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!
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