Sahara (part three)

To catch the morning sunrise over the Sahara I would have to wake up rather early. I set my alarm for 5am before I went to bed just after midnight. Even though my watch began to chirp, at five I could already see light peeking over the horizon. As my mind and body struggled to get up I finally pulled myself out of the tent and looked at the massive dune that awaited me yet again. Camera and water on my back, I started out on what thankfully would be my last ascent of the sandy behemoth. I had started up the east face at about 0530 and after thirty minutes of battling sand and a growing wind I finally made it to the top. Only a few minutes after I reached the summit the intensely glowing orb of light rose above the dunes below to make for one of the most brilliant sights in Africa. By now the wind at the top was gusting and whipping sand over the crest of the dune. The sun in the desert was larger than I had ever seen it before and the view that the height of the dune gave presented a miraculous view of orange waves for miles around. I lingered for as long as I could, knowing that this sight was one I would be fortunate to ever see again. By now I could feel a small dune depositing in my eyes and decided it was time for a last run down. As I reached the base of the dune, camp was packing up and I was informed that the group was leaving to return back to the hotel in a few minutes. Once again, we mounted our great vehicles of the desert and set off with the rising sun at our backs. The ride back was quite enjoyable as I now was practically a master camelier. What amazed me the most on the trip back in the morning was the sun. Looking behind me I had never witnessed a more intense blinding white sun. It almost appeared as the sun were slowly turning the dunes behind to glass with its gleaming rays. Alas, after our two hour tour, Hotel Tombuctou came from the desert to meet us and we were soon on our way home. Overall, I would rank the weekend as one of the most spectacular witnesses of geographic scenery in my life and certainly a testament of God's artistic ability.

This coming weekend should prove to be exciting as well as I venture into the high Atlas to climb North Africa's highest: Mt.Toubkal.

~Andrew

Comparing Cultures

I am more than halfway through my time here in Morocco. After being here for over three weeks Fes begins to feel like home. I have a neighborhood I spend time in everyday, I have Moroccan friends I hang out with, and then shopkeepers I see everyday. After a certain amount of time, the new and different aspects of life and culture become the norm and the adaptation to a new life creates a new sense of normality. One difference between life in the states and here in Morocco that I enjoy and will miss is the community. This aspect of interpersonal action is even stronger in the old city where I live. At home in the United States we are a culture very much driven by the automobile, the concrete roadway, and sprawling development. To get anywhere, driving is a requirement and work and home are spread miles apart. Pedestrianism is hard to find and people are somewhat disconnected on a day to day basis. This isn't always the case for every community in America, but is a general theme in cities across the nation. Here in Fes, especially my neighborhood, the streets are filled with as many people as there are cars. I can walk down the side street from my family's apartment and pass numerous shops, bakeries, and vendors. On the main streets, people, mainly men, sit in cafes sharing coffee and conversation at all hours of the day. You can't help but interact with people wherever you go. In America it is easy to detach yourself from society and miss out on the biggest part of life: people and relationships. If I am walking around the Ville Nouvelle at school I say hi and have a short conversation with the barber close by and a local cafe owner. The barber shop I have only been in once, but he still recognizes me and asks how things are. I make a point to get something from the cafe about once a week, and whenever I walk by I say hi and he asks me how the arm is. "So far so good" I always say, we'll see soon enough. The medina is another world that cannot be found anywhere else. It is the largest car free area in the world. It is amazing to walk through narrow streets filled with nothing but people and exotic sights and sounds of the first through 21st centuries. The everyday connection with people and walkability of the city is something I will miss when I return home, and I will unfortunately have to drive to get most places. Fortunately, the demand and move towards a walkable urbanism is emerging in America and will hopefully will create stronger community. Though appealing, it does pose problems and migration pains for urban and suburban communities. The abundant human element is something I enjoy and will miss about Morocco. This also makes me think about current and future urban planning trends in the U.S. that you should check out. The next couple of decades hold interesting changing demographic and social trends that will reverse those of the past half century. There is your Moroccan cultural notes and something new to check out about American culture as well.

~Andrew

Sahara (فصل ٢)

The bright desert sun peaked in through the window to wake me up Saturday morning. Today was the day we would travel to Merzouga, our departure point for the sandy ocean of the Sahara desert near the Algerian border. Around eight or so, I managed to convince my body to get out of bed for breakfast and wandered down to the hotel restaurant to see if there would be something besides bread for a change. This morning I was greeted by more variety than the usual tea, bread, and apricot jelly. There wasn't necessarily eggs, fruit, and meat of any kind. It was breads and pastries, just with more diversity within the category of simple carbohydrates. Not to say that breakfast was not good, but my body is probably wanting to kill me by now. By midmorning the group loaded up to make the hour or so sojourn to the village of Merzouga at the dunes edge. On our way we stopped in Erfoud for lunch and to make a stop for water and head scarfs, or keffiyeh, for protection against the sun and sand. I found a seller that had some for 40 dirhams. After talking him into selling two for 60 dh, one for myself and then Chanelle's. I paid and waited for my change as he dealt with multiple customers. Somehow in our dealings and exchanges I managed to get both for 30 dh. In Morocco, negotiation and purchase of items, especially as a westerner, is war. So, happy to get two for less than the price of one originally was quite a good deal. So, pleased with my dealings I left before he could realize I got the best of him. After a traditional lunch of a dish I am still unsure the name or composition of we left to make the last leg of the trip to Merzouga. Around 2:00 we the road began to run parallel to the towering dunes of Erg Chebbi that seemed to blend into the background of the cloudless, blue sky in the high afternoon sun. Turning off the highway onto an open stretch of rock and sand, we headed towards Hotel Tomboctou which lay at the edge of the dunes to our left. Once at the hotel, we would have a few hours to rest before heading into the desert. The heat during the middle of the afternoon can reach around 120 degrees Fahrenheit in the desert, and you could definitely feel it outside, as well as inside. After tea and for some, a short nap it was time to saddle up the camels and meet our Berber guides. It was about six in the afternoon when our group met our camels and set out into the sea of sand dunes the now stretched as far as I could see in either direction. The days in the desert are very long. The summer days coupled with the intense sun in the desert make for early very early sunrises and late sunsets. I tied my red keffiyeh around my head and met my camel for the ride out to our camp for the night. My camel was not large or impressive, but for everything he lacked in looks he made up for with personality. From the start he seemed to say with his groaning that he didn't sign up to work the weekends. Reluctantly he stood up and our four camel pack headed out behind the others. Entering the dunes we left the flat desolation behind and began traveling into the orange, rolling waves of the Sahara. Starting out on the camel, I rode as I would on a horse. Quickly, I figured out that this was not the best way to ride a camel. Horses and camels have a few differences. The hump that camels have on the middle of there back makes riding a little different than a horse. Additionally, the saddle is more of a blanket and pad tied to the top of the camel, and camels have no stirrups. Camels are also a bit less smooth than horses are. Where horses step left-right, camels step with both right or both left feet at the same time. After expirementing a bit and trying to recall scenes from Lawrence of Arabia, I settled on what I consider a decently good technique. I abandoned the straddle technique and sat on top behind the hunp half cross-legged, hanging the left leg more off the side. This was much more comfortable and made the ride as relaxing as a camel ride can be. Riding through the dunes was probably the most surreal feeling of my life. Being surrounded by what resembles mountain ranges of sand in every direction is an overwhelming and beautiful sight. Two hours into our desert trek we rounded the side of a massive sand dune and could see our camp for the night in the shadow of the mountain of sand. Our camp was a circle of Berber tents centered around a center area of rugs and tables for tea and dinner. Behind our desert encampment a sand dune towered over us, resembling a massif you might find in the mountains but on a smaller scale. My best estimation would put the top at around 300 to 400 ft. above the surrounding land. The sun was waning and I decided I would race it to the top to catch a glimpse of the fading evening light over the desert. As I started up I realized to catch the sunset, I might be fighting a battle I couldn't win. The slope facing our camp was quite steep, and I realized the problem with climbing san dunes. Besides being uphill at a pitch steeper than any mountain I had climbed, the ground shifts under your feet, moving you inches at a time. It seemed to take forever to make it to the top, but out of breath and done discovering an amazing workout I crested the ridge where the pile of sand came to its highest point. Joined by the few brave souls of ALIF and a couple of volunteers with an organization from Rabat, I took in a view I would not have imagined seeing at the beginning of summer. From the top the dunes mellowed into a deep orange and began to fade in the low evening light. I missed the brilliance of the sunset, but the faint light cast a slightly eerie, epic feeling across the Sahara. Off to the south I could catch a glimpse of the closed Algerian border. Even though absent of life, I still can say I saw Algeria. Considering the situation, it was about as close as I would get anyway. The sky was getting darker and most of the people at the top were deciding it was time to head down to camp since dinner would be soon. This is where I learned that going down a sand dune hundreds of feet tall is much more fun than the trip up. The nice thing about sand being soft is that you can run down it, and so that is exactly what Cherrie and I did. Those that walked definitely missed out, it was the closest I think I could get to skiing without sand skis. Even though the climb up is a bit difficult and demanding of patience, the view and rush down more than make up for the tough ascent. My camera full of good photos and stomach not full of food, I was delighted to see that it was almost dinner time at camp. A group of us from the UF group and a couple of grad students, Javi and Julie, found a table and relaxed on the soft rug covered sand. Dinner was a meal of bread as always, Moroccan styled salad, and what I can really only describe as a Berber casserole of sorts. It was very good and it was nice to have a fullfilling meal after a long evening. After dinner our blue, clad Berber hosts broke out the drums and started up the post dinner music and dancing. Hearing the sounds of the tabla, djbeme, and doumbek reminded me of how much I miss my drumset at home, as if I could play it now anyway with a cast. Though later in the night as we sat talking in a circle, a couple guides had their djembe with them. To my surprise they asked my if I wanted to try, and of course I said yes. The cast was a bit of an impedement, but since it was a hand percussion instrument I was able to manage pretty well. It was enough to cure my withdrawls and I was tired and decided it was time to fall asleep under the bright blanket of starts that filled the Saharan sky.

Originaly I said this was a two parter, but the entry is proving long and my time constraints push me to finish it tomorrow for part three.

~Andrew

Sahara (part one)

Friday began an amazing adventure across Morocco to the Algerian border and back. The trip to the Sahara was half of the fun of the entire trip. Mid-day we loaded onto our Missouri Transport bus, which is a Moroccan company oddly enough, and headed out on the road south away from Fes. Leaving Fes, we started out traveling through the first of a variety of landscapes on our drive across Morocco. Fes is located in north-central Morocco between the Rift mountains to the north and the Middle Atlas to the south and east. To get to the dunes of Erg Chebbi we would climb up over the rooftop of Morocco ,which forms the spine of the country, and descend into the desert lands of the southeast. Beginning our ascent from the valley we continued into the Mediterrean hill country surrounding the city. In these mountains there are two treelines, one where the elevation is high enough to support tree growth and then the second where it is too high and trees cannot grow. At this point we were entering the first of the two treelines and the Meditteranean scrub began to evolve into forests of pine, cedar, and mixed decidious trees. Soon after the forests thickened and the mountainsides grew greener as we climbed higher into the middle Atlas. At this point we were driving through Alpine country that resembled Europe, parts of Colorado, or the Sierra Nevada range. While traveling through our second geographic persona we passed through the small mountain town of Ifrane. Driving through, the architecture took on less of a North African feel and put on a style more akin to buildings you would find in the European Alps. For a minute I forgot I was in Morocco and felt as if I could have been driving through rural Switzerland. The town was also immaculately clean, being home to argueably the nicest university in Morocco. Al-Aqawain University was built by the Kings of Morocco and Saudi Arabia and resembles a village of Colorado ski lodges. Continuing on with our seven hour trip, the landscape once again began to change. We began to desend down through an arid hill country into a highland plain that resembled parts of New Mexico. Once down into the mountain fringed plain I could see the massifs of the Middle Atlas rising in front of us. Passing through the city of Midelt, we were in the highest mountain range of Eastern Morocco and which include Jebel Ayachi, a 11,200 ft. peak, the highest in the Eastern High Atlas. As I peeked up at the top of some of the ridges I could spot small pockets of snow hanging onto life as the summer heat strengthened across the country every day. We drove on through the wide valley bordered by mountain ranges rising from what once were deep, cutting valleys gouged into the earth, now filled flat by years of eroded sediment. Moving further toward our destination we left the mountains of Colorado and New Mexico and crossed into what seemed the Canyon lands of Arizona. Here we traveled parallel to a meandering river the cut a winding canyon into the rocky plateau. With each mile now the terrain grew flatter and more desolate. In most cases this would not excite many people, but for us it meant one step closer to the dunes of the Moroccan Sahara. Once emptied out of the highlands of Morocco, our bus drove across a flat, rocky wasteland. Our first night would not take us to the Sahara, but to a four star hotel in Erfoud one hour away from our final destination. Finally at around 7:30 our bus pulled into the ancient Kasbah styled hotel in the middle of somewhere, which happened to be on the edge of nowhere. Our hotel for Friday night was a walled complex of buildings and courtyards called Kasbah Xaluca. Checking there was tea and cookies in the lobby that smelled of cedar, a pleasant aroma stregthened by the lingering afternoon heat. Naturally, John and I continued our theme as roomies and headed off to find our room. Leaving the lobby we entered the main courtyard which held an outdoor restaurant, bar, and very inviting pool of shimmering, cool water. Our room was past the main courtyard and on the outside of a square complex with a courtyard in the middle, resembling an old desert fort. Opening the solid wooden door to our room, we flipped on the light and were pleasantly surprised at the sight of our accomidations. This was easily the nicest hotel I have ever stayed in and probably will be for quite awhile. There were two couches to our right flanking the t.v. and surrounding the coffee table which held a bowl of peanuts and raisins. Across from the living area were the two bed split between a window with wooden shutters that opened to a view of the desert. Further to the right, an moorish archway carved shaped into the stucco walls led to a bathroom of brilliant tiles and bronze trimmings. The room was large and had a warm feel with the rustic wooden furniture and luxurious desert look. The night at Hotel Xaluca held food, music, and swimming. After an enjoyable and relaxing night with friends, it was time to rest for our trip to the dunes of the Moroccan Sahara the following day. A recollection that I will save for tomorrow.

~Andrew

Teas and Mohammeds

If there are two things in Morocco that there is much of, it is mint tea and men named Mohammed. Yesterday evening was spent in the Medina. John and I wandered around for a bit and then went to the Bab B'shloud, or Blue Gate, to meet our friends Mohammed and Mohammed. After a while it can get a bit confusing, even they admit it. I can name half the taxi drivers I have had soley by grouping them into one Mohammed or another. I think you get the point that Mohammed is a very popular name not only here in Morocco, but in the Islamic world. Earlier we had walked around the streets of the medina near or house looking in shops and doing some price spotting. It is good to go into shops and ask prices and see about how low you can get them without being intersted. Because so many shops sell similar items, if not the same thing, it is a good way to know what you should be paying for things in the future. No matter where you go, the fact that you are white automatically gives you an inflated price. We met our friends Mohammed and Mohammed at the main entrance to the ancient city to see a couple of shops and then go to a cafe. First we headed off to a shop that had a collection of not only Moroccan but American music as well. Looking in through the door from the street all you see are flowers, but peek inside and there are two men smoking sitting among a pie of records and a shelf of CDs. Unfortunately none of the records were for sale because he had a good collection of American music. Some of the old vinyls included Pink Floyd, Bob Dylan, Stan Getz, Lou Rawls, Jimi Hendrix, Marvin Gaye, and even some old bands my dad would recognize with names that could only be products of the 1970's. Over on the CD rack I was excited to find Stevie Ray Vaughn and Double Trouble. I explained to Mohammed that he was from Texas, my home state. Among the CD's were more western bands like the Beatles and then some Moroccan Sufi music (religious traditional music). While in the store the proprietor I presume ("Um, are you the proprietor of this establishment?, Brian Regan anyone), put in a DVD and motioned for me to come listen to some American blues. I recognized the song as a version of "Green Onions" by Booker T and the MGs, but played by Ray Buchannan as he informed me. After finding out that the records were his personal collection and not for sale, John decided he wouldn't be buying any and we left for our second stop. Our time in the shop was an enjoyable part of the day, listening to familiar music and sharing a common interest with some Moroccan men that 'roll their own cigs' if you get the idea. Walking down an adjacent street we walked into an empty storefront and Mohammed flipped on the light. We were at his store. When we first met Mohammed he told us he had opened up a small shop in the medina but we had not yet seen it. It is a nice, neat shop that is small but more open than many of others. He sells shoes, jewelry, leather products, seats, and cloths made on the looms nearby. After sitting for ten minutes or so we learned none of our other friends from school would be joining us at Cafe Berber, so we headed off ourselves. At the cafe, the Mohammeds ordered Morocco's ubiquitous mint tea. I decided to try the coffee for the first time, and John, I think leaning toward something cold in this hot country went for a Sprite. The coffee exceeded my expectations and had a good flavor that wasn't as strong as I expected. But what made it good was the creamyness of the milk here in Morocco that was added to it. This recalling of the events of yesterday brings me to the tea which I have not talked much about. Here in Morocco mint tea is the drink of chioce and can be found anywhere. Anytime of the day wherever you go you are bound to see someone having a glass of mint tea. Walking by cafes you don't see many people having a meal, but what you can see all day are men sharing tea or coffee while talking for what could be hours. The lunch hour is flexible up to the full three hours between noon and three o'clock. At home we have tea with breakfast and either lunch or dinner, but anytime of the day at home could turn into tea time depending on how Jamal feels. Around town there are a couple of ways you might see the tea. The tea can be soaked in the mint leaves in the tea pot, which is your own personal pot that will make about three glasses. Or the tea might be poured into a glass stuffed with mint leaves. As far as sweetness goes, at one extreme I have felt like I was drinking a stick of Wrigley's Spearmint gum, but usually at home there is a good mix of tea and mint flavor. Unlike in America, hot drinks here are served in small glass cups. These seem to conduct heat better than ceramic mugs with handles for whatever reason, but that is just how it is done. After the cafe we finished our evening on the roof at home, then dinner and bed. Now you have more knowlegde of mint tea than you probably ever cared too. You also know a little bit of Moroccan culture as well, so long.

~Andrew

Of Streets and Automobiles

The streets in Morocco remind me somewhat of what I have seen in Mexico, but with less controlled intersections. Crossing the street is somewhat of an art form, but you learn quick if you don't want to get hit. Successfully getting from one side to the other here is a bit like a game of Frogger. Sometimes you can make it across in one bound, but most of the time this is not the case. What you have to do is judge the traffic and cross halfway. Here you stand in between traffic and wait for the next gap to open up in the traffic going the other direction so you can finish crossing. Standing in the middle of traffic may sound a little odd to people back home, but here its how you do it and cars expect you there so they make a concerted effort not to hit you most of the time.
I'm not sure whether Travis would enjoy driving here or not. On one hand everyone is trying to get from point A to point B as fast as possible, but there is an absence of lanes and I could see him constantly being stressed over damaging his car. I have yet to see a car wreck, though the closest I saw was one our taxi was almost in. There are lines painted, although faded, on the streets but they are more of guidlines or suggestions of safety. At intersections the vehicles all form a large gaggle at the intersection at the point where they just can't get hit by traffic in the roundabout. I have seen some traffic lights, but at most intersections they are either hidden or I fail to find them. I am not sure how entire streets decide to stop or go at times. In Fes the streets are very crowded and filled with various modes of transportation. You have the red F1 taxis, sedans of all shapes, sizes, and colors; the Hyndai Santa Fe or equivalent here and there, Vespa scooters, and these small motorcyles which are more glorified bicycles than anything. In Morocco the people really know how to stack a motorscooter. And you see all sorts of people riding them as well, kids and old men in suits and little beanies. That is the colorful streets of Fes. A short little entry today to give and insight into one aspect of everyday life here.

~Andrew

Rabat

So far all I have seen of Morocco is Fes, which is nice, but after two weeks you want to get out and see more of Morocco than the same neighborhood around the house and route to school. So this weekend was my first time traveling in the country besides the flight from Casablanca to Fes. Friday after school I chatted a little bit online since everyone back at home is just beginning the day as I finish my afternoon class, and headed home to get my backpack together.
At about six John and I headed to the train station in our little red taxi as always to get our tickets for the 1850 train to Rabat. At the station there is somewhat of a line but once you get to the front you have to stick your money out and spurt out a destination before the person beside you. It didn't take long to figure out the technique and we were soon on the platform waiting for our train to pull in. Once on the train we walked around for a bit trying to find a cabin that wasn't too crowded or containing small children. Once we settled on our seats it was time to sit back and enjoy our three hour ride across north central Morocco to the Atlantic coast. I was anxious to see the countryside since the flight doesn't exactly give you the same view of the land. Before we could begin, a policeman doing walkthroughs comes in and begins arguing with the woman sitting across from me. The woman was rather large and looked hot and a bit nervous. After fighting with the man over her bags while she kept frantically repeating something in Arabic, the policeman took one of her two bags with him off the train but let her stay. I wasn't sure what the whole ordeal was about, but my guess was that she wasn't supposed to be on the train. Looking at the woman across from me, she was rather overweight, but looked awkward and not as large as her face belied. Once the train began moving she stood up and began removing garment after garment until she got to more clothes taped to her midsection. After that she continued the process until she had removed about a suitcase worth of clothes. No one, including the other Moroccans were sure what to make of it, but we tried to ignore her the rest of the trip until she got off down the line. I personally think the tactic is probably better reserved for January than mid-June. As we rolled on through the countryside and through Meknes you could see the Atlas foothills and agricultural lands of the country. The route we took was surprisingly fertile in places and greener than I would have expected with a decent amount of trees in some areas. It made for a nice view in the waning sunlit hours.
Three hours later at about ten we rolled into the Rabat train station. We were now in the capital and called Cherie and Farrell who had left two hours before us and were already at the hotel. Conveniently the hotel was only a couple minute walk from the station in the main intersection or roundabout in this case in town. We checked into our room which was nice and $20 a night between me and John.
After getting things settled we all went to walk around a bit and find something to eat since we were hungry from the train ride. Most things were closed since it was Friday night but we did find a place open at eleven and got some chawarma and fries for about four bucks, I am enjoying the food prices here. They don't do portions as big as at home though, but you can usually find something decently priced.
Our main reason for going to Rabat was to relax and get away from Fes for a weekend. Having twenty hours of class a week can get tiring once you add on the homework and the fact it is all the same subject, so a little break can be nice. Saturday we slept in, I went out and found a quick late breakfast. Next we were off to the beach to relax and swim for the first time in this hot country. Now in Rabat, we hopped in our little blue taxi to get to the beach. The capital is much more modern but we also saw their large medina walls and a couple of old forts on the coast. Getting out of the taxi and walking down the coast to the beach we passed an ancient lighthouse, lots of men playing soccer, some parkour graffiti, and young men asking you to parasail, which we saw no one doing, so we decided it probably was either unsafe or not that great here. Moroccan beached aren't amazing, or at least the ones in Rabat weren't sparkling white. The sand is a shade darker than what you would find in Florida, but sand is sand and water is water. The water was nice and it was refreshing to be able to cool off in a place where it gets very hot without A/C. The closest thing back at home in Fes is a cold shower.
The rest of the weekend we just spent hanging out and relaxing in the city. We met a young African named Omar at our hotel. He is from the Ivory Coast and plays professional soccer in Qatar, and decided to vacation in Morocco for a week. He was nice and John played video games with him one night. My left hand prevents me from being very good at that right now.
The train ride back to Fes had no A/C and was very hot. I did have a nice chat with a Moroccan man sittting next to me who spoke English. He was returning to his flat in Tangier from London. He explained a lot about Morocco and the concerns of the people living here in concern to the economy and life in general. Rising global fuel costs have effected them here just like everywhere. Food prices are still low because they can't go too high here or even more people can't eat. All of the farming techniques are organic, which isn't bad. But here the output isn't maximized as much as in the states. Unemployment is also about 20% right now, so you see alot of men spending the day drinking one cup of tea at a cafe. He also told me he noticed that Britain's economy sees a very direct link to the U.S. economy. He said if something happens across the ocean, the next day it is felt on the Isles. At Fes I said goodbye and it is now time to get back home and back to school for the week.

~Andrew

Marjane

Today's adventure was the search for a wonderful paradise of culinary possibilities that I had only heard about from secondhand accounts. The name of this magical place John and I would discover is called Marjane (marjhan). This place, we had been told, was Fes' equivalent to an American supermarket. Unfortunately the food at home isn't always amazing and even when I do eat everything at meals I am still hungry most of the time. here. To understand the second goal of my mission, I need to regress back to the weekend when I was sick. As most people know I don't eat a whole lot of breads or sugars and while I was sick both of those things had a tendency to make me feel even sicker. I am still having a hard time getting bread down this week. But while I was sick I had this random craving for carrots and ranch dressing. Don't ask me why, but that would have been heaven on Sunday. I am guessing because the combination is not only delicious but smooth and refreshing as well. Even after on Monday, I still had this desire, so I made it my mission this week to get those two things. After yesterday I finished writing the days entry and John and I set off in our little red taxi hoping the driver understood what we said and that we would end up in the right place. After driving towards the outskirts of the city we saw what had to be it. A large concrete building with large 'Marjane' signs and a parking lot of cars meant we were at our destination. And it was much bigger than we expected.
I enjoy going to the grocery store at home in the first place and could be completely content just walking around and looking at food. When I go to get food it only adds to the fun. I like food, I know most of you are not surprised. The prospect of being able to see what more normal foods they have was exciting. We began at one end of the food aisles and decided we would systematically snake through the aisles so we wouldn't miss anything. I won't run you through aisle by aisle, instead I'll just hit the high points of the trip. Food in Morocco is relatively cheap, but certain things like cereals appeared more expensive even though bread costs next tot nothing in this country. Morocco has the same economic concerns with rising fuel and food prices just like in the U.S.. Unfortunately Morocco doesn't do big jars of peanut butter. There isn't much and in comparison to America the jars are tiny. I did run across a can of Pringles on the 'chip' aisle that was "Texas BBQ" flavor. I hadn't planned on getting any, but how could I say no? Later on I found the dressing and bottled items like ketchup and BBQ sauce. I scanned and scanned looking for my ranch. Apparently they do every salad dressing imagineable here except the one I was looking for. Unfortunately my mission would not be complete but that doesn't mean it couldn't be a success. They did have a gigantic wall of ketchup and mustard oddly. My last stop was the produce section where you can get a kilo of most vegetables for about 75 cents. The fruit and vegetables here are much cheaper than in the U.S. And the prices were similar for fruit. I also happened to see a swordfish head in the seafood section. Not something I usually run into at Wal-Mart.
At the end of the excursion, it turned out being a worthwhile trip. I will definitely be returning to the Marjane for supplementing my caloric intake between meals since I usually wait around eight to ten hours between lunch and dinner. Until next time.

~Andrew

McArabia

Everyday on the taxi ride to school I pass argueably the nicest McDonald's I have seen, and of course its not in America. It's in Fes, Morocco. When in other countries I usually try not to make it a habit of visiting American establishments but we decided we would go at least once and wouldn't be the Americans showing up everyday for a taste of home. After class let out for the day a friend suggested we go study for a little bit at the McDonalds, which is only a quick five minute walk away. Since getting better my body needed food and had been hungry most of the time, so I figured that I could get a cheap snack that my stomach would be familiar with as well. The McDonald's property is among the only in town with green grass outside, partly because it actually has room to be spacious since it is on the outside of a main road that runs the edge of a sharp river valley connecting the Ville Nouvelle, Fez Jedid, and Old Medina. Looking at the building from the city side there are no other buildings adjacent, or packed next to it like most everywhere else in the city. After walking through the parking lot you first come to the 'Playplace' which is a separate building from the main two story structure. On our way in we pass Ronald McDonald sitting on a bench with a girl talking on her cell phone. I was somewhat disappointed he didn't have on yellow and red traditional Berber clothing, but I figured I couldn't expect it to have everything. Inside the restaurant was new, clean, and downstairs didn't leave many hints of Arab influence. I did like the flat screen televisions around the first floor playing the Euro Cup games that are going on right now. The menu was very much like in the states, you have your McFlurries and Big Macs. There is also the 20 dirham menu and a couple of regional options: the Royale Deluxe (similar to a "Royale wi' Cheese", if you have heard the Sam L and John Travolta dialogue) and of course, the McArabia. Leave to McDonald's to Mac attack an entire world region with a sandwich. The McArabia is essentially kebab shaped beef in a traditional bread pita. I didn't seem to be too popular among even it target audience. I snagged a small combo of the 20 dirham menu and headed upstairs to study with our group. The main room upstairs was rather impressive, it had a high roof with an artistic traditional wood planking covered in detailed painting. I was surprised McDonald's could produce quite a ceiling, even if by cheaper methods. From upstairs you can see the mountains surrounding Fes and a glimpse of the old city in the distance. It is a rather nice place to sit actually considering they have an outdoor patio on both levels. Here in Morocco, conversely to the U.S., the restaurant was a place for the middle and upper class families and young people. McDonald's is considered a nicer place in the city and quite modern. I realized how cheap you can find meals in the city sometimes, even in decently nice cafes because I found myself pushing the limit when I thought of paying five something dollars for a full meal at McDonald's. So far I think the most I have paid was about 40 dirhams which is about five dollars and cheapest 8 which is one dollar. But for a good sit down dinner it can cost closer to eight or ten. The food prices are something that I can't complain about here. That was my Moroccan McDonald's experience, and I would be challenged to find one like it in the U.S. But I do encourage to enjoy the dollar menu, its the only thing that hasn't follwed the establishment to Morocco.

~Andrew

And the inevitable came..

I haven't written in quite awhile. It has been since Friday to be exact. Friday afternoon I started getting sick pretty fast and it didn't improve fast. I somehow picked up some type of stomach bacteria that gave me a fever and my fair share of stomach problems. The fever subsided by Saturday night. Sunday I was still sick, my head and stomach hurt and my body was weak. I was able to get antibiotics from a friend and that took away most of the sickness that kept me in bed most of the time from Friday through Sunday. I was able to go to class yesterday and am doing better, but I am still pretty weak and have a less than desirable digestive tract. Hopefully I will be back to normality soon, there is plenty to write about and being well helps experience things worth writing about. That's all for now, I am still alive but it has been a rough last few days.

~Andrew

Djellebas, Zizou, and Tracuers

Wednesday was a day full of new sights, sounds, and people. It also turned out some very good pictures I wish I was able to show you at the moment, as well. The details of school I won't narrate day by day so as not to bore you or spout useless knowledge.

School aside, the first notable events of the day begin during the four hour lunch between classes. After class John and I headed down to the Bath'a taxi stop by our house to walk into Fes al-Bali (the old medina). I somehow lost the djeleba story so I will save it and the Old City for Saturday after our trip there.

After our short hour walk through the medina it was time to head back to the house for lunch. This was our first lunch at home so far and it turns out the rest of the family was over. Since our apartment is in the process of being moved into, Jemel's wife and kids live with his mother not far from where we are. As we walked in I met Jemel's wife and his two boys Si Mohammed and Zai'ed. Jemel informed me they usually went by Simou and Zizou for short, also meaning little. In Arabic سي means "sir" and is a sign of respect for the names of prophets and elders. So سي محمد becomes سيمو.. Simou is an energetic and friendly boy of eight, and like many young children is never shy for attention. Zizou is the younger at one and a half but has athleticism, smarts, and curiosity beyond his age. If there is any kind mischievous activity that is possible he is the one to find it. A couple of his favorite activities include running out into the stairs when the door is left open and climbing up the bars on my window.

After lunch and a short siesta we head back for our afternoon class. Class was good as always and school was done for the day and we moved on towards the evening.

This particular afternoon John, Tara, Jama, and I decided to walk back to our host homes by Fes al-Bali for the first time. What is a relatively cheap 8 minute taxi ride turned out to be an entertaining 2 hour walk home. If you walk the route without detour it is about a thirty minute walk, but being curious and distracted by photo opportunities in the longer afternoon light it took me and John a little longer. Tara and Jama decided they were rather hungry and went ahead on their own. Halfway home John and I stopped by a park outside of the 'mellah', which is the old Jewish quarter, on the edge of Ville Nouvelle. They were groups of young Moroccan men and boys playing football, but we noticed another group practicing their urban gymnastics in the grass closer to the street. We walked up and met the group of five or so young 'tracuers'. They were practicing flips and handsprings sometimes associated with the sport that broke my wrist, yes they were doing parkour. Or at least if not a pure version of the sport, something I could associate with. In a conversation of mixed Arabic, French, and English I discovered they were fans of 'le parkour' and explained it was how I broke my wrist unfortunately. While making small talk about this and that they were happy to show off their best moves for my camera and turned out some good photos. Leaving the park for home reminded me of all the relationships and friendly acquaintances that you make here that really make the experience great. I say hello and ask the barber by the school everyday since and he remembers me and replies with a smile and I will probably be back to the park not far from home and school to play football and socialize with the local tracuers.

Until tomorrow, this is me signing out.
آندرو

John gets a haircut and we meet Nawee

Before I start recalling the events of Tuesday it is worthwhile to know that I have been unsuccessful in uploading photos to the blog as well as facebook. They may come they may not, but I assure you they are good. In sha'allah.

Tuesday like everyday, the morning begins with breakfast before catching the taxi to school. The morning meal in Morocco is traditionally light as lunch is the largest and most important meal of the day. So far, breakfast consists of mint tea (always), bread, fruit jelly, and cheese or butter. Bread is a large part of the diet in Morocco, as is tea of course. But if I could sum up bread in a sentence it would be : "respect the bread". In Islamic culture bread is seen as a gift from god. So, bread is never wasted and always has its own place wherever it is.
The first class of the day with Ahmed was good as always. The instructors here are very good and I have greatly increased my grasp on subjects learned this past year. After class I headed out to get lunch on my own. I decided to walk around the Ville Nouvelle and see what I could find that was good, cheap, and included meat. Meat right now is not cheap in Morocco. Chicken is economical, but beef and fish can be more, seafood is especially expensive. Beef isn't bad though. So many families serve beef once a week and rely on vegetables and chicken normally. That sidenote done, my excursion was a success. I found a small place with a few tables on the sidewalk and a grill that served sandwiches and kebab. I was able to get a half a round loaf of bread filled with grilled beef for 12 dh which is about $1.50. So far, I have found some of the cheaper street vendors a better option than the cafes for lunch. After eating on the sidewalk I picked up a cantalope from a juice shop that I ate on the way back. Walking through the street while cutting up your own fruit is something you can do here that is a little out of place in America, but I like that.

After lunch brought class and class brought our new teacher that we still were not formally introduced to. At the beginning of class he introduced himself as Naweekheeri but said we could call him Nawee for short, or just plainly ostetha. Afternoon class was especially enriching and opened up a comppletely new window of understanding in Arabic through verb patterns. I won't bore you with a lesson but I assure you it was very good.

For the past couple of days John had expressed interest in getting his haircut. It had been almost six months since his last one and he was starting to need a 'fro pick. After class we headed down a couple blocks to the salon de coffuer pour hommes. Or for those of you who don't speak French but can proabably guess, the barber shop. We entered and went through the traditional Arabic greetings and sat down in the small streetside shop to wait our turn in line. There were two chairs and one barber and a small t.v with a soap opera in Arabic playing. Just like in the U.S. there were lots of mirrors, newspapers, and a t.v. that played whatever was on. While waiting the barber explained the show was a Mexican soap opera, but dubbed in Arabic. So, I taught him some Spanish and explained that these were called novelas and we had a couple small discussions in a mix of a few languages, the subjects of course trivial but the communication essential. Soon enough the t.v. show changed to a cartoon of talking boats, water vessels, and shipyard structures, and it was John's turn in the chair. He had been looking up the vocabulary to explain what he wanted in his phrase book and informed me that 'he had it'. Turns out the MSA Arabic didn't convey the exact meaning John wante since the barber knew only Moroccan Arabic. Though, through trust and hand signals it is amazing how one can communicate. Now John looks even more Moroccan than before, even though his heritage is Jewish. Though today he says he wants to go back to have his beard shaved, so he might loose his look of religious authority. A haircut here is about $4 by the way. That sums up the adventures of yesterday, more to come on today tomorrow. Until then, illa a'kaa. In sha'allah. ma'salaama.

~Andrew

First Day of Class and Meeting the Family

Yesterday morning I left Hotel Olympic for my first two hour class of the day at 8:00. My class has four students including myself and we have a great teacher. Our instructor's name is Ahmed. He is a a large man with a large beard and always smiling face to match. I also met my classmate and roomate, Johnny, that I would be living with while in Fes. My second class of the day is at two, so I have a four hour break each day to study, have lunch, and see the city. My lunch break yesterday found a vendor who sold 8 dirham sandwiches, which is about one US dollar. And a liter bottle of water is only around 4 or 5 dirhams, so fifty to seventy-five cents. After eating lunch and exploring the area around the school I headed back to ALIF for my second class. I have two classes a day with the same students but a each with a different teacher. Our second teacher has yet to introduce himself. Yeterday we were caight up in the world of Arabic and ran out of time amazingly. He is a well spoken older Moroccan man, but his English has hints of his British education. He is very entertaining as well and a great educator, who we learned also teaches English.

Once class was over it was time for me and John to catch our cab (petit taxi) to meet Jemel at our new home for the six weeks. The short 5 minute ride takes us to the edge of the new city and the old. A short walk through some narrow streets takes us to a small courtyard surrounded by the walls of packed apartments where we meet Jemel. Recognizing us, he does a small dance and introduces himself with much enthusiasm. Jemel is a well dressed for his neighborhod and of average stature. He walks with a small limp and seems to be well respected as a leader among his community. John takes me up to the new apartment as Jemel leaves to teach a private music lesson. I learn that Jemel has a wife and two children who live with his mother while he finishes moving in to the new house. The door opens into a living room with a large skylight and impressive ceiling. From there you can access the kitchen, bathroom, and three bedrooms. I settle in and me and Johnny discover the roof of our building while waiting for Jemel to return for dinner. From the roof you can see the old city and mountains surrounding Fes, the view is quite impressive. At 9:30 we have dinner which consists of tanjin chicken, saladm bread, and cantalope. The food here is very good and so far unintimidating. Night has come and it is time to rest for our early morning wake up from our rooster alarm.

The Journey Over

My long trip to Fez, Morocco began with a smooth fligh to Newark airport in New Jersey and the scenic route to JFK through south Brooklyn and Queens. I arrived at JFK around 12:30 and found that check in for my flight did not open until 4:00 pm. Thus began the end of my smooth airline experience. After burning 3 1/2 hours in Terminal One I finally was towards the front of the line for check in and was soon entering the exciting world of the secure gate area. Being the security threat that I am, I got to experience a capsule that shoots air at you, 'the wand', and a friendly TSA pat-down with the obligatory cast swab, all in addition to the regular metal detector most passengers only get to experience. Now, it was time to wait another almost 4 hours till our Boeing 777 departed for Casablanca. The secure gat area held less excitement than the home I had come to know as Terminal One earlier. The overnight flight across the Atlantic was quite enjoyable, I shared a row with a wonderful woman from Wisconsin who was on her way to see her daughter who just competed her Peace Corps assignment. We also received two meals and free headphones and socks, which was a big deal for me.

Arriving in CMN ( Casa), all it took to enter the Kingdom of Morocco was a two mintue session with an official who stamped my passport and sent me on to the terminal to catch my domestic flight. Once at gate 15 to wait for my flight to Fez, the 45 minute wait turned into two and a half hours. We eventually boarded after receiving a free lunch. This short flight was possibly the least comfortable I had ever been on airplane. It wasn't so much the space as it was the vibrations and multitude of squeaks and noises that the airplane emitted during every moment in the air. obviously I survived, and landed at my final destination: Fes Saiss Aeroport.

From there I and a couple of other American students studying at the ALIF institute caught a cab to the school and I to the hotel several blocks away. As we left the airport the cab driver honked at a couple of police and for the majority of the ride we followed a path cleared by police. There was even an intersection blocked off. Once in Fes jedeeda, the new city we were on our own. After speaking in Arabic to the man at hotel reception and hearing him reply in French and some Arabic, I obtained my key and headed up to room 106. He seemed to have a hard time understanding the fact I didn't know French but did know Arabic.

Pictures to follow tomorrow.