post-Ramadan updates

Much has happened since last I wrote. For one, Ramadan has finally ended and along with it, fasting. Hooray!! To celebrate, I went to Spain for a few days with some friends for a few days. School was closed for five days, coinciding with the holiday at the end of Ramadan, Eid al-Fitr.

We stayed at a couple of hostels in Madrid, a new experience for me. So, call me spoiled, but I'm in love with the idea of having an actual toilet within the confines of my hotel room and the concept of bunk beds for adults is not something I understand. These two things seem to be the entire reason for hostels to exist. Granted, at an average of 20 E a night, the price was good for a single traveler. I was with a bunch of much younger kids, and I don't think they caught onto the idea of pooling money to get a nice hotel room and sharing it (without strangers) for the same price we each paid at said bunk bed laden hostel. I, personally, would have gladly paid more not to share my bedroom with unknown wackos. I prefer sticking with the wackos I already know.

One example of unknown wacko behavior happened to my friend Tia, who awoke to one of our roommates, a guy from Iran, stroking her face. Um...creepy anyone? Seriously, if I woke up to some crazy dude STROKING my face as I slept, there would have been some serious explaining to do (probably by me, after being arrested for attacking said face stroker). Who knows, maybe he did stroke my face, but got no response since that was the night I tried absinthe and was pretty numb to the world. (For those of you who don't know, absinthe became illegal in the US and most of Europe in 1915 and has only recently been legalized.) Some recent bottlers of absinthe claim 82% alcohol content and I'm would not have been surprised if I sampled from one of those bottles. I think I might have done some permanent damage to my throat, as apparently absinthe is made up of some otherworldly ingredients that have the ability to change the chemical make-up of your body, turning your throat into actual fire. Not just a burning sensation, but it creates actual FIRE in your body. I don't have any idea how those crazy Romantic poets from the 1800s like William Blake used to down the stuff night after night, but I found nothing romantic about it and have no plans for repeat performances, believe me!
While there, in between face stroking and absinthe drinking, I did most of the usual touristy things like visiting the Prado (by the way, Goya is a shitty painter), eating lots of Manchego cheese, chorizo (as there's no pork in Morocco for the most part) and drinking lots of non-Moroccan red wine. Ah, heaven!

Tia, Halima and I went to Toledo for the day on a high speed train (220 km/hr) and walked around the historic town on cobblestone streets, people watching. We also got into the habit of ending all of our nights (or early mornings) in true Spanish fashion of "chocolate y churros", melted chocolate (not hot chocolate...but mugs of PURE chocolate) into which we dipped churros, basically unsweetened tube-shaped doughnuts. Or, basically, the best way ever to end an evening.

Now I'm back in Rabat, away from those crazy folks in Spain. I'm only here for one more month and it's beginning to hit me that I'll be back in the states soon. That means looking for a job, applying to grad school, seeing my family and friends, sleeping in my own bed! So, a mixed bag.

This year has been a great experience for me and I've no regrets at all for quitting my job and taking off on this adventure. All of these experiences have changed me in permanent ways and I'm definitely not the same person now than when I left. For some people this might be a good thing, for others, seemingly not. Some of my friendships have not withstood this time away and my need to explore myself and my life. However, I've gained other friendships and formed a much clearer picture of who I am in my own mind.

Ramadan Chapter 3

I've been fasting for a week now and I'm kind of surprised at how easy it has become. I have no problem getting up at 4am to eat (as if I'd turn down the chance to eat) before going back to bed for another 4 hours or so. However, if I was doing something more physical with my day, like a labor-intensive job, I'm sure I would have a really hard time with fasting. I've heard about professional athletes who fast during Ramadan and still compete and I just don't know how they can go without water! That's definitely the hardest part. The first three or four days were the worst, as I was tired and light-headed for most of the day. Studying was grueling, as my brain did not want to fire any synapses and I gave up on trying to memorize my new vocabulary words. Nothing was sticking in my head. However, now things are much better and aside from having a dry mouth almost constantly, I'm fine with the fasting. As long as I don't have to read any long texts in class, I really don't even think about fasting. It's so strange how the body can adapt so easily to changes in environment. Of course, I'm probably totally screwing up my metabolism, as I'm completely inactive all day, then eat a bunch of high-fat foods, then go to sleep. Not really great for the health, but it's an experience.

The foods that we have for Iftar (the meal at night when we break our fast) are some of the least healthy foods I've had thus far in Morocco. It's pretty much fried bread (stuffed with meat or cheese sometimes), or different fried bread covered in honey and butter, mini pita sandwiches with tuna or ground beef, cookies (made from dough that is deep fried, soaked in honey then coated in sesame seeds), harirra (a Moroccan soup with the possibility of vegetables in it, but I'm still not clear on that), dates (sometimes soaked in honey) then sometimes a second soup, or like tonight, lentils. There is an astonishing lack of fruit or vegetables (surprising since they are so cheap here and really good) and almost no meat. It's pretty much sugar, flour, fat and more sugar. It's only been a week and I'm craving something green and vegetable tasting. So, even though I'm fasting, it's not like I'm taking in any fewer calories. If anything, I'm probably gaining weight on this little adventure. Great. Only in Morocco can I gain weight while fasting.

Before, I was looking forward to the end of Ramadan so I could have a damn drink, now I just want a carrot or something. My how priorities change. Ok, well maybe not that much. I'd still give up a carrot for a beer.

Ramadan Chapter 2

I just finished my fourth day of fasting and am now sitting contentedly full, a huge bottle of water next to me and quite proud of myself for sticking to this. As I feared, the no water part of the day is the hardest, as I am used to constantly having a bottle at my side like a security blanket; even if I don't want to drink, I know I can and that is somehow satisfying.

The first two days were difficult, in that I was thirsty and kind of in a daze, making my studies even more difficult. I'm now in the Intermediate level course and it focuses on longer texts, which I have to read aloud. The more I speak, the more difficult it is to talk without water, reminding me of how thirsty I am. I did just find out today though, that I am allowed to rinse my mouth with water, or brush my teeth during the day, as long as I don't swallow any water. Just being able to swish some water around in my mouth was actually really helpful and made reading in class easier. I've been able to concentrate a little better over these past two days as well and think my body is adjusting. However, today was the first day that I've actually been really hungry.

I've been waking up around 3:30 - 3:45 in the morning to eat something and to drink as much as possible, to keep me going throughout the day and without doing that, I don't know how I'd make it. However, I have until the first prayer of the day to eat whatever I want. So, I've become attached to a website with the prayer times listed on it to have a general sense of when the call to prayer will happen. Since the prayer times are based on the movement of the sun, they are not exact, but are probably accurate to with in a couple of minutes. I've included a chart with the prayer schedule for Rabat at the bottom of this post, if you want to see what it looks like.

The first prayer of the day is called Fajr occurs at dawn, as the first light of the sun is seen. It occurs between 4:30am and 5:00am in the month of September this year and so up until the time I hear the call to prayer, I can eat and drink normally. Since I have become so accustomed to hearing the calls to prayer, I sleep through them and have had to set my alarm to wake up in time to eat something before I begin fasting for the day.

From the time of the Fajr prayer call until the 4th prayer of the day (called Maghrib), I cannot eat or drink anything. This prayer occurs right when the sun is on the horizon (dusk) and falls between 7:00pm and 6:15pm through September, getting earlier each day by a few minutes. On the one hand, I'm happy about that, as I can drink a few minutes sooner each day! However, this means that days are getting shorter and winter is approaching, my time here is getting shorter and I'm reminded of how much I still want to accomplish before I return to the states.

I have been looking forward to the Maghrib azan (call to prayer), because that means I can finally eat and drink! The meal in the evening is called "iftar" and means literally, "breaking the fast". My ate my first iftar meal with my host family and Joe and Monica, my next door neighbors who also go to my school. They're a married couple from Australia and Muslim also. My host family put on quite a spread (as is usual when they have company...in this case the company was Joe and Monica. I'm no longer considered company!). We ate traditional Moroccan soup called harirra, dates, dried figs, mellawi (unleavened, fried bread, not unlike Indian naan), schbakia (Moroccan cookies usually for Ramadan) and of course, tea. After eating, all the Muslims went to pray the Maghrib prayer (i.e., not me), then returned to eat more before the last prayer of the day. Supposedly they are two separate meals, but it was like one big, never-ending meal in my opinion. My host sister/mother, Fatiha brought out meat and rice, homemade bread and a fruit and vegetable salad. I wasn't expecting all of this food and was sooo full by the time we left, I could not imagine eating again. Perhaps this is why I was not hungry the next day!

I've had the other three IFtaar dinners, all at my school. They're pretty much the same, consisting of soup, fried breads (one stuffed with ground beef and spices, one stuffed with vegetables, one plain), and a pancake-like substance, very similar to Ethiopian injeera which is eaten with a mixture of honey and butter spooned over it. Also, there are the requisite figs and cookies and I'm actually getting tired of sweets ... and bread now that I think of it. I can't remember the last real vegetable I've seen and every IFtaar seems like a contest to see how much fat you can stuff into your body. This might be cool for a night or two, but I don't think I can take this for the entire month! I wish now I had done a before and after weigh-in. Oh well. We'll see how it goes. Wish me luck!

Here's a link to a prayer schedule for Rabat, Morocco:

Ramadan Chapter 1

Here's a basic primer for those of you who do not know what Ramadan is. I'm not an expert by any means, but I've asked lots of questions and done some research since I've been in Morocco and this is pretty much what I've come up with:

There are five pillars in Islam; five things that all Muslims must do to be good Muslims. The are to go on Hajj (the pilgrimage to Mecca, at least once in a lifetime), pray 5 times a day, declare there is only one god and Mohammed is his prophet, donate 2.5% of their total wealth to charity every year, and fast (and observe other rules) during the month of Ramadan. Because the Islamic calendar is based on lunar cycles, the time for Ramadan changes each year and this year it falls during the month of September. Currently, the exact date of Ramadan's commencement is uncertain; it is up to a group of religious scholars and scientists to determine the exact cycle of the moon before they announce the beginning of Ramadan. However, most likely it will be this Monday, September 1. I know it's already been announced in some other countries, but here in Morocco, we're still waiting for word, as of this morning, for when the fast will begin.

During the month of Ramadan, every Muslim who is able bodied, past the age of puberty and not traveling, must fast from sun-up to sun-down. This includes no eating, drinking or sexual relations. In addition, Muslims are supposed to try even more than usual to avoid bad thoughts, fighting, gossiping and other negatively associated behaviors.

It seems that, here in Morocco, even non-devout Muslims tend to participate in the fast during Ramadan. I've met a lot of people who smoke or drink or do not pray regularly, who have told me that they always fast during Ramadan. I, too, plan to fast while I'm here because I want to experience this phenomenon and hopefully be able to better understand Islamic culture better in the process. I'm looking forward to the sense of oneness that comes with participating in such a grand scale activity. Not only will the people in my immediate surroundings be experiencing the same kinds of things as me, but people all over the world will be doing so as well. I think that's pretty cool. However, I'll probably think it's less cool when I'm sitting in class, really thirsty, staring out the window, willing the sun to set so I can drink. But, we'll see. For now, my plan is to fast.

Smecta -- mmm...dead people

Have you ever read the warning on the Immodium box to see a doctor if symptoms did not improve after four doses in one 24-hour period? Every time I have ever taken Immodium in my life, I have had it work after one single pill. In some strange foreshadowing, Lisa and I were joking about this a month or so ago when I was back in the staes. We could not imagine what kind of horrible sickness you would have to have to take FOUR doses of it. Well, now I know.

Since returning to Morocco, I became that very sad individual who took four doses and STILL had my ass planted on the toilet almost constantly. However, I was still hesitant to see a doctor here.

I heard a lot about Moroccans' ideas about medicine over the last few months and have been praying that I would not have any issues so severe I'd have to see a doctor while here. Can you believe some people in this country still operate on the belief that if you walk barefoot on tile floors, the cold will travel up your legs and into your chest and you will catch a cold> Or, that cumin seeds cure everything from headaches to diarrhea to infertility? (I just made up the infertility thing, but I would not be surprised if it were true.) These are not just instances of I heard from someone who heard from someone that their grandmother believes this. These are common beliefs of seemingly very well educated people who have traveled all over the world and know that antibiotics and aspirin exist.

My favorite example is of my Arabic calligraphy teacher, Mohammed, who broke a couple of bones in his hand after falling. He had it set by a doctor, but it did not heal fast enough for him, so he traveled to Fez, where he is from and sought out a traditional healer there. The healer had him remove his bandages and he proceeded to rub olive oil on his hand and massage the tissues every day for the next week or so. Mohammed, my teacher, believed that this would heal the bones completely and he could return to work as if he had never had the fracture. Imagine my surprise when he had to go back to a regular doctor who had to re-break his hand and re-set it because all of the massaging had messed up the original setting of the bones. Shocking. However, no one ever put Mohammed's hand in a cast or a splint. Both the doctor and the healer just wrapped it in gauze and told him (a man who makes his living from painting and calligraphy) not to move it. Brilliant.

Anyway, with this idea of Moroccan medicine roaming around in my head, I didn't really want to bother going to an actual doctor here.

When I finally had one day where my fever spiked so high, I found myself in the shower using all cold water, trying to bring my temperature down before I became delusional. I was all alone in my house, dehydrated from sitting on the toilet, sleep deprived, anxious and generally feeling like walking death. That was the last straw and what prompted me to make an appointment to see a gastrointestinal specialist whose name I found on the US Consulate website.

It turns out Fatiha, one of my host sisters, saw him in the past and told me that he basically was an idiot. Great, if a Moroccan says a doctor is not good, does that mean that he's really, really bad, or maybe really good in my eyes as a Westerner? Since I already had an appointment, I decided to go anyway. When I got there, I learned that the doctor was not actually in the building yet for the day and that he would arrive within the hour. Great. I wasn't sure if I could keep out of the bathroom for an hour, plus there were other patients who had been there for almost an hour already, waiting for him. It was a really hot day, I was already dehydrated and feeling like the walking dead. The last thing I wanted to do was to sit in this doctor's office, without air conditioning, waiting for some quack doctor who might not even show up at all, let alone within an hour. (Moroccans' ideas about time are much more fluid than those of Americans.)

I decided to cut my losses and go to an emergency clinic, figuring I didn't have any serious disease and just needed some medicine. I took the bus with Wafaa (my host sister) to another part of the city (although I would have gladly paid for a taxi, I got the feeling that this frivolous waste of money was looked down upon when a bus was so much cheaper. And, buy so much cheaper, I mean about 50 cents less than a taxi). So, we walked a few blocks from the bus to the clinic and walked into god-blessed air conditioning. Immediately, we were whisked into an exam room and a nurse was in the room within seconds to take my temperature and blood pressure. Now this was what I needed!! The doctor only took about 45 minutes to see me and with just a small amount of translation needed, I was out the door with prescriptions in hand. Although Wafaa speaks a little English, it's generally easier for me to speak to her in Arabic. She understands me well and uses words I know to communicate with me, or is very good with gestures. So, the doctor spoke to her in Moroccan Arabic, she translated to me into Standard Arabic (Fusha) and I spoke to the doctor in Standard Arabic which he could understand but for some reason not speak. I've stopped asking why this is usually the case around here. Anyway, about $30 later, I was out the door with prescription in hand. Even in the US, with insurance, I would have paid at least $50 as a co-payment. This was a private, very Western clinic and it cost next to nothing to pay out of pocket. The same turned out to be true for my medications.

After my appointment, we had to find a pharmacy that was open, no small feat on the weekend. There is always one pharmacy open in each neighborhood on the weekend, but it changes every weekend and you have to go on a little treasure hunt to find which pharmacy in the neighborhood is open. So, more walking. Fantastic. Forty-five minutes later (and probably 3 km), we found the pharmacy. At this point, I was close to passing out, badly in need of a toilet and completely dehydrated. I got the three prescriptions filled and we walked another couple of blocks to find a taxi.

Finally, we made it back home and I was able to take the first dose of medicine. There were three different boxes of concoctions, none of which I had ever heard of and I have no idea what any of them were for specifically. I just blindly trusted in the doctor and the pharmacist and began mixing my first dose of "Smecta." Let's just say that Smecta tastes exactly like it sounds...like crushed up dead people with a dash of vanilla. Or, really, really gross. However, it did the trick and within 48 hours, I was back in class and sleeping through the night. I now have more faith in Moroccan medicine and a bigger fear of getting sick again for fear of having to take more Smecta. It is an experience I do NOT recommend.

marriage and mamograms

I was recently back in the states for a whirlwind tour of a variety of doctors offices and of course, to attend my mom's wedding. I think it's a pretty clear choice on which I preferred going to.

The wedding itself was very nice; we got luck with the weather and aside from some very hungry flies, the ceremony was fantastic. My mom looked as beautiful as ever and everyone seemed to enjoy themselves. I loved getting to see all of my family in one place, especially since there was a time restriction for how long I'd be back in the states and I don't think I'd have gotten to see everyone otherwise.

Among the doctor's visits, I got the okay from my orthopedist to use my knee again, but the frown when I asked if I could climb or really do anything with my shoulder. I was given a prescription for physical therapy, something I could not bear to do while back there, considering how many other appointments I had scheduled, so I continued to will my shoulder to recover. So far, it seems to be working since I can actually raise my arm high enough to get dressed without crying. Progress! (A word of advice on this one: Should you ever encounter a deranged man with a possibly deranged monkey, give him some money to let go of your arm, even if you are afraid of said monkey biting or shitting on your bare skin. Do not attempt to run away and possibly leaving part of your rotator cuff in his clutches. I learned this the hard way and will forever associate Marrakesh with excruciating pain.)

I got an appointment to see my doctor for my annual physical and lucky me, she found two "questionable" lumps in my breasts. This led to a fun filled week for me. The week consisted of 10 (yes, TEN!!!) mammograms (something I do not recommend one partake in the week before her period), an ultrasound, a needle biopsy and some waiting. Not exactly the kind of thing I had planned for myself on my "vacation". I assumed this whole time that I had cancer, since my mom was so young when she was diagnosed, and since her mother, too, has had cancer. So, I pretty much resigned myself to a malignant diagnosis and made furtive plans in my head about my coming mastectomies (my mom will assure you that this kind of exaggeration and assuming the worst is easily within my personality) and was so proud of myself for finding the silver lining that I could have liposuction on my stomach to rebuild my breasts.

Imagine my surprise, when, a week later, it turned out I did not in fact have cancer. The cells biopsied were not even "pre-cancerous," whatever the hell that means. Aren't all cells, in theory, capable of mutating and therefore, aren't all cells in a way, precancerous? So, instead of being bummed about having cancer, I had to cancel all of my made-up plans to have liposuction. Now I'm kind of pissed that I have to keep my stomach the way it is, unless I want to starve myself or find some other way to escape from my genetics. I guess not having cancer is better.

So, I went to a few other appointments, none of which were nearly as exciting as the cancer scare. Went up to Stowe, VT for a long weekend with some friends to celebrate Robyn's birthday, kayaked a bit, ate a lot of cheese and returned to hang at my mom's for the remainder of my time in Boston. Then, off to Morocco for my return to studies.

I had a (thankfully) uneventful, but long trip through Paris to Casablanca, where I was met at the airport by my boyfriend. Yes, this very elusive man that I don't talk much about, mostly because I'm still trying to wrap my head around the fact that I've kept him around for more than a month. Let's not jinx it all by actually discussing him. We took the train back to Rabat (which in reality is not nearly as romantic as it sounds...to be picked up at the Casablanca airport and to take the train with one's boyfriend. At least, it's really not very romantic when you have not slept in 30 hours and have 140 lbs of luggage you've schlepped halfway around the world and have not showered or brushed your teeth in what seems like an eternity).

Back at my school, I found that a lot of my Arabic had mysteriously decided to stay on vacation in Boston and I had to hit the books pretty hard to regain some of the vocabulary I lost. So, immersed back in both Arabic and Derija (the Moroccan dialect I speak with my host family and to anyone outside of my school), I did not have time for much adventure. These are some photos taken before I left to return to the states, back in mid-June.

However, I was invited to go to a wedding with my host family last Saturday night and although I was not feeling especially energized, I went and luckily remembered to bring some extra batteries to better capture the whole craziness of the Moroccan marriage. I've written about this before, but really, it's a spectacle not to be missed if at all possible when visiting Morocco. The whole event is centered around food, music, dancing and the bride changing her costumes. Not unlike American weddings, there is a lot of food, music and dancing. However, most American weddings are winding down around the time that their Moroccan counterparts are getting warmed up. We arrived at the hall around 10:30 pm, a respectable time and just over half of the tables were vacant, so we (thankfully) got choice seats as far from the band as possible. I know I sound like an old fart when I say that I wanted to sit far from the music, but really, I learned my lesson last time and my eardrums were grateful for the reprieve.

I'm also thankful that we did not stay for the entire wedding, as we did last time. We ended up leaving around 5 am and I was in bed by 5:30. I really don't get it how all those old folks can go to so many weddings and stay up and aware until 7am. They must drink all the tea that's offered and eat all the sugary stuff that comes at the end of the wedding to make it that long. I just can't eat like that in the middle of the night! As it was, we had dinner served around midnight, beginning with fresh juices, then cookies covered in burnt sugar, like on creme brulee. Then, a round of savory hors d'oeuvres including some caviar topped something, which I totally avoided. Next, there was pastilla (pronounced baas-till-a in Arabic), a strange concoction of phyllo dough layered with shredded chicken cooked with cinnamon and sugar, hard boiled eggs mixed with cilantro and parsley and a layer of ground almonds and more cinnamon and sugar. All of this sweet/savory combination is covered on the top layer of dough with powdered sugar and a design of cinnamon. Don't forget that each layer of the dough is smeared with plenty of oil so the whole thing flakes apart and is probably about a million calories per bite. I find it to be heavenly. Then, each of the 13 tables was served half of a lamb, roasted and served intact (at least the head, tail and feet were chopped off). This, of course, was eaten with the hands, ripped off from the carcass in strips and dipped in dishes of salt and cumin. It was actually really good. Next came a disgusting "ice cream" cake which tasted more like frozen cool whip and I passed on, then a huge bowl of all kinds of fruits. After this, a selection of cookies and of course, tea full of sugar.
We skipped out before the next round of cookies, which would have been followed by the wedding cake. Finally, after the wedding cake, they serve breakfast which is always harira soup (a tomato based soup with chick peas, parsley, onions and whatever else you have on hand and is always served to break the fast at the evening meal during Ramadan), fried breads, more cookies and assorted other things either filled with sugar, or served with honey on the side to make sure they are sufficiently bad for you. Please note that there is no alcohol served and this makes for a remarkably memorable time, as in, you can't get totally wasted and forget some parts of the night. This also makes for lots of boredom on my part and a couple of surreptitious games of Tetris played on my cell phone beneath the table. I passed the rest of the night by counting how many outfits the bridge changed into and watching women dance together (in kind of a provocative way for Muslims!). However, I paid good money for my Moroccan outfit and I'll be damned if I'm not going to get some good wear out of the darn thing! So, I'll be going to more weddings this summer for sure.

my apologies

The longer I go without writing, the more daunting the task seems when I think of it. I'm not sure if I should write about what I've been up too since the last post, or just my more recent adventures. I think I'll just give the highlights and hopefully the photos can speak for a little of what I've been up to as well.

I've been doing a lot of traveling lately, really to opposing ends of the country and it's all been so fantastic. Over a month ago (my god, has it really been that long since I posted?!?), I went up to Chef-chouen in the north (about 2 hrs from Tangier), a breathtakingly beautiful place that is reminiscent of the Greek Isles, as all of the buildings are colored white and what I call Chouen blue. Even the tombstones in the cemetery are this color blue...really bizarre, but quite fitting for the town. In the main part of the town, there are no cars allowed and the main method of transport is donkey. Not for the transportation of people, the main area is easily accessible on foot, but to move goods from one place to another. There is no central natural gas system here like in the States. In order for people to cook or heat water for showers, they use propane tanks. So, since it's probably hard to carry all of them by hand, they are loaded on donkeys and picked up / dropped off at houses and restaurants throughout the day. It's quite anachronistic to see a donkey loaded with propane tanks being led by a man wearing traditional Moroccan dress throughout the cobblestone streets of a Grecian-looking village.
Highlights of this trip were of a cafe owner offering us tea or hashish. (Don't worry mom, we choose the tea!), the cat in the guest house we stayed in using the shower as its litter box...thanks for that and deciding to dump the school's bus with a couple of other students and take the public bus back to Rabat (that actually was a good choice!).



I started the next level of my class and am amazed at how fast we're going through vocabulary. Now if only I could remember all of the words I'm assigned every day! I have my same teacher from the last session and he's fantastic. He's one of the reasons that the school is great. Samir, my teacher, Fuziah the cook and the other teaching staff are fun, smart, awesome people and I'm lucky that I'm surrounded by such great people every day. If only all of the students could live up to their surroundings. Since Scott and Allison left (the two students I had class with and really like), a new crop of students has come in and they are whiny and spoiled and I can't wait for most of them to leave. It's really brought down the vibe at school. The only other person that's been at the school longer than me who interacts with others (there's one girl that we call "the spy" because she just comes for class then leaves to go home to her boyfriend who happens to work for the State Department) is leaving at the end of the week, so I'll be the person who's been at the school the longest from now on. I can't believe that because I feel like I just got here!

Three or four weeks ago, I went on the most amazing trip ever down to the Sahara and we actually rode camels out to the desert and camped there for the night. It was a pretty long trip for just the weekend, but really worth it for the experience. On the way down to the desert, we stopped on the side of the road about 5 hours into our journey for the bus driver to get a CD out of the back of the bus (a different driver than usual with a different bus...this one with air conditioning, so really quite extravagant compared to my more recent outings). After we stopped, from out of nowhere, came three boys running down the road from the flock of sheep they had been tending to (not kidding here...they were real live shepherds). Next thing you know, we were plying them with everything we could find in the bus that we did not need, like Cokes and cookies and they were in heaven. This was, quite literally, the middle of nowhere. There were dirt fields all around and upon closer inspection, houses, but because they were made from the surrounding earth, they blended into their surroundings so well that you could not see them at all from afar. Soon, there were several men who arrived, from where, I have no idea. One of them offered for all of us to come to his house for tea. It would have been really rude to turn him down and frankly, I really wanted to go and see the inside of one of the houses and to meet the people. The kids spoke only a Berber dialect and no real Arabic and definitely not French. One of the old men spoke really good Arabic though and we exchanged some words with him. It was really unbelievable that this strange man invited a group of about 12 people into his house just because they stopped on the side of the road to get a CD out of the back of the bus. We walked to his house, just a couple of hundred meters away, and found ourselves looking at baby goats and sheep and chickens. It was like they had their own private petting zoo! I was in heaven, needless to say. I even saw a group of chickens pecking at a turkey and had to wonder if they thought it tasted like chicken too. Very bizarre.
We were welcomed into the house, a low lying one room building that was remarkably cool and clean inside. We sat on blankets and pillows over the floor and were served tea from a fine silver service. Then, one of the women there baked us fresh loaves of bread from an outdoor oven and they served us homemade butter, fresh honey and homemade preserves along with some amazing olive oil. Seriously, they gave us everything that they had and asked for nothing in return. This was one of the most generous things I've ever seen in my life and I hope I will never forget it. Luckily, we were able to help out just a little bit, as one of the women had an infection in her foot and we gave her some medicines and directions on how to care for it. It didn't look too serious and I hope she's better now.
We spent that night in Midelt, a small town where our teachers had a friend who showed us around and gave rides on his motorcycle (no mom, I did not participate in that part!). We were lucky enough to have a nice hotel without cat poop in the shower and everyone was excited about that.



The next morning, we made our way down to Marzuga, the bordertown on the Sahara from where we would depart with our camels. Actually, I guess I should say dromedaries since there are no camels in Morocco. However, I have no idea what the difference is and dromedary sounds like something a know-it-all asshole in school would say, so I'm just going to call them camels.
We wound up riding in the dark out to the campsite since we arrive late (in true Moroccan style) because we had to drop off one member of our group who was really, really sick. So, he got himself a hotel (a really gorgeous place really and I was a little jealous even though he was sick and I felt really bad that he was going to miss out on the camels). So, two hours later, we and our camels arrived at a campsite where a couple of men were busy preparing us tea and our dinner. Sweet! It's about time some men saw the inside of a kitchen in this country!!! We laid out under the stars, telling jokes and talking about our day, then went inside to eat a delicious meal of chicken and vegetables. After that, we were all exhausted and went off to bed. I made myself a little spot just outside of the womens' tent out of a couple of blankets and slept under the stars. The weather was perfect and we had just missed a sandstorm a few days prior. I was totally not going to miss out on being outside in the most beautiful place I had seen so far by sleeping in a tent!
Early the next morning (like 5:30 am), we were awoken to watch the sun rise from the top of a sand dune. Um, spectacular? magnificent? breathtaking? Yup. All of those and more. I mean, how cool is it to watch the sun rise over the Algerian border as we perch on top of a sand dune in the Sahara desert? Pretty freaking cool. Unfortunately, I found myself to be a little sick and was a little more "one with nature" than I really wanted behind this random tree at the camp. Thank god for whatever water source was feeding it so I didn't give a show to everyone around.
Then, back on the camels to return to the town for breakfast and to load up in the van for the tedious 12 hour journey home. Fun!

I'll do my best to fill in what's been happening lately in my next post, including the Moroccan wedding I attended a couple of weeks ago. It went from 10pm to 5am. Whew!

Hope all are well back home and I'll see most of you very soon when I get back in just two more weeks!!! Yippee!!!

status quo

I haven't posted in a while, I suppose, because things have been pretty status quo around here lately. However, my new status quo might be something interesting to someone else, so I thought I'd write a few words.
I haven't traveled much recently. Instead, I've been trying to figure out Rabat and the places around here. Among recent excursions, I've walked around the walled village of the king's palace (which for some reason Moroccans cannot enter, but Americans and other tourists are allowed to see). There are actually some Moroccans who live within the walls of the small city; they are the descendants of former slaves for the palace. I guess it's Morocco's version of affirmative action. Who knows? However, it seems like a pretty good gig if you can get it.
Last weekend, I went with two other students to walk around downtown and we checked out a movie at a local theater. We just happened to be at the theater as a movie started, so we bought tickets and tried to watch it, not knowing anything about it or what language it would be in. Turns out that it was all in the Moroccan dialect with French subtitles that moved way too quickly for them to be readable. So, we basically sat there trying to figure out what was going on in the movie, including a scene where there is an attempted rape of two women by two drunken men. This scene in particular got the biggest laughs from the crowd. I really hope that we missed something big in translation!
Afterward, we found a pretty big international bookstore with titles in Spanish, English, Arabic and French but is a far cry from the over-commercialized Barnes and Nobles of the states. It had lots of biographies and cook books but was lacking in the trashy fiction I have grown to love. Clearly they have their priorities messed up here. There seems to be no grocery store checkout counter "literature" to be found. Another thing this country is missing is Gatorade. How this opportunity has been missed is beyond me in a desert country, but I have big plans to introduce my new country to the wonders of artificially salted, sugared and colored water. How they cure their hangovers is a mystery without Gatorade. Of course, the fact that most people here don't drink could be one reason.
It's always a chore to find a restaurant that serves alcohol if that's what you're into here. I've found that restaurants with darkened windows (or no windows at all) is usually a sign that they have booze. It's not illegal or anything, but I guess it's taboo to advertise too much that they have the devil's drink on hand. We have stumbled onto a couple of club/lounge places and that in and of itself is a score. Despite the fact that alcohol here is extremely expensive (I can really only speak for Meknes and Rabat on this point), the price is worth it to watch the social interactions in these places. I did not believe it at first, but I have it on good authority now that the majority of women in these clubs are prostitutes. The percentage falls when we show up of course, but for the most part, Moroccan women don't go there unless they are on the clock (I hear it's understood that non-Moroccan women are accepted as non-prostitutes...something I am glad to hear). I'm really not harassed at all, as I'm always with guys from school and they're really good about pretending to be our boyfriends/brothers etc. We've all had a great time watching this new culture in clubs and trying to figure out what exactly happens. When that gets boring, there is always the dancing to keep one entertained. I thought that middle class white guys were the worst dancers ever, but this gives new meaning to "ain't got no rhythm". Moroccans (again, a blatant generalization) are THE worst dancers I have ever seen in my life. Seriously. It's almost at the point of being painful to watch. However, it's highly amusing to behold grown men and women throw themselves recklessly around the dance floor going against the beat of really bad 90s dance music. It's totally worth the couple of dollars for the cover charge. If you've ever seen the show "Pants-off Dance-off" on the Fuse network on cable, this is the kind of horrible spectacle of which I write. It's definitely on the opposite end of the spectrum of abilities from my time in Costa Rica.
As for classes, things are going well for me. I can actually communicate (a little) in Arabic with my host family and people at school, and occasionally astound someone in public by saying something in Arabic. It's funny because I always get a double take when I speak in Arabic because from the looks of me, Moroccans expect French or English...certainly not for me to speak in their local dialect. It's kind of funny to watch their reaction and I've gotten lots of positive feedback from people who are impressed that I am studying Arabic. People here are extremely nice for the most part and very friendly. I begin the second level of my studies on Monday and we will have up to 10 people in my class. This is a huge change from the class size of 3 that I've become used to since I arrived here. Hopefully this just means more people to practice with and everyone will maintain the same pace within class. I want to be able to finish this textbook before I go back to Boston in June so I can start on the next level when I return in the summer. With any luck, I might actually be able to say something besides "My name is Katie and I study Arabic in Morocco." by the time I return to the states!
I hope everyone at home is well and I miss all of you.

Marakesh? Where's that?

Last weekend, I went to Marakesh with 10 people from my school and 20 or so Moroccan students studying in a nearby school for tourism. We were picked up only an hour late (quite early for Moroccan time) and packed onto the bus like fish in a can. Since there were not enough seats for several people, this was also quite Moroccan. However, since the driver got his own seat, it was also better than some cars I've seen driving around here.

We arrived without incident to Marakesh, saw some famous thing that I forget the name of and didn't really care about since all I wanted to do was to find a bathroom. From there, we were dropped off about a 10 minute walk to our hotel (a recurring theme it turns out), which I guess no one could find. All of the students stood around in the huge, famous square in Marakesh, Djemaa el Fna, which happens to be the biggest square in all of Africa. Clearly this was a great place for us all to stand around with our bags at 8pm on a Saturday night. Good thinking. I guess someone finally figured out where the hotel was and I can see why it was such a problem. Turns out that the "hotel" is a building squished between two others exactly like it in an alleyway in the souk within the old Medina. Basically, our hotel was located inside a giant flea market. And trust me, it looked like it. Whatever, it was a cool experience that I never would have had on my own because I would have been too scared to book a place like that. So, that was cool. I was not so into the fact that there were five people sleeping in our room, but what the hell...when in Marakesh.


After waiting for everyone to get ready for an hour and a half, we (the non-Moroccans) decided to leave for dinner without them, as we were STARVING. So, we walked into the square and were accosted by men hawking their restaurants. I guess restaurant is about as good a word to describe this as hotel was to describe where we slept. Really, it was a bunch of long tables with people cooking scary looking meat products nearby. However, they were running some really good specials on whole sheep heads (including the brain), which ran for only $15 or so. However, if you were not that hungry, you could order just a brain sandwich for about $2.50. We settled on shish kabobs of very identifiable chicken. Afterwards, we walked around the square, listening to music and taking in the sights. I had at least seven men try to pick my pocket in the most obvious of ways and I kind of felt bad for them and how lacking in any dexterity they had. Finally I had enough and told one of them in my stellar Arabic to go play in traffic. Really, I was surrounded by my two professors and the school manager. One of my profs has a black belt in Karate, so I really felt quite safe. Also, since I had nothing to steal, it was all pretty harmless. I was also molested by a monkey. Some random guy grabbed my hand and thrust a monkey onto my arm as he held me in place. This was NOT cool. The poor monkey was dressed up in the dumbest costume ever and was chained to the guy. I squirmed away, screaming at him while my friends laughed at how ridiculous it all was. Needless to say, there were no pictures taken of the occasion (they do this so you'll take a picture, then charge you a ton of money for the "privilege".)

Some of us went to a cafe for a coffee after the excitement and there we planned my wedding to one of my teachers. Just a heads up that we're engaged, in case you missed that. He has promised me that I will be allowed to work, as long as I work from home and call him to tell him when I leave the house so he does not worry about where I am if he comes home. He will pick out my hijab for me each day so I don't have to worry myself about what to wear. He also promises a housekeeper (since I'll be busy taking care of our children) and a summer home (a compromise since he's not letting me get a dog). The wedding is in October for all of you who want to attend.

Seriously, this was quite an interesting conversation for me since my teacher was serious about wanting his wife to stay home and make some babies. He, in my mind, is a very educated man (in the midst of getting his PhD in linguistics) and grew up in Meknes, a decent sized, progressive city. However, he did not understand why any woman who was married would possibly want to work outside of the house when she could be at home, cooking for him and reproducing. I clearly have a lot to learn about this culture!

The next day, we left Marakesh (I literally did not see anything besides the hotel, the square and the cafe in Marakesh) to go to Orica, a small town in the mountains. It was absolutely gorgeous and we got to climb to the top of the mountain to see a beautiful waterfall. Meanwhile, tempers flared and I was again reminded of how dumb it is to travel with such a big group of Moroccans, Europeans and Americans. Everyone wants to do what they want to do and there is no communication to be had. For once, I was not the one trying to figure everything out. My attitude was just to go with the flow (something I'm not really that used to) because I knew we EVENTUALLY had to get back to Rabat. And, I've figured out enough about this country to know that any complaining I did was not going to make a difference. I had nowhere to be, so I enjoyed the beautiful day and tried to find some patience.

We finally left Orica after much discussion between leaders and someone determined that we did not have enough time to go to Casablanca before returning to Rabat. Duh. I was talking with another student and he has a good theory about Moroccan travel...there seems to be a whole lot of travel involved to get somewhere, only to allow for a few minutes to actually see or do anything in the destination. We sure sat on the bus a lot for the trip, but I can't say that we actually did very much in any of our destinations. I think his theory is pretty valid and I have to remember this for the next time I agree to travel with anyone around here.

We drove back to Rabat and on the way, got shaken down by the bus driver for each of us to pay 5 dirhams so he would take the faster, toll route. We paid, then found out that the driver was already given the money for the toll by the other leader and Iman was given back the money. Typical.

Once we got to the city limits of Rabat, the bus stopped next to three taxis and told the group that was from my school to get off and take a taxi the rest of the way. No joke. He was tired and wanted to go home and did not want to take us home first. I wish I were making this up, but alas, even I could not come up with this story. So, we forced him to give us money for the taxis and we got out and took cabs back to our houses. The taxis in Morocco are of two types: petit taxis and grand taxis. Petit taxis cannot leave the city they are registered in and are all painted colors specific to the city they have permits for. So, in Rabat all of the petit taxis are blue. Petit taxis can only take three passengers (which is a huge pain when you are traveling with four people and there is totally enough room to put three in the back and one in the front. And, on the other end of the spectrum, there are grand taxis, which scare the hell out of me. They are allowed to travel from city to city and pick up and drop off people at specific places within those cities. They're pretty cheap, considering, and can take six passengers. How this makes sense, I have no idea. The grand taxis are all old model Mercedes sedans and with the driver, having seven people in the car is ludicrous. There are two passengers who sit in the front with the driver (in a bucket seat) and four passengers in the back. Now, imagine taking one of these on a three or four hour trip. No freaking way! You can always buy up the extra seats if you don't want that many people, but that can get expensive. A grand taxi will wait around until its full before leaving, so there is no way of getting around the fact that you're going to either pay double or triple, or get squished.

At any rate, I arrived home in one piece and although I would never take this trip a second time, I think it was valuable to experience such extreme chaos just to remind me that I should enjoy those moments of peace in my life. Or, just to pat myself on the back for not flipping out and killing anyone. I'll take that as a positive too!

after two weeks in morocco

I just finished my second week of Arabic classes and am laying on my couch, listening to the call to prayer. I don't live that close to the mosque, but I usually wake up for the first call to prayer (right now, around 5am), then fall back to sleep. It's kind of soothing in a way. Granted, if I lived directly next to the mosque, I might not feel this way.

I have been on such a whirlwind adventure here in Morocco, that it seems I have little time to relax or write much about my experience. I miss everyone back home and want to hear what's going on in your lives, so please write and tell me what you are up to.

I was away last weekend with four other students, visiting three cities in central-eastern(ish) Morocco. I kind of felt like it was a mini UN tour, as we had several countries represented. There was one other American besides myself, along with an Italian man, and two other women, one from Switzerland, one from Germany. I'm sure we sounded funny with our mix of French, Arabic, English, German and Italian being spoken. I was confused myself most of the time about what language to speak, so I can only imagine what anyone listening to us was thinking.

The three cities we saw were Volubilis (Walili in Arabic), Moulay Idriss and Meknes. Volubilis is not really a city any more, but an area of ancient Roman ruins. It's a pretty cool place with original mosaics still intact and was declared a UNESCO World Heritage site 10 years ago. If you want to know more: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Volubilis you can read about it there.


Secondly, we went to Moulay Idriss, a town built on the site of a hill. This made for some steep stairs and more of a workout than anything I've been doing since arriving. So, I was grateful for the opportunity to exercise. The best part of the town (for me at least) was walking through the souk (open air market) to check out the wares of the local butchers. I've become obsessed with the dead animals hanging from their ankles and the random animal heads displayed proudly in front of butcher's stalls. Along with Nick, another student from the states, I've found some pretty interesting "delicacies" here. Apparently, the hoof of some animal (a cow, I think) is supposed to be quite tasty when cooked with cinnamon and sugar. I'm sure I'll have plenty of opportunity to try some. I'll also get to work on the pics of these places. I'm usually totally overstimulated and not thinking about photos when I'm there, but I have to share this with my friends and family!

After Moulay Idriss, we made it to our stop for the night, Meknes. I guess there is a lot to do and see there, but somehow, we only made it as far as a night club Saturday night and the souk for most of the day on Sunday. As for the nightlife in Morocco, I have to say that I'm surprised at how hard they can party for an Arabic country. Mohammed would be rolling over in his grave if he could see this! We went to some shisha bar, where they smoke hookahs (just tobacco!!) and listen to music. The bar was mostly full of men and their accompanying prostitutes. I apologize in advance for having no pictures of this, but even I could not figure out a way to "discretely" take a photo of this. I'm not sure how true it is, but I hear that men cannot go out to clubs like this with their girlfriends/wives, so they hang out with prostitutes. I, personally, think this is a lame excuse, but it was kind of fun to try to pick out who was a hooker and who was there for free.

After the first bar, we found a club with what I can only assume were more expensive prostitutes, since they definitely had more expensive liquor. However, for western standards, it was about equal to what one might pay in the states. We people watched and danced until the bar closed and Nick and I had fun placing bets on who would hit on Jasmina next. Jasmina is the woman from Switzerland and she has really blond hair. Of course, this attracts the men here like flies to honey and it's really amusing to watch them look her over like an exotic animal. She claims to have been offered 2,000 camels from some guy in Tunisia one time, as a marriage proposal, but I personally don't think she's worth more than 1,000. However, we escaped when the club closed (around 4am--just in time for us to make it back to the hotel for the first call to prayer!) without any animals exchanging hands.

The next day, we spent at the souk, with the guy from Italy kissing every baby he could get his hands on and buying shoes for every woman he's ever met in his life to bring home to Italy. (Can you tell this was not my favorite part?) I think part of my problem was that I was not feeling well, since we were apparently food poisoned at some point during our trip. It hit us all, at various times, and took a few days to clear from our systems. There's nothing like making your experience in a foreign country more "authentic" by eating the local produce that's been tainted by some sort of bacteria. Sweet.

I'm finally better from that and am off this weekend to check out Marakesh with some other students and a couple of our teachers. What will happen there is anyone's guess since from what I hear, Marakesh is pretty western and very touristy (i.e. full of debauchery) and I'm interested to see how our experience will differ when accompanied with some pretty strict Muslims.

Welcome to Morocco!!

Oh, where to begin? So much has happened since my arrival that it's still a jumble in my mind. I suppose I should start at the beginning.

My flights were pretty uneventful and I arrived to Casablanca on time, got all of my bags (amazing!!) and was met by Hicham and Hamouda at the airport. Luckily they recognized me since I did not really know what they looked like. For those of you who do not know, I have a friend in Somerville who I met shortly before leaving, named Hicham (also) and he has been very generous with his family. He instructed his brother (Hamouda) and his best friend (also Hicham) to meet me at the airport and take me to my hotel. They have gone above and beyond all of that and I have two new friends here in this foreign country.

Upon our arrival, they took me to my hotel, where we deposited my baggage. Then, they took me to eat. It was pretty late (around 11pm) and Casa was still wide awake. We went to an outdoor bazaar type of place where there were all kinds of dead animals hanging from their haunches or heels from the stalls. Hicham pointed out one stall in particular and I saw animal heads just dangling from a rope. Sure, it was pretty gross and I did not recognize what they were. Horses? Nope. They were camel heads. OK. Welcome to Morocco!! We ordered a kilo or so of ground up camel meat (not kidding) and took it to another stall and gave it to a guy who cooked it for us. It was served with grilled onions and tomatoes and loaves of bread. Holy shit, where the hell am I?!? So, we washed our hands and I had my first lesson on eating Moroccan style. Boy, is this the place for me! You get to eat everything with your hands!! I could hear my mom over my shoulder, "Katie, don't eat with your hands. Don't play with your food!" and I relished the fact that this was not only acceptable, but there was not a fork or knife in sight! Woo hoo! I must say that I love me some camel. Delicious.

H & H returned me to my hotel where I took a much needed shower and fell into a stupor. My god was I tired. Not only from the 40 hours of travel, but the mental power to have to switch between languages was stunning. I started off in English through London. Then, in Madrid for 6 hours was a switch to Spanish. Then, in Morocco, French. My brain was on overload and whirling with words, some of which I think I was making up and were not in any language. In addition, all around me swirled this new language, a mixture of French, Arabic and Moroccan...whew! All of that translation and listening is a workout for sure!

I awoke the next morning to get ready to meet H&H for lunch and a tour of Casa. I don't think I was jet lagged at all, perhaps because I had been up for so long the previous two days. Who knows, but I'm grateful. I had breakfast at the hotel, a buffet of every type of carbohydrate imaginable. Oh, heaven! Dr. Atkins would have a heart attack, but it was glorious. I was then met by my new friends and taken on a tour of Casa, we went to visit the famous mosque (the biggest in all of Africa) and I got some good photos of it. It's an amazing feat of architecture and amazingly beautiful. Breathtaking really. It almost makes a person want to go pray...almost mind you. We went to get a coffee at a cafe on the beach and watched people playing football and strolling on the sand. No one was swimming because that involves taking off clothes I guess. Not really sure.

We then went to eat lunch of deep fried whole fish, calamari and shrimp (good thing I started eating seafood recently) and of course, scooped it all up with bread. Ah, bread...how I love thee. They took me back to my hotel where we collected my bags because I had been invited to visit Hamouda's father and step mother in "the countryside". Cool. We drove about 110 kilometers to the middle of nowhere and ended up at this gorgeous house in the country. There were fields all around and talk of cows, sheep and dogs to see in the morning! I had dinner with Hamouda's father, Hamouda and Hicham and it was delicious.

That night, we slept at the house, all of the women in the living room and the men in bedrooms. Welcome to Morocco. In the morning, we had breakfast, then went to walk around the land to see the cows, sheep, dogs and the olive trees. Later in the day, we all gathered for couscous, the traditional Friday meal. I've never had such delicious couscous in my life and can tell now that I'm going to love Fridays! Shortly after lunch, we left to return to Casa, then onto Rabat. Tariq, Hicham's other brother, met us in Rabat and we began a long journey in a caravan of Tariq's truck and our car around Rabat, searching for my school, where I was to spend two nights. There are NO street signs in Rabat (or Casa) (just like in Costa Rica!) and no one knew where the school was. Up and down streets we drove, asking people for directions, until finally, the school director met us and showed us where to go. We unloaded my bags, then were off again, this time to Tariq's house for tea. It was the first time Hamouda had visited his brother even though it is only an hour's drive from Casa. Apparently, Hicham and Hamouda hate Rabat and never come here. It is very different from Casa, the streets are wider, there are fewer people and they are not out en force like in Casa. Still, the driving is nearly as erratic in Rabat as Casa and aiming for pedestrians seems to be the national sport around here. Think of the old video game Frogger....that is exactly what is is like here. You walk across a couple of lanes, look all around you, cross another, then run for your life. I can see where sprint drills would come in very handy around here.



After Tariq's house, I was brought back to my school and slept until the next morning when I was picked up for lunch by Hicham and Hamouda. We ate a delicious lunch at Tariq's house, prepared by his wife and her sister. The men and I sat around and talked (really, they talked and I picked up a few words of Moroccan). I mostly played with Tariq's son, Elias, who is adorable and a little hellion. So, clearly we got along well!

We went to an internet cafe after that, to check mail and talk to Hicham in the States, then off to get coffee with the group. We walked around a bazaar where I saw some beautiful pottery that I MUST buy to bring home, and then went off to dinner at an open air bazaar where we ate lamb, beef, french fries, tomatoes and onions and of course...bread. There were musicians strolling about, playing Moroccan music and people danced in their seats, children rushed around playing and the atmosphere was quite festive. Nonetheless, I was exhausted and begged for sleep. Soon enough, I was returned to the school for a much needed slumber.

The next day, I ventured out by myself for the first time since arriving and was able to get myself to an internet cafe with WiFi and drink a coffee. I went back to the school where I met some of my fellow students for the first time and we talked for a bit. I signed up for my classes and I will be taking the first week of class in the Moroccan dialect, then will study Modern Standard Arabic for the remainder of my time here. I hope that I can pick up the basics of the Moroccan dialect, so I can speak with the locals who do not speak French and be able to better get myself around this crazy place.

Hamouda and Hicham returned later in the day to bring me to meet my host family and for them to check them out to make sure I would be safe and to talk with the family. They really have gone above and beyond all expectations and I am now like their sister. I love them and am so glad I have two friends here to look after me. It was a great welcome to Morocco.

Negative Fifty

I haven't gotten around to updating this site about my dog sledding trip. I had the pleasure of learning to cross country ski a week before I was to leave for my trip and in the process, falling and doing some damage to my knee. I figured if I just ignored the pain, it would heal and I'd be fine, so I proceeded to go on my trip anyway. I must say that I'm really glad that I did. (However, it turns out that I tore my MCL and partially tore my ACL...not something I should have been dog sledding on. Oops!)

I had a great time and more than that, got to test myself physically and mentally in ways that I've never had a chance to do so before. We had temperatures that reached -50F with the wind chill on our last night/day (about -30F raw temperature). The fact that I slept outside in this temperature, open to the elements but for a tarp overhead seems a bit crazy, and had I not been with my guides, I would have frozen to death without a doubt. I learned some cool tricks like doubling up sleeping bags. Of course, the doubled bags mean that there are two zippers to undo and, please note, are really, really difficult to get out of when the zippers are opposing and you have to pee in the middle of the night. Unfortunately, I ALWAYS had to pee at least once each night.

When you wake up and know you have to go, there's a little internal battle, where you tell yourself that you don't really have to go and if you can just fall back to sleep, you'll forget about it and won't really have to get up and put on your boots, walk far enough away from your fellow campers, pull down your pants (damn men who don't have to expose as much of themselves!!!) and freeze your ass before running back to your bed and diving back inside your sleeping bags. Then, there's the whole re-zipping process which is not easy, especially when your zippers are frozen and you have to breathe on them to thaw them before they'll rezip. However, there's the really nice part where you snuggle back down into your bag, get your pillow (a coat or whatever you have stuffed under your head) all situated, the drawstring pulled around your face, your balaklava pulled up over your mouth and nose and down over your eyes and your feet reach down to touch your water bottle.

Ah, the water bottle...the only thing I really cared about each night. Before bed, while we hung our wet clothes by the fire to dry, we would await the last pot of boiled water to fill our water bottles, which we promptly shoved in a dry sock and put in the bottom of our innermost sleeping bag. This little bit of ingenuity warmed the bag before we got in it and kept our feet warm. It was also quite handy to put on our sore muscles, our back or frozen hands to thaw us out enough to fall asleep. Without that water bottle, I'm not sure I would have made it most nights.

I realize I've not mentioned much about the actual dog sledding part of the journey, but that's not really what the trip was about for me. It was more existential than hooking dogs up to sleds, more physically demanding than pushing a sled uphill (although that was kind of painful), and more mentally taxing than trying to puzzle together how to fit all of our gear into the dog sleds. I'm going to just have to leave it at that.