Morocco

What I love about Morocco -

The geometry of the Medinas - angles and shapes and layers.

The patina and gentle shades that compose the palette of the country. Soft, worn golds, peaches, tans, whitewashed walls, soft blues, all accented with brilliant mosaics and tilework.

Women in all forms of hijab and djellaba, like brightly colored birds.

Breakfasts of fig and apricot preserves, coffee with boiled milk and sugar cubes, various breads from rough peasant bread made with corn meal to refined French crepes.

Birds everywhere.

Tidy orchards of olive trees, apricots and oranges.

Small, proper glasses of sweetened mint tea, served hot, every couple hours.

Street cats letting you know that you are in their spot at the street cafe, and that you may stay if you give them a bite of what you're eating.

The pride the residents of the Medinas take in their homes, the labrynth streets and passageways. Always tidy and clean, and freshly swept.

Speaking a mixture of English, French and Arabic wherever I go.

The ease of catching a petit taxi, which will zip you anywhere in the city for about $1.

The tentative nature of prices - the fully engaging process of making purchases, bartering for your price and haggling.

Passing through countrysides where you still see sheep with their shepherds, men with their heavily weighted burros, catching a nap in a poppy-strewn field.


What I miss about home, wherever that is.

Sidewalks one can walk in a straight line on. (Moroccans zig and zag and take no notice of who they are cutting off or bumping into.)

Japanese food.

Unsweetened tea.

Greens - spinach, kale, chard.

Ginger.

My kitchen.

Friends (naturally).

Family (naturally).

Easy access to the brands I'm used to - Aveda, Lush, Lucky Brand... shops like Zappos, Amazon, etc.

Nothing I couldn't live without if I were to, say, come back for an extended amount of time next year! Ahem!

Marrakech

Have you ever shared a compartment on a train with two women and a little girl who vomits every hour, for about four hours? Its pretty fun, I think everyone should try it out.

Poor starts aside, Marrakech is PRETTY great! Eileen and I are sharing a room at a very relaxed and comfortable riad in the heart of the old Medina. Italian owned but managed and run by locals while being aimed towards French tourists (quite the combo, eh?), it all adds up to quite the experience that I'll gladly repeat.

We've only been here about 12 hours, so I don't have a lot to say except that I'm thrilled to be visiting this city with only one other person (i.e. NOT a huge group), and I'm thrilled that that other person is a medievalist/art historian with a strong background in Islamic art and architecture. I am a sponge, and she is a great teacher.

Fez

After recovering more, we ventured to Fez first for a group excursion, then two days later will a small group who wanted to see more scholarly locales that we missed out on with the first tour.

The first excursion with all the students was not a bust though - we saw many different shops and production locales, all due to the fingers that our tour guide had in the pots of these different shops he took us to. We visited a small apothecary, or natural pharmacy where I purchased genuine saffron, 5 oz for $10 (plenty to share!), a perfume, and a cooking spice mix. Others bought kohl for their eyes, argon oil, lip balms (which I wish I had bought!!), and perfumes.

We also saw a tannery, where they prepared and dyed leather. Before entering we were given sprigs of mint to hold up to our noses against the unpleasant aroma of the place. The sellers were very aggressive, converging on us as soon as the presentation was over, pushing us to buy leather jackets, purses, wallets, and all manner of leather tooled goods.

I sensed that my time would come to barter, and that came true when we entered my weakness - the carpet seller's shop. After the presentation, and service of mint tea, we were free to touch and examine the plethora of Berber carpets that adorned the shop. None of my peers were knowledgable or experienced in the art of carpet buying, and merely remained seated, afraid to touch or stand on the massive pile of carpets layed out in front of us. I immediately stood and walked to a carpet which caught my eye, so that the seller would see my interest early on. He approached me quickly and asked my price. "500 dirham is all I'll offer," I replied. Shocked (typically), he gasped, "No madam! Only 1500 dirham can I take! No less! The quality of this carpet is too fine! This took many months for the women to make! This is impossible!"

Other students began to take my lead, standing, touching, fingering and examining the carpets, and he was quickly distracted by them and began selling to them. Not bothering to barter one inch, the students combined bought about 9-10 carpets of various sizes from him. He repeatedly came back to me to ask my new price, and I always stuck with, "500 dirham, no more." Exasperated he would return to other students, after entreating with me to understand his position, that no way can I be expected to buy this for (by this time) less than 1000 dirham. 1000 became 800. 800 became 750. I held my ground. As the students finished with their purchases, and we all began to stand to go, he asked me one last time to come to a reasonable price.  I told him that my reasonable price was 500 dirham, no more.

My true time came, when I knew it would happen, the moment when I stood and walked to the door. Seeing that I was almost out of my shop, in front of all the students, he ran to me, through the group, and pulled me back into the shop crying out that, "Madam! Because I do not want you to leave my shop empty handed, because you are now my friend, I am now willing to sell this fine carpet to you for 600 dirham! Take this price and shake my hand!" I eyeballed him critically, glanced at the rug longingly (a feint though, as I liked the rug, but not so much that I couldn't possibly leave without it), looked back at him and said, "550." Crying out to Allah he begged me to be reasonable, to realize that he was all but GIVING me the rug, and asked for 600, for me to shake his hand. I looked at him squarely, and said, not without a self-satisfied smile, "600."

He shook my hand and LEAPT to the rug, wrapped it and packaged it in record time, and took my 600 dirham (which equates to about $60). THIS is the type of shopping that I enjoy!

The rest of the trip was fun, but the carpet buying was by far my most satisfying moment.

11 June 10

Volubilis, Moulay Idriss, Recovery, Schedule and Fez

After falling ill on the 4th or 5th or so, I had one day of "flash recovery", where I felt 100%, good as new. That happened to be the day that my group had a trip planned to the Roman ruins of Volubilis, about 20 minutes outside Meknes, as well as to the iconic town of Moulay Idriss. I woke up full of vim and vigor, ate breakfast, left on the trip which lasted until around 6pm.

Volubilis was stunning, really it was my first visit to an archaeological site, no less a Roman one. The sun was shining, the ruins awe-inspiring (not to mention the beautiful mosaics), and the company pleasant. After arriving here in Meknes, I met a student who is studying at the AALIM center as well, who is from William and Mary University, in Virginia. He too is a military veteran, he from the Navy, and we immediately fell into a comfortable repoire. Adam, who is my near-exact same age, and I quickly fell into an Arabic music-swapping practice, sharing the music we buy at the souks and at the Marjan, the Wal-Mart of Morocco. We also, naturally, constantly share military experiences and seem to have a mutual sympathy for many aspects of culture, life, and visual asthetics. Sorry girls, he's married, so don't get any funny ideas.

So what I was getting at is that Adam came along on the trip to Volubilis, even though he is from a different school. We sort of "adopted" him, and brought him along. Thus the pleasant company. We both agreed that we felt like we were escorting high schoolers (no offense guys!), and shared in each others' discomfort and... frankly disdain regarding the other student's behaviours at places. (They ARE all, on average, 10 years younger than the two of us, so its not like we were just being snobbish.)

After trekking through the ruins of Volubilis, we reboarded the bus and drove to Moulay Idriss, a lovely village on a mountaintop that is held in high standards in Morocco. We walked up and down the huge hill that the village crowns, and with aching calves revived ourselves with mint tea and water on a rooftop cafe, before returning to the bus for the ride home.

Home, in Meknes, we had dinner at the AALIM Center. Kefta - small meatballs in a rich tomato sauce with fried eggs on top, with bread and salad. It tasted wonderful, and I ate and ate and ate.  Well. I misjudged my appetite and my body's ability to deal with food - much less highly acidic, spiced (but not spicy) and rich foods. I fell asleep content enough, but woke up feeling deathly ill, and spent the rest of the night in and out of the bathroom, "coughing in the toilet".

After a terrible night, I awoke and dragged myself, piece by piece downstairs for breakfast. I nibbled at a piece of bread, took my medicine, then crawled back to bed to rest the remainder of the Sunday. I pretty much stayed in my dark, air conditioned room the entire day, alternating between zoning out, studying, and watching 30 Rock. Sipping at water and nibbling at crackers was the max my body could support. That evening I went to dinner with Greg, Eileen and Adam to a local riad which was spacious, elegantly designed, and pleasantly staffed. I ordered a dish that was described, in French, as rice with almonds, apricots, and spices. I hoped/expected it to be like a rice pudding, however what I got were three triangle shaped pastries, with the rice mixture inside, all deep fried and golden. Steaming hot and delicious, they were hard to stop eating!

Well I don't have to tell you how I wound up spending my night. Again.

After an even worse night, I told my director, Greg, and he told me to skip class if I need to and not to worry about doing so. I rallied, however, and went to class. All day I managed to practice very cautious eating, only nibbling at bland foods, and sipping at drinks. Growing to dread going to sleep, for fear of how my nights would transpire, I finally forced myself to try to sleep.

Well I finally got a good night's sleep, despite my fears. Forced moderation allowed my stomach to digest and not rebel, and I was able to sleep. Recovery was slow, I still can't eat a full meal without some level of discomfort, however my energy is rejeuvenated, as are my spirits!  The worst part was that for over a week, I couldn't stand the SMELL, much less the TASTE, of the wonderful mint tea that they serve here so prodigiously! I could only take a polite sip, then leave it.

Yesterday I was able to drink an entire glass worth, with no repercussions! Success!

I have attached some photos from Volubilis and Moulay Idriss...

4 June '10, the Horrors

4 June 10



The horrors. The horrors.



All day yesterday my stomach was making odd growling and gurgling noises. I suspected that I knew what was happening but didn't want to admit it. After classes, a friend I've made here who is from William and Mary College in Virginia, Adam, asked if I wanted to walk around the medina and explore a little. Drs. Greg and Eileen came along with, and we wound through the labrynth of the Medina, through the clothing, gold and silver, furniture maker, spice, vegetable and meat souks.



I could live without returning to the meat souk - it is hardly for the faint of heart, with great slabs of presumably camel meat, giant camel legs, from hoof to knee, and other unidentifiable "cuts" slapped on unrefrigerated wood shelves, thick black flies buzzing about it all in the heat of the afternoon. The smell of rotting flesh is thick in that area, and its not pleasant.



The spice souk would be worth returning to, with its great open baskets of every imaginable spice in heaping piles. Henna, oregano, cumin, coriander, star anise, fresh lavendar and mint, that was by far more pleasant than the meat souk. However my pleasure was short lasted as my stomach continued to give me problems and I began to hope, near desperately, that we would return soon. Not wanting to ruin anyone's excursion, I remained quiet and just hoped we would return soon enough.



At one point we left the city confines and skirted along the outside of the wall, which was much more tolerable to me; the fresh evening air was cooler and breezier than in the near claustrophobic and crowded Medina streets. We ran into an instructor from the AALIM center, who was very eager to talk with Dr. Greg about all manners of philosophy, regionalism, and such. In the meantime my malady struck home, and I near doubled over with pain and discomfort in my stomach. It took about ten minutes for anyone to realize that I was miserable, because again, I didn't want to be rude, especially towards the instructor, Ismail, who comes from a long line of royalty in Meknes and Morocco. (He is a descendant of Moulay Ismail, for those of you with any Moroccan history under their belt.)



Dr. Eileen noticed my pallor however, and helped break contact with Ismail. In her exact words, I looked fine, if not a little tired, then suddenly "turned yellow." Fortunately we were close to the AALIM center, and thus the Riad at this point. After dropping Adam off at the center, and grabbing a couple bottles of water and Coke from a local convenience shop, I nearly sprinted for the riad.



Arriving in my room I got into comfortable clothes and settled in for a night, starting at 7pm, of diahrrea, body aches, chills, fever and vomiting. At 9am Dr Greg came in, having seen me the night before and being further informed by my poor roommate who was trying to sleep through my unpleasant night, with a tray of medicine from the local pharmacy. Pharmacies in Morocco are different from those in the states. Here, the pharmacists, usually female it seems, actually treat patients. You walk into the pharmacy, tell the pharmacist what ails you, and he/she will write you out a program of medication. In my case, Dr. Greg told her my symptoms as I was in no case to be out and about, and he came back to my room with antibiotics, anti-parasite pills, anti-nausea syrup, multivitamins with electrolites that you dissolve in water, and anti-diahrreals. So much fun!



All night long I had tossed and turned as my back hurt miserably (not to mention for frequent visits to the bathroom!) - I thought the back pain was due to laying in this bed for so long. However after taking two rounds of medication, the pain in my back, and I realized my abdomen as well, subsided. My entire abdomen and back had been severly inflammed (my word) - I had felt like I had been used as a human punching bag. Once that pain was subsided, then my ability to rest increased and I was able to catnap on and off all day, in between medication rounds and sipping at water and Coke.



I was, and am, very fortunate to have a director who is as compassionate and concerned as Dr. Greg is. He was up in my room every 5 hours or so all day long with his tray of medicines, keeping track of what I've taken and when, and just checking on me in general. Not only Dr. Greg, but the entire staff of the Riad Idrissi, who live here and are all one family, were quite kind to me as well. Around lunchtime, the "manager", Abdullah, brought me up a small plate of plain, starchy white rice, cooked almost to porridge-like consistency. Along with it he gave me a small dish of superfine salt to add as I wished, with a kind prayer over me as he left.



I hope beyond hopes that I'll be able to make it to Volubilis and Moulay Idriss tomorrow, as we are scheduled to go there on our first excursion tomorrow. Granted, it is close enough that I'd be able to arrange a small group to go there with me via taxi (my fellow students are dropping like flies from the same sickness that I'm recovering from!), but it would be nice to go with Dr. Greg and the group, if only for the convenience. We shall see.



I must admit that while at my most miserable, I did find myself bemoaning my location and wishing I was home, in my own bed, with my own conveniences. That passed nearly immediately though, as I probably had more community and access to support here than in Louisville (sorry Louisville!). On the other hand, my other home, in Amboy, was also fantasized about in my fever and chills state - my mom made me my favorite restorative once after I got my wisdom teeth pulled and suffered from fever and sickness afterwords, vegetable congee, and the comforts of true home did tug around my heart. I wanted to be, for a brief period of time, anywhere but in the far outreaching country that had caused me malaise. Trust me though - I got over that feeling.



Around 7pm, approximately 24 hours after the onset of my symptoms, I was able to go sit outside on the patio for about 20 minutes, and talk to Greg and Eileen while sipping tepid water. The sun, long passed behind us and thus at its mildest during daylight hours, was restorative, and the fresh air did my spirit good. I suppose it was also comforting to hear of who else was getting sick - its relieving to know that it isn't "just you". I hope they all have as speedy of recoveries as I did.



So that is why I'm not posting any photos. I could post them of the intricate stucco-work around the windows of my room that I found myself meditating on, lacking the strength or will to focus on anything more complex. I could post them of the kind people to cared for me in my convalescence, but I think you all get the point.

03 June 10

03 June, 10




Classes are falling into regularity now, as the group is settling in and becoming familiar with the city, hotel, and school. We are settling into a rhythm which is relieving. As things become de rigeur, I will probably post less regularly, but will attempt to make the postings more relevant, organized, intentional.



We toured the Medina yesterday with the director of the AALIM Center, Dris, and one of his teachers, Habib, a favorite of mine. The tour (Walking) began at 9am, before the Medina was fully awoken and active. We went by the neighborhood oven, and saw the proprieter stoking his wood stove, readying for the local families to bring their bread dough to be baked. The community oven is a phenomena not typical to the Western world - in cities like Meknes, not every home has the room for a large wood bread oven. Not to mention the fact that the heat would be excruciating if every home had an oven of that sort. So by relegating the actual kiln itself to one central location, with a skilled baker running the place, order, civility and quite frankly a cooler air is ensured. The baker is skilled enough to manage his baking in such a way to ensure that loaves of individual families maintain their integrity - there is no mixing of bread, each family gets what they dropped off. That is the mark of a skilled oven proprieter.



We visited a local saint's shrine, which we could not enter, but which was marked with pale blue flames of sorts eminating in pale azure paint from around the small, grated windows. We were able to peer in on tip-toes and attempt to make out the sacred space from the city street. We saw the local schools, where Dris grew up, and as the Medina slowly woke up, made our way to the city's Great Mosque. Non-Muslims are not allowed inside, however we were treated to a tour of the masjid's library, a rare treat which many have never seen. The proprietor, who happened to see us walking by, a diminutively statured man who's condition I've only seen on movies, insisted on showing us his library, clearly his pride and joy. I am loathe to say this, but for those of you who have seen the film, "Freaks", the two German "midgits" who are proportioned exactly like fully developed people, only about 3 feet tall - the librarian had this same condition.



From a small, grated window he provided us a glimpse of the mosque itself, which was under construction. An honored glance, however, which few non-Muslims are allowed. From the mosque we wandered to the true treat, the old medresa (madrasa) - the Qu'ranic school attached to the mosque (now closed). We walked through the narrow, low ceilinged halls and doorways, seemingly built for children in its small proportions. From the cool halls of the medresa we climbed shallow stairs to the roof of the building, which offered a stunning view of the mosque's minaret, and the green tiled roofs which punctuated the vast cityscape and mosque complex.



We saw many breathtaking courtyards, paved entirely in stunning mosaics of all colors, entirely geometric and floral, evoking paradisical ambiance around fountains and intricate stucco work. My peers ran around giddily, taking photos of each other under arches, in front of mihrabs, in intricate doorways, while I focused my camera on geometry of walls, roofs, alleyways, capturing all the different mosaic patterns possible, each form of stuccowork, and every doorway possible. I grabbed some occassional snapshots of others, requested the occassional photo of myself in front of such and such, but most of my photos are of the light, the colors, the people, the patterns, the structures, and the beauty. I hope.



From the Great Mosque, Habib took over the tour and led us through the plaza el-Hedim which led to the great Bab el-Mansur. From the gateway (bab), we entered the Palacial city, still part of the Medina but separate by means of the great bab. In the Palacial city we entered the Mausoleum of Moulay Ismail, the sultan who made Meknes his capital in the 17th century. Stunning architecture surrounded us, and it seemed as though the mausoleum was the magnet of all the tourists in the city at the time - we were shoulder to shoulder and vying for space and photo space simultaneously.

By this time the sun was at its apex, heat was pressing down on us and the air was becoming stifling. We settled down for lunch at a small cafe, where I had a simple, light salad with only vegetables and a light vinaigrette, water, and mint tea to finish. School dominated the rest of the day, which was welcome in the dark, cool rooms. My peers have still not learned to buy water in advance, and are frequently sharing bottles of waters. They're all going to get sick, one way or another.





Arabic is challenging, and my international studies course, Muslim and Christian Relations in the Western Mediterranean, is going to be edifying and relevant. We'll cover the history of Islam, the nature of the culture, the development and spread of Islam in relationship to religions and cultures in the territories they expanded into, and the dual relationships that ensued. This is interesting stuff people!

Day One, 31 May

Images from the AALIM center - on the roof and in the classrooms.

Day One




After an unbelievable full night's sleep, I awoke to the bright Moroccan sun and chattering, singing birds. Following a brief sit on the patio outside my room, Eileen and I descended from our third level residences to the central courtyard of the Ryad, adorned with tin lanterns, floor cushions, and low lying sofas upholstered in brilliant gold and black velvet. Sitting on low stools around a small table we enjoyed a breakfast served to us of Moroccan crepes; thin, multilayered pastries make of coase, fried strata. Sipping the mild coffee we followed the crepes with fresh, warm bread slathered with butter and apricot preserves. We lingered over our breakfast, discussing school, travel, art and architecture, postponing the inevitable arrival in the afternoon of our peers, the trip director and the 10 other students.



Following our leisurly breakfast we shared a pot of the piping hot sweet mint tea on our patio overlooking the Medina, served by the lovely Berber/Meknessi tribeswoman, Fatima, who works for the Riad, planning our day over our guide books. Eileen introduced me to her travelling practice of, essentially, destroying her guidebooks, tearing out the folios that contain the applicable area in which you are visiting. I resisted initially, citing it directly as tearing up books, but eventually saw the reasoning and chose to envision my travel books as flexible objects. Not necessarily books which are for preserving and cherishing, but as mementos of my travel, as tools to utilize and modify to suit my needs. Pulling the two folios out which contained Meknes and Volubilis, I was able to save space in my bag, and expedite my time while out as it permitted me to go quickly to the map or areas I was looking for.



We planned to find an ATM ("une machine automatic d'argent?" "une billetiere?" we would ask along the way), and walk the mile or two to the Ville Nouveu, the modern part of the city. We maneuvered through the narrow, quiet, shady streets of the Medina, finding ourselves thrust into the busy part of the city, with streets for cars and transit. The quiet, lazy pace of the pedestrian only Medina was immediately swapped for the hectic pace of life that I'm so used to, from my times in Bahrain, Qatar, Kuwait City and Kabul. It was both soothing in its familiarity and annoying in its crowded, hectic smelliness. We walked through the busy, sunny streets at noon towards the modern part of the city. We found the post office (we're still not convinced it was actually the post office though it said "Poste" out front!), bought charming postage stamps (which have actual seeds from the flower featured on them attached to each!), timbres des cartes postale.



Our leisurly breakfast was matched by an equally relaxed lunch, dejeuner, in the Ville Nouvelle at a shady cafe on a semi-busy street. We were closely attended to by the waiter, en Francais, as well as by a particularly intelligent calico cat, who came as sat in the same spot the waiter would stand, every single time the garcon came by the table, whether to give us l'addition (the bill), our food, or our beverages. Every time, the cat would come over and sit in the waiter's spot, watch me politely but intently, but never make a sound. The streets of Meknes, as with many African, European and Asian cities, are abundant with stray cats. Like they say, you can tell you're in America when you see the fat, sleek felines that live there. Nearly everywhere else, the Middle East and North Africa particularly, the cats are borderline starving, hipbones jutting, ears huge and alert, their eyes taking up half their face - immense and yellow. They stalk cafes and shops, keenly awaiting their opportunity, never missing a scrap of dropped food.



Following lunch we dodged traffic back to the Medina and the Riad Idrissi to rest before heading over to the AALIM center to access the internet and await our camerades, and their eventual arrive from des Etats Unis. I toured the AALIM center on my own, meanering the winding staircases, all paved with blue and white geometric mosaic. With mouth agape I returned to the classrooms in which the teaching will ensure tomorrow, photographing the wildly varied mosaic and stucco-work. The toweringly high ceilings decorated with glorious woodwork, carving and painting, all the way to the roof with its breathtaking view of the Medina. I was fortunate enough to be upstairs when the afternoon call to prayer went out, and I was able to capture it, but not do it justice, on video - the echoing and layering calls resounding throughout the town, Ancienne et Nouveau.



Before long, our travel wearly camerades arrived, dragging their suitcases as they gaped at the majesty of the AALIM center, and then the Riad. 50 hours of travelling, and they were scheduled to leave Cincinnatti only 3 hours after me. I must have done something right in this life, bismallah (sp.). I got a bonus 35 bonus hours of Morocco that they'll never get. I got a gentle arrival, personalized and pleasant.



The group was exhausted, but were sat down immediately for a lovely Moroccan cous cous dinner, much like I had on my first day. Though tired they were full of questions for me, and we laughed a lot. I think I'll like this group, inshallah, and they seem to like me. I feel like the grad student TA to the group, somewhere exactly between them and the instructors, and just as familiar and confortable with the professors as with the students. I'm on average, 10 years older than every student. This isn't such a bad thing. I hope they'll trust me as a friend and confidante, but will respect my need for some quiet and solitude. I hope they'll come to me for questions and problems, and trust that I've seen a thing or two in my days. I hope I learn from them, and they from me. Inshallah.