lunch. Lunch is the biggest meal of the day for Moroccan families, which is hard to stomach sometimes because it isn't such a big deal in the states. We eat with out hands out of a common bowl and use bread as our utensils. Jill and I both had colds coming in to the homestay experience, and now that we're getting over ours, our host families are starting to get the sniffles. Wonder why. Lunch usually consists of some sort of salad (not with leafy greens, mind you - sometimes salty carrots, sometimes a mixture of parsley and tomatoes and onions) and a main dish of potatoes and chicken, followed by fruit. We eat until we're full, and then Grandma grabs my thigh (because I inevitably sit next to her) and says "Kul! Kul!" which means, "Eat! Eat!" and pushes more food towards me. This goes on until I absolutely refuse. By then I'm so full it's obscene. Grandma is going to be the death of me.
After lunch we'll go back to school for evening classes, or we'll stay in the living room and do homework. at some point the kids come over and bother us, and we play with them for a while until they get bored. Or I start to ignore them. I'm not really good with kids, but they seem not to notice. One of Zizou's favorite games, by the way, is to run over my feet with his little bike. When I put my feet up on the couch, he hefts the bike up just so he can put the tires on my toes. He's an adorable little brat.
We eat dinner around 10 at night. Last night we had brinner, which I'm not sure Fadua, Grandma and Majda were aware of. Jill and I were ecstatic. The meal was a bowl of creamed rice that we added sugar to, with pomegranates and vanilla yogurt as side dishes. Grandma is diabetic but she was ladling sugar into her bowl like there was no tomorrow. Her diabetes must be selective. As long as she's happy and continues to giggle at us, Grandma can have all the sugar she wants.
Our family is super sweet. Grandma and Fadua laugh at us when we do funny American things, like eat too little or ask how to work a wash board when cleaning our clothes. Majda speaks English, so it's so wonderful to talk to her about what it's like to be our age in Morocco. She's so modern - she wears skinny jeans every day and talks on AIM to her friends. We're Facebook friends, which obviously means we'll be bffls.
All in all, I'm having such a great time at my homestay, even if it makes me miss Minnesota. I'm collecting such stories and memories, though, that it makes the trip completely worthwhile.
I hope you all remain in good health.
B'slama!
Monday, September 28, 2009
i've seen a lot of rocks in my day.
Excursion throughout Turkey is over now. I wrote this blog sitting in an airport in Madrid, waiting for the plane to Casablanca. Where of course I met Humphrey Bogart. I'll add that to my list of movie magic times abroad, right up there with seeing the Troy horse Brad Pitt touched. Epic.
We did a lot of touring around the Turkish countryside, and looked at a lot of ruins. Although listening to the history of the country while seeing the physical remains of those stories was a very visceral experience, the scenes all tended to blend together in a jumble of broken rocks towards the end of the trip. Because of that, I will give you highlights only of the best parts of the last week.
On Saturday the 19th we went to Pergamum (Bergama in Turkish). The ancient city is at the top of a large hill/mountain that our bus wound its way up, hugging the sides of the road and scaring the girls who are afraid of heights. The best part of Pergamum was the temple of Athena, situated on the highest part of the mountain overlooking the city and hills below. The temple was still very well maintained and majestic, mostly because we knew that in the ancient world it had commanded respect.
That day we also went to the ruins of Assos, located on a hill right by the sea. Here the temple overlooked the wide ocean and small blue bays where fishing boats were anchored, backed by the cliffs and hills of Assos. This site was the most peaceful to be at.
On Monday the 21st we went to Ephesus, where I got extremely sick. Despite that, Ephesus (Efus in Turkish) was my favorite set of ruins. The city is one of the most intact sites I've seen, perhaps even more well preserved than Pompeii. There was an entire area devoted to excavating the houses of the rich, which were decorated with elaborate frescoes and intricate tile mosaic floors. The downtown area of the city was still extremely complete, and because there were so many tourists in Ephesus that day, it was very easy to imagine the ancient city bustling with Romans and locals. It was easy to imagine John the Evangelist walking among the people, encouraging the church of Ephesus to grow despite persecution by the Roman power. Going to Ephesus is truly like stepping back in time.
On Wednesday the 23rd we went to Cappadocia, where there is an area of calcified land turned snow white. The local government pumps thermal water into man-made pools in this area once every few days, and the pools are crystal clear with a tint of blue against the calcium white of the land. It looks like winter there, but the calcium deposits are warm and so is the water.
Our Turkish excursion was very fun and extremely informative, but I'm ready to be in Morocco. Jill (my freshman and sophomore year roommate) is my roommate again for our homestays, and I'm happy to be with someone familiar. Truthfully I'm a bit nervous about the homestay. It will be interesting to adapt to the language and cultural routines of the people in Morocco, knowing as I do how different they can be from Western lifestyles.
Eh. I'll have fun. No matter what.
Wish me luck! All my best.
P.S. I edited the settings of my blog to let viewers who do not have a gmail account post comments as anonymous users. Just so you know...
We did a lot of touring around the Turkish countryside, and looked at a lot of ruins. Although listening to the history of the country while seeing the physical remains of those stories was a very visceral experience, the scenes all tended to blend together in a jumble of broken rocks towards the end of the trip. Because of that, I will give you highlights only of the best parts of the last week.
On Saturday the 19th we went to Pergamum (Bergama in Turkish). The ancient city is at the top of a large hill/mountain that our bus wound its way up, hugging the sides of the road and scaring the girls who are afraid of heights. The best part of Pergamum was the temple of Athena, situated on the highest part of the mountain overlooking the city and hills below. The temple was still very well maintained and majestic, mostly because we knew that in the ancient world it had commanded respect.
That day we also went to the ruins of Assos, located on a hill right by the sea. Here the temple overlooked the wide ocean and small blue bays where fishing boats were anchored, backed by the cliffs and hills of Assos. This site was the most peaceful to be at.
On Monday the 21st we went to Ephesus, where I got extremely sick. Despite that, Ephesus (Efus in Turkish) was my favorite set of ruins. The city is one of the most intact sites I've seen, perhaps even more well preserved than Pompeii. There was an entire area devoted to excavating the houses of the rich, which were decorated with elaborate frescoes and intricate tile mosaic floors. The downtown area of the city was still extremely complete, and because there were so many tourists in Ephesus that day, it was very easy to imagine the ancient city bustling with Romans and locals. It was easy to imagine John the Evangelist walking among the people, encouraging the church of Ephesus to grow despite persecution by the Roman power. Going to Ephesus is truly like stepping back in time.
On Wednesday the 23rd we went to Cappadocia, where there is an area of calcified land turned snow white. The local government pumps thermal water into man-made pools in this area once every few days, and the pools are crystal clear with a tint of blue against the calcium white of the land. It looks like winter there, but the calcium deposits are warm and so is the water.
Our Turkish excursion was very fun and extremely informative, but I'm ready to be in Morocco. Jill (my freshman and sophomore year roommate) is my roommate again for our homestays, and I'm happy to be with someone familiar. Truthfully I'm a bit nervous about the homestay. It will be interesting to adapt to the language and cultural routines of the people in Morocco, knowing as I do how different they can be from Western lifestyles.
Eh. I'll have fun. No matter what.
Wish me luck! All my best.
P.S. I edited the settings of my blog to let viewers who do not have a gmail account post comments as anonymous users. Just so you know...
Saturday, September 19, 2009
i suck at this.
So...a lot of cool stuff happened between the last time I posted and now. But I'm just going to pick up from yesterday and add the cool things from the last week in later.
Yesterday marked the first day of our excursions around Turkey. Our tour guide wanted us on the bus by 7 in the morning, which was not funny. However, the fact that she completely color coordinates her outfits is funny. She was wearing a purple shirt, purple pants, purple socks, and purple jewelry. Today she was in all grey. And she absolutely adores yogurt. Whenever we stop for food she points out all the places with yogurt. Turkish yogurt is disgusting, FYI.
Anyway. 7 in the morning. We left Istanbul on a tour bus, and not much more but sleeping happened until we arrived at Edirne to see one of the most amazing mosques I've been in. And that's saying something. Because we've seen a whole lot of mosques. This one was built by Sulehman (that's probably not how you spell his name... whatever) who was a really famous Ottoman architect. The inside of the mosque was huge. The point is to make the believer feel really insignificant. It worked. Just saying.
There's something extremely elegant about the pews and stain glass of a church, but the intricate carpets on the floors of the mosques and arching domes with detailed paintings of flowers and geometric shapes certainly hold their own beauty. Mosques are comfortably overwhelming in a way that old European churches can't easily imitate. As a non-Muslim, I can still appreciate how wonderful the architectural design of the mosque at Edirne is. I can still fell a sense of reverence for Allah in the building - a reverence to a God who is my God too.
After Edirne, we traveled on to a World War One memorial. The site was absolutely gorgeous, bordered on one end by the deep blue sea and on the other by yellow cliffs and hills with short bracken and shrubbery. It was refreshing to sit on the beach and watch the sea, but also hallowing to know that thousands of men had died on the same beach. Turkey is relatively overlooked in our history class discussions of WWI, but the same sorts of horrors seen by the British, German, French and American soldiers that we normally hear about were seen by the Turks as well. There was a memorial at the sight that shared the words of Ataturk, the founder of the Turkish Republic - the inscription read something like, Those sons that died on our land are now our sons. They rest in honor as sons of our country.
...or something like that. It was much more elegant that I remember...
After the war memorial, we went to Troy. Wait backtrack. First we saw the Trojan horse that was in the movie Troy. BRAD PITT WAS ON THAT HORSE. No worries, I have pictures to prove that I saw it. It was a thing of beauty.
And then we went to Troy.
The actual Troy was pretty generic as ruins go. There were the remains of houses and temples and shopping areas. What made the visit so exciting was my previous knowledge of the legend of Troy, having read both the Iliad and the Aeneid. It was fun to imagine the stories of Priam, Paris and Helen, Agamemnon and Menelaus, Achilles and Patriklus play out in the ruins.
And of course I quoted the movie. Because I adore that movie. And I know the best quotes by heart.
The Turkish countryside is breathtaking. It reminds me strongly of the tiny bit I've seen of Tuscany, only the colors are more muted. The mountains are framed by blue sky and are covered with pine trees. The sea shore is rocky and the islands are green. The water is varying shades of turquoise. There are deltas and peninsulas that jut out into the seas and channels.
...this is hard to explain. I'll post pictures.
I hope you are all well, and continue to stay healthy and happy. All my best!
Yesterday marked the first day of our excursions around Turkey. Our tour guide wanted us on the bus by 7 in the morning, which was not funny. However, the fact that she completely color coordinates her outfits is funny. She was wearing a purple shirt, purple pants, purple socks, and purple jewelry. Today she was in all grey. And she absolutely adores yogurt. Whenever we stop for food she points out all the places with yogurt. Turkish yogurt is disgusting, FYI.
Anyway. 7 in the morning. We left Istanbul on a tour bus, and not much more but sleeping happened until we arrived at Edirne to see one of the most amazing mosques I've been in. And that's saying something. Because we've seen a whole lot of mosques. This one was built by Sulehman (that's probably not how you spell his name... whatever) who was a really famous Ottoman architect. The inside of the mosque was huge. The point is to make the believer feel really insignificant. It worked. Just saying.
There's something extremely elegant about the pews and stain glass of a church, but the intricate carpets on the floors of the mosques and arching domes with detailed paintings of flowers and geometric shapes certainly hold their own beauty. Mosques are comfortably overwhelming in a way that old European churches can't easily imitate. As a non-Muslim, I can still appreciate how wonderful the architectural design of the mosque at Edirne is. I can still fell a sense of reverence for Allah in the building - a reverence to a God who is my God too.
After Edirne, we traveled on to a World War One memorial. The site was absolutely gorgeous, bordered on one end by the deep blue sea and on the other by yellow cliffs and hills with short bracken and shrubbery. It was refreshing to sit on the beach and watch the sea, but also hallowing to know that thousands of men had died on the same beach. Turkey is relatively overlooked in our history class discussions of WWI, but the same sorts of horrors seen by the British, German, French and American soldiers that we normally hear about were seen by the Turks as well. There was a memorial at the sight that shared the words of Ataturk, the founder of the Turkish Republic - the inscription read something like, Those sons that died on our land are now our sons. They rest in honor as sons of our country.
...or something like that. It was much more elegant that I remember...
After the war memorial, we went to Troy. Wait backtrack. First we saw the Trojan horse that was in the movie Troy. BRAD PITT WAS ON THAT HORSE. No worries, I have pictures to prove that I saw it. It was a thing of beauty.
And then we went to Troy.
The actual Troy was pretty generic as ruins go. There were the remains of houses and temples and shopping areas. What made the visit so exciting was my previous knowledge of the legend of Troy, having read both the Iliad and the Aeneid. It was fun to imagine the stories of Priam, Paris and Helen, Agamemnon and Menelaus, Achilles and Patriklus play out in the ruins.
And of course I quoted the movie. Because I adore that movie. And I know the best quotes by heart.
The Turkish countryside is breathtaking. It reminds me strongly of the tiny bit I've seen of Tuscany, only the colors are more muted. The mountains are framed by blue sky and are covered with pine trees. The sea shore is rocky and the islands are green. The water is varying shades of turquoise. There are deltas and peninsulas that jut out into the seas and channels.
...this is hard to explain. I'll post pictures.
I hope you are all well, and continue to stay healthy and happy. All my best!
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
hello, i am embarrassing american
So...where did we leave off?
Saturday was Make Everyone In Minnesota Jealous day. Otherwise known as Beach Day. The crew all went to Askari Beach, located in Asia. That's right, Asia. The continent on which 95% of Turkey lies. Shocker: it doesn't look any different than the European side of Turkey.
The beach was gorgeous. The there wasn't a cloud in the sky. The wind, even though it was a bit annoying, provided just the right amount of releif from the heat. The water was perfectly clear and a lovely shade of blue out to sea (the Black Sea, to be exact). There were tons of people on the beach, almost all locals. Of course we found one American to talk to (which happens everywhere we go - you'd be surprised how recognizable our St. Olaf Abroad tags are), and she told us all about her experience in Turkey. I wasn't there for the majority of the conversation. I was in the water. It was much more interesting.
Fun fact: most of the girls on the trip brough one-piece swimsuits on the trip because we were told modesty was going to be a big deal in all of the countries we went to. However, we looked like grandmas at Askari Beach. Every girl there had a bikini on. Even women who probably shouldn't have had bikinis on had bikinis on. I'm glad we brought our one-pieces for Morocco and Egypt, but we definitely stood out in Turkey. As if we didn't look embarrassingly like tourists already.
Sunday was a really full day. Bright and early in the morning we went to a Greek Orthodox Church service. The Greek Orthodox Church is really interesting - they're pretty much Catholic except for a few fundamental differences. If you asked me what those differences were I couldn't tell you. The Greek Orthodox Church is also really into icon worship. Basically that means that Orthodox Christians worship relics of the church, pictures, symbols, etc. They kissed the pictures of Jesus, Mary, the Prophets, the Apostles and other important religious figures in the church. They kissed the coffins of saints that were also there. They kissed boxes and bibles and candles. They kissed pretty much everything, and crossed themselves after each kiss. Extremely different from my Baptist upbringing. We don't kiss. We shake hands.
The service was conducted in Greek (it was three hours of very beautiful but nonsensical chanting) and there was a lot of kissing and bowing and crossing and displaying of icons. A really important guy was there, but I don't remember why he is important. I think it's because he's like the pope of the Greek Orthodox Church in Istanbul. Either way, there was a lot of bowing to him and kissing his hand and crossing towards his general direction. The Church itself is really beautiful, and completely covered in gold. The altar is behind a wall which the layman is not allowed to go behind. I don't really know what goes on near the altar - it's all very mysterious. And there are very few seats for the people to watch the service. Probably because there are so many annoying tourists in the Church at all points in time. Ahem.
After the church service, a group of us attempted to navigate the streets of Istanbul to find an ancient church named the Chora (the code name for Mary. I don't know why it's in code. They could have just called it 'Mary'). We got a bit lost and had to ask for directions. A local with a stool and shoe shining tools said he would show us where the church was. We trekked up this ridiculous hill (I pretty much died half-way up) to find the church, which was located in a very suburban area very removed from the typical tourist track. This was one of the definitive points about the church - at one time, it would have been entirely outside of the city limits. In fact, you could walk to the old city wall from the church.
The Chora is absolutely gorgeous. It was covered with priceless mosaics, in such intricate shades and textures that they looked like fine paintings from afar. We didn't have a tour guide so we used Annika's 'Rick Steves' guidebook to figure out some of the more interesting mosaics. I would say that the Chora is probably the prettiest church we've been too, and the most off of the beaten path. The ancient idea of biblical stories is so interesting to see expressed in art, considering our modern idea of the same stories is tainted by modern artistic movements. The concept of representation through mosaic is something so wonderful, it's a shame it's not en mode now. My favorite painting (because there were frescos too) was of an angel holding "the cosmos" on its back. The cosmos looks like a sea shell, and has a sun and a moon. It's gorgeous.
After the church, we went to a Roman cistern that was built in the 3rd century or so. Acutally...I'm probably making that date up. Anyway, the cistern was a huge cavern with a bunch of pillars where they used to store the water that would go to the city. It was lit up very artistically with red lights, and there was fish in the small amount of water left for atmospheric effect in the cistern. The colums were stolen from parts of the conquered Roman Empire, so they were a hodge-podge of architectural designs. There were two Medusa columns in the very back, which basically means that there were two stolen blocks with a depiction of Medusa's face underneath two seperate columns. One face was upside down, the other face was on it's side. Good stuff. All in all a fun experience, if only because I felt like I was in the Mines of Moria from the Lord of the Rings. Embarrassing.
After the cistern, a few of us went to the Turkish and Islamic Art Museum, which was really just a collection of ancient artifacts from around Turkey. It was really cool, but I think I might have had a bit too much of history these past few weeks. Things start to look really similar, and the interest quickly faded on my part. There was, however, a really interesting ethnographic display at the museum detailing the life of Turkish women in the past, from nomadic tent dwellers to upper class women living in luxury. It was really fun to see the kind of living and working conditions of Muslim Turkish women from the 14th century on. Rick Steves, who is pretty much the guidebook god, led us through the entire exhibit. We were baffled by his omnipotence.
After the Turkish and Islamic Art Museum, Annika made our group (which consisted of Annika, Colin, me, Katie, Kat, Elaine and Jill) take the most ridiculous picture at a gaudy costume shop in Sultanahmet. While we were putting our costumes on, a huge crowd gathered around the stand to watch us. We looked completely silly and were laughing so hard, I'm not surprised people stared. They most likely thought we were stupid Americans. That particular adventure would fall under the non-successful cultural expreience category. Alas.
I hope you've all been having a beautiful fall in the states. I miss the colors of autumn. And sugary cereal.
Allahaismarladik!
Saturday was Make Everyone In Minnesota Jealous day. Otherwise known as Beach Day. The crew all went to Askari Beach, located in Asia. That's right, Asia. The continent on which 95% of Turkey lies. Shocker: it doesn't look any different than the European side of Turkey.
The beach was gorgeous. The there wasn't a cloud in the sky. The wind, even though it was a bit annoying, provided just the right amount of releif from the heat. The water was perfectly clear and a lovely shade of blue out to sea (the Black Sea, to be exact). There were tons of people on the beach, almost all locals. Of course we found one American to talk to (which happens everywhere we go - you'd be surprised how recognizable our St. Olaf Abroad tags are), and she told us all about her experience in Turkey. I wasn't there for the majority of the conversation. I was in the water. It was much more interesting.
Fun fact: most of the girls on the trip brough one-piece swimsuits on the trip because we were told modesty was going to be a big deal in all of the countries we went to. However, we looked like grandmas at Askari Beach. Every girl there had a bikini on. Even women who probably shouldn't have had bikinis on had bikinis on. I'm glad we brought our one-pieces for Morocco and Egypt, but we definitely stood out in Turkey. As if we didn't look embarrassingly like tourists already.
Sunday was a really full day. Bright and early in the morning we went to a Greek Orthodox Church service. The Greek Orthodox Church is really interesting - they're pretty much Catholic except for a few fundamental differences. If you asked me what those differences were I couldn't tell you. The Greek Orthodox Church is also really into icon worship. Basically that means that Orthodox Christians worship relics of the church, pictures, symbols, etc. They kissed the pictures of Jesus, Mary, the Prophets, the Apostles and other important religious figures in the church. They kissed the coffins of saints that were also there. They kissed boxes and bibles and candles. They kissed pretty much everything, and crossed themselves after each kiss. Extremely different from my Baptist upbringing. We don't kiss. We shake hands.
The service was conducted in Greek (it was three hours of very beautiful but nonsensical chanting) and there was a lot of kissing and bowing and crossing and displaying of icons. A really important guy was there, but I don't remember why he is important. I think it's because he's like the pope of the Greek Orthodox Church in Istanbul. Either way, there was a lot of bowing to him and kissing his hand and crossing towards his general direction. The Church itself is really beautiful, and completely covered in gold. The altar is behind a wall which the layman is not allowed to go behind. I don't really know what goes on near the altar - it's all very mysterious. And there are very few seats for the people to watch the service. Probably because there are so many annoying tourists in the Church at all points in time. Ahem.
After the church service, a group of us attempted to navigate the streets of Istanbul to find an ancient church named the Chora (the code name for Mary. I don't know why it's in code. They could have just called it 'Mary'). We got a bit lost and had to ask for directions. A local with a stool and shoe shining tools said he would show us where the church was. We trekked up this ridiculous hill (I pretty much died half-way up) to find the church, which was located in a very suburban area very removed from the typical tourist track. This was one of the definitive points about the church - at one time, it would have been entirely outside of the city limits. In fact, you could walk to the old city wall from the church.
The Chora is absolutely gorgeous. It was covered with priceless mosaics, in such intricate shades and textures that they looked like fine paintings from afar. We didn't have a tour guide so we used Annika's 'Rick Steves' guidebook to figure out some of the more interesting mosaics. I would say that the Chora is probably the prettiest church we've been too, and the most off of the beaten path. The ancient idea of biblical stories is so interesting to see expressed in art, considering our modern idea of the same stories is tainted by modern artistic movements. The concept of representation through mosaic is something so wonderful, it's a shame it's not en mode now. My favorite painting (because there were frescos too) was of an angel holding "the cosmos" on its back. The cosmos looks like a sea shell, and has a sun and a moon. It's gorgeous.
After the church, we went to a Roman cistern that was built in the 3rd century or so. Acutally...I'm probably making that date up. Anyway, the cistern was a huge cavern with a bunch of pillars where they used to store the water that would go to the city. It was lit up very artistically with red lights, and there was fish in the small amount of water left for atmospheric effect in the cistern. The colums were stolen from parts of the conquered Roman Empire, so they were a hodge-podge of architectural designs. There were two Medusa columns in the very back, which basically means that there were two stolen blocks with a depiction of Medusa's face underneath two seperate columns. One face was upside down, the other face was on it's side. Good stuff. All in all a fun experience, if only because I felt like I was in the Mines of Moria from the Lord of the Rings. Embarrassing.
After the cistern, a few of us went to the Turkish and Islamic Art Museum, which was really just a collection of ancient artifacts from around Turkey. It was really cool, but I think I might have had a bit too much of history these past few weeks. Things start to look really similar, and the interest quickly faded on my part. There was, however, a really interesting ethnographic display at the museum detailing the life of Turkish women in the past, from nomadic tent dwellers to upper class women living in luxury. It was really fun to see the kind of living and working conditions of Muslim Turkish women from the 14th century on. Rick Steves, who is pretty much the guidebook god, led us through the entire exhibit. We were baffled by his omnipotence.
After the Turkish and Islamic Art Museum, Annika made our group (which consisted of Annika, Colin, me, Katie, Kat, Elaine and Jill) take the most ridiculous picture at a gaudy costume shop in Sultanahmet. While we were putting our costumes on, a huge crowd gathered around the stand to watch us. We looked completely silly and were laughing so hard, I'm not surprised people stared. They most likely thought we were stupid Americans. That particular adventure would fall under the non-successful cultural expreience category. Alas.
I hope you've all been having a beautiful fall in the states. I miss the colors of autumn. And sugary cereal.
Allahaismarladik!
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