Rabat to Fez

So goodbye Fez. You have been beautiful with your smelly streets and friendly people. I will truly miss the Medina Kadeema, as it is doubtable that I will ever be there again. The el-Amouri’s were outstanding individuals and I have invited them to visit me in Rabat, Inshallah. Ali and I hit up the Moroccans citizens that we had called friends and jumped on the bus for Rabat. Bslama Fez.

From there, we saw the countryside of Morocco and drove to Rabat. After spending so long in Fez, I was under the impression that Rabat would be very similar. I seem to have been quite mistaken; Rabat closely resembled European cities. The people were dressed with trendy clothing, women were unveiled and showing skin (something that was unheard of in Fez) and people were wearing braces. The buildings were not from the 1200’s and the streets were not littered with trash.

Our bus arrived in Rabat and the students living with host families left the bus. From there, the remaining dormitory and apartment students traveled to the female only dormitory. There Cody and I were separated from the rest of the IES students, and we begin our journey to our new living quarters. Sidi Baghdadi and his son, Saber, showed us to our apartment. It is huge!

Part 2 of 2

Another event that IES hosted was a learn how to cook like a Moroccan event. With the help of Leila, we learned how to cook and make tea like a Moroccan. As you may be aware, couscous is a staple of Moroccan society. Now, don’t confuse it with that boxed bird feed that people throw into a pot and let sit for 30 minutes. No, this is the semolina grain that Moroccans eat at least every Friday and serve with Tajine. Tajine is meat, vegetables, and sauce. It was absolutely delicious and I hope that I can take this to Morocco and use it with Mr. Cody to produce some excellent dishes for our friends. Sure, I did not take the best notes, but I hope Clara’s will carry me far. However, I did take very intricate notes regarding the tea. It requires lots of mint, cubed sugar, and water heated for roughly 5 minutes.

So, here comes the truly exciting part of my adventures thus far. Ali and I have found a way of being overly friendly with Moroccans. This means that instead of building friendships over weeks that we shoved friendships into a few days. One example of this came at Café Clock where a waiter, Muhammed, who I exchanged numbers with, served us. I few days later I went back to the café and had him as a waiter again. After his shift was over, he sat down and played some music on his guitar. A bunch of his friends came and we all jammed out. It is really an interesting situation to hang out with a bunch of Moroccans. It appears as if they do not have the same worries as those people in the United States. Maybe it is the pace of life or something in the water, but Moroccans tend to love life a lot more than Americans. I cannot pinpoint where the difference is, but where Americans are overstressed about certain things, Moroccans just do not have the same concerns. A perfect example comes from another friend of mine, named Muhammed of course, who basically lived life as it came. He spoke only one word of English “crazy”, but it was enough for me and him to strong friends. His appearance was that of a hippie from the 1970’s. His large afro would cause many people to laugh, but his actions were more memorable. He loved life. He took me downstairs to dance with himself and I wonder if I have ever laughed as hard as that night. I was the only white person downstairs until my friend Will came in and got in on the action. Most of IES was there that night, but the only people that could fully appreciate the truly ludicrous activities were Ali, Rachel, Erin, and myself. It was outstanding. It was the dream that I hope to live day in and day out. Sure, I absolutely miss Marist College and Massachusetts, but there is something to be said about not worrying about life. Sign me up any day of the week.

Part 1 of 2. End of Fez

So what have I been up to these last few days? Well, a bunch! I took a trip to Volubilis and Meknes. I played soccer with homeless/children from damaged households at their school. I took a trip to Safhi? I am not positive on the name and I hope to edit this before posting, but if not I will at some point. I went to a café and made many Moroccan friends that do not speak English. I took tests and did homework. I learned how to cook couscous and tea. I saw a lot of troubling things (that’s another post all together) and I bought 1 ½ kilos of jhmel meat (camel) with Ali. And, on Valentines Day, I went to an English school and watched student presentations (and did a little awful singing of my own).

It’s hard to imagine that I did not do much in the United States. However, I have been almost unnaturally busy. IES has kept us all very busy with activities, lectures, and outings. Each afternoon, from 3-5, we have lectures on topics such as literature in Morocco, history, Islam in Morocco, the Family Code etc. We learned how to cook things such as couscous (well, Clara was the only one that really took notes) and tea. The secret for great mint tea is boil water with a bunch of mint that have their stems cracked and add boatloads of sugar. Yes, there are no exact measurements. Just feel it out.

IES brought us to a school for students taken directly from the streets of Fez. Some of these children came from broken families and others were homeless. You could tell by looking at them that these were children that lived very rough childhoods. The children spoke no English and very little French. They were students from the heart of Morocco’s poverty. This poverty is nothing like in America where children live under a 20,000 a year threshold. These are the children that are living with under $365 a year. It’s impossible to comprehend. Even when you look at it, you can’t grasp the idea.

Volubilis was an outstanding destination to visit. It is a city created by the Romans and was a southern outpost for one of the largest empires of all time. The city still remains a picturesque location. It is a place that undoubtedly had large amounts of money put into it (and it still has remnants from its ancient past). We all had a great time visiting it. From the ancient ruins to a picture of Cody and myself acting as statues, the memories will stay with us forever.

Hello All

I just want you all to know that I will be updating my blog shortly. I am leaving Fez today to go to Rabat. I am not sure when I will have my first internet access, but I will be sure to update all of my many readers when I have the opportunity. I know... you are all dying to know what I have been up to. So, please, hold on a little longer and I will entertain your curiosity with some incredible blog posts.

I just finished my last day of class/test and I am going to be indulging in some delicious tangine.

Bslama!

Some notable events

Our host father, Sidi Rahim, Ali, myself, Erin, Rachel (who are staying with Rahim’s sister-in-law) went into the medina kawdeema (old medina) and shopped around. With our father being an actual Moroccan, we were sure that we would get a decent deal. Ali and I mentioned to Rahim that we were interested in getting leather jackets (Fez is renown for its leather). Ali did a strong job haggling with the shop keeper with Rahim helping him. Ali and I then got two jackets (which were approved by Rachel and Erin). Ali’s jacket is a camel leather jacket, complete with hood. His cost 700 Dirham ($87.50) and my jacket, which is black cow leather cost 750 Dirham ($93.75). I am fairly certain that Rahim made sure the leather was strong and that we were not being ripped off. Additionally, we bought traditional tea pots at a local metal workers’ place. We sat down with the shop keeper for a while and actually spent some time learning daraja with him. Finally, we four American students arrived on a price for the billrid (tea pots). At 180 Dh a piece, we did not get the best price but it was not too expensive. If you’re counting, that is $25 or so dollars for a hand made pot. It’s pretty sweet!

Another experience happened yesterday. I got my haircut at a local barbershop. I walked in with Ali and Rachel and they planned to stay with me. Up until now, my homestay family had been giving me a difficult time with the length and appearance of my hair. So, finally I was going to get my haircut. As there was only one person in front of me, I expected to be out of the barber’s quickly. However, as 5 minutes stretched into 20, Ali and Rachel went back home for lunch. I continued to wait to get my haircut because I knew how much my family was looking forward to it. So, there is definitely something to be said for a haircut in Morocco. Sure, I don’t speak much Daraja or French, but I got my point across for the amount of hair to cut off. I have never seen such a meticulous job of cutting hair. The barber went over my hair 3 times to make sure that everything was cut. Finally, he motioned me to the sink and washed my hair for me while giving me a head massage. ANDDDD!! That was the first shower like thing that I have had for my hair in a week. It was great! I asked him Bshhal? (How much) and he said 25 drahem. (Which might have been elevated because I was a Westerner). The cut took 35 minutes, but I gave him a hefty tip because of his very thorough job that puts the best American barbers to shame. I want to bring this guy back with me. I gave the man a 25 drahem tip because of this outstanding experience. I imagine I will go back again before I leaveJ. 6 dollars for a haircut is outstanding!

A Normal Day

We all made our way to Fez and opened up cell phones. I took the cell phone that my brother Dan gave to me and put it on the Maroc Telecom network. A minute/text message costs 1 dirham, which is ideal. The currency in Morocco is Dirham. The exchange rate is 1 US dollar for 8 Moroccan Dirham. So, I am kinda like Tevye, but I actually am a rich manJ

So I made my way with my roommate Ali (male) to our home-stay. Our host father, Abdul Rahhim el-Amouri is a biology teacher at the local high school. He says that his students are 17-18 years old. He speaks shwuye d’nkleezee (a little English) and is fluent in Daraja, French, and Arabic. And to think that I only am fluent in oneL His wife, our host-mother, is Fatima (after the daughter of Muhammed) She only speaks daraja and arabic, so there is a language barrier there that can be difficult at times. There are also 3 children that hang out around the Dar (apartment style living). Zacharia (who is from Rabat), Ahmed, and Othman. The three boys are nephews of our host parents and live in what appears to be the beds that Ali and I are sleeping in.

I will take pictures of the house and upload them to this. I have already updated on facebook. We are living in a daar (which is like an apartment). It is not one of the elaborate Riads that have multiple stories and that whole families live in. Instead, it has 2 bedrooms, a family room, a salon, 1 western toilet, 1 squat toilet (imagine that!) and a kitchen.

Instead of writing in the past-tense. I am going to write about events up to this point as I am getting far behind in my writing,

A little taste of my life in the homestay. Every morning, at 5:25, the morning call to prayer reverberates throughout the house. We are living close to a couple Mosques, so we get awoken. While Ali and I never speak when we wake up, I can hear him moving as his sleep is disturbed. I guess this alarm clock is great for some people as it is impossible to fall back asleep. Finally, we will get back to a somewhat restless sleep and wake up at 7:45 to get ready for class. Throughout highschool and college, I have woken up and taken a shower. However, the family desires that we take a shower every two days and at nighttime. So, that creates a problem for me as my hair is a bit longer. But I will get back to that later. And when I say shower, I mean washing your body with heated water in a shower/like room that does not have a spout. So, literally, you lather and then wash your body out with a bowl of water. Pretty interesting. I miss real showers. Squat toilets are also an experience, but it is not difficult to imagine.

The food here has been outstanding. Each day, Fatima has breakfast prepared for us at 8 AM. We quickly sit down and eat a meal consisting of zit (olive oil), khoobz (bread), zitun (olives), sometimes an interesting type of other bread or cake, honey, jam, and etay (mint tea). These meals are something to look forward to, but they are too much that early in the morning. After that, we meet with our neighbors, Sasha and Cindy, and walk to the taxi station 10 minutes away. We then grab a taxi and yell to him markez merikeen or centre d’american (the American center). If I jumped in and said to him “American Center” I would most definitely get blank stares. And I say him because there are not female taxi drivers.

We go to class from 9 – 12 for Daraja lessons. The lessons consist of sitting in a classroom with 6 other students and reading words written in their English pronounciation. There are two teachers, Mohammed and Leila, that we take turns with each class. The education is very speedy and people can easily get lost.

After class we take a taxi back to our daar for lunch. Taxis at this time are very difficult to find. After all, a taxi driver is self employed and is looking to get as much money as possible. People often triple up in taxis so therefore a driver wants as many stops to make more foloos (money). A taxi ride is 8 dirham and is divided by the riders in your party. Therefore, traveling in a group of 3 is ideal but undesirable for the driver. 8 Dirham is 1 American dollar. Therefore, it’s very doable to travel alone. While tipping is rarely done, when a taxi driver attempts to speak with me I have been tipping. For two reason, one maybe he will try to get me back next time, and second he will appreciate that American students are willing to speak the language of the area. Ali and I frequently talk with our taxi drivers. The ones that do not talk do not get tipped.

Lunch is the largest meal of the day and consists of olives, sometimes a meat, vegetables, sometimes fish, some sort of sauce, a soup, bread, couscous, etc. I have not had the same meal yet, but I imagine there can only be so many different choices! And, of course, each meal is eaten with your right hand. This sometimes requires khoobz scooping the sauce or picking up dry food (unless you run out of khoobz). Sorry lefties. The reason, beyond the left hand being dirty, is that the right hand portrays the hand of Fatima, which, like I mentioned earlier, is the most famous of Muhammed’s daughters. The hand of Fatima is holy and therefore you eat using it and not the unholy hand. I have also heard that when drinking alcohol or smoking your left hand should be used for these unholy activities. Each meal is finished up with a limon (orange) and/or banane (banana). Finally, we wash our hands off of the sticky food that we just ate.

After lunch, we make our way to the American Center and we either have a lecture or some sort of activity. Last night, Feb 8, we went to a Riad and found that it is available to all students from our university in Fez. There is free Wi-Fi there as well as food and drinks. Plus, it’s a bit closer to my home-stay than the café I have frequently been visiting with my friends from class. Don’t worry, cafes are very cheap and I can get out of there for $1.50 US. And, when you think about it, it’s 1 dollar an hour for internet at a cyber café. Go me!

After our lecture, we go back home and grab some dinner (if we did not get back earlier for tea). These meals are much smaller than lunch and consist of eggs, vegetable, khoobz, soup, and rarely meat. Therefore, the meal to look forward to is lunch. After dinner, we talk a little bit with the kids and then watch some magic performed by Othman, or study some Daraja. It is very beneficial having Ali around as he can ask questions in French and get answers in Daraja from the homestay brothers and father. However, the mother, Fatima, is very helpful as she focuses on helping us learn the nouns around the house. We then go to our rooms and study until 11 and then go to bed and start it again at 5:30.

Day 2

We made a commute from our hotel in Casablanca to Rabat to view the program center (where we would be taking our classes in mid-February), to access the bank, and to eat lunch. At the program center, we met two students that attended IES Rabat last semester and were coming back to complete a full year. The students were Toshi and Jake. Both were American and had spent the winter break in Morocco or traveling. Afterwards, we made our way to a house in Rabat and had a large lunch with a family. The food was excellent and was done, for the most part, by hand. Of course, when I say hand I mean the right hand. After all, the right hand is the clean hand. I shoved my fingers directly into the couscous and felt them burn. Woops! The food was delicious and quite messy, but I guess that is the way for eating in Morocco.

From there, we took a bus from Rabat to Fez. The 3-4 hour journey was not a bad ride. In Morocco, it is very difficult to own a car and be able to afford the gas to put into it for long journeys. Therefore, there were few cars on the road and little traffic. We saw the Moroccan countryside complete with donkeys, wanderers, and workers. Cindy, my chica from Mexico/Texas and I had some pretty intense conversations along the drive and I knew that the experience with different Americans would be very informative and outstanding.

In Fez, we were brought to the Grand Hotel for the night. There, I was given a room with Ali, a student from Dayton University in Ohio that would also be living with me in the home stay in Fez. We were instructed to come to dinner at 7 PM that night, and we went down to meet students to take a walk at 6:30. Apparently, we missed the train to walk around Fez before dinner and we went out together to walk the streets in search of our fellow students. As Ali and I walked down the street, a nice man came up to us…

Man: My friends, hello! Do you speak English?
I didn’t say anything.

Man: Parlez Vous francaise? Come on!!

Ali: Non merci

Man: Do you want some hash? I give you the good stuff!
Ali: No merci.

Man: How long are you here? Are you students?

Me: Just the night. No Thank you.

Man: Come to back alley and I will give you hash for free!

While I am always up to a new experience, I said La Shukran and he understood and left us alone. So, we met up with the IES students soon after. Apparently we walked the wrong direction, but our offer for hash was basically the big welcome I was expecting. In the USA we have people trying to sell fake watches and purses, in Fez, we have sketchy guys calling us their friend. Well, at least he was friendly!!

We had some food at the Hotel restaurant for dinner and then decided to make our way out to a Sheeshah Bar for a sort of evening desert. For those of you unaware of sheeshah (hookah), it is essentially tobacco smoked out of a large water pipe that is shared between friends. In this situation, roughly 12 of us went to the bar and shared 3 types of flavored tobacco. I am not one for smoking tobacco, but “When in Rome”. We sat around and smoked the sheeshah as someone might drink alcohol, coffee, or smoke tobacco at a bar/café.

That night I slept like a rock.

Flight and Welcome to Morocco

Well, to start, I left London with my baggage in search of the Yotel. Yotel is essentially a Japanese style overnight hotel which rents rooms by the hour. Once inside the Yotel, I proceeded to my room, which was a 7 square meter room. To give you an understanding of the vast size of the room, consider a mini van with a bathroom, a bed, and a television. It was actually quite nice, but living in such a thing for more than a few hours would make anyone feel claustrophobic. At 3 AM, my alarm went off and I got ready to leave and bolted out the door, but not before cutting my hand on something in the room. I knew that I would not be able to take the Tube to Terminal 1, where I was flying out of, but I was not ready for the difficulty of getting to Terminal 1. As I noticed the lifts to Terminal 1 were not open, I requested a taxi driver take me there. Unfortunately for him and me, I woke him up in his car. I jumped in the taxi and we began our journey. I accidentally instructed him that I was looking for Terminal 3, but I quickly corrected myself. The car rolled on and the toll climbed. Finally, we arrived at a Terminal 3, the wrong terminal. I got out of the car and decided that this guy was not worth paying any more money than the 19 pounds I had given him. He got the last laugh. Jerk. From there, I ran into Terminal 3 and got instructions regarding how to get to Terminal 1. So, I arrived in Terminal 1 with plenty of time and got searched because my hand was still bleeding. However, I grabbed a bacon sandwich at the shop, and everything was wonderful again!

I got on the plane without any problems and quickly flew to Portugal. The country looked beautiful and I attempted to use the little Brazilian Portuguese that I had learned. Eu no fallu Portuguese (I don’t speak Portuguese). The authorities in Portugal appreciated the attempt. I guess having worked at Dunkin Donuts had its’ benefits!

I flew out of Portugal and dozed in and out of consciousness and was awoken by the flight attendant touching my shoulder and offering lunch. The sandwich, consisting of sweet bread, coconut, and ham was surprisingly delicious. I knew that I needed to enjoy my last ham before my four-month stay without being able to eat a delicious little Piglet.

And there it was. Africa… Sure, it didn’t seem possible that there was this completely foreign continent. While Europe was different, there were many comparisons to the United States. Even my brief stay in Portugal reminded me of Milford! However, this country that we flew over immediately appeared to be much different that the Western world. Initially, it could have passed at Kansas or Ohio, a place with fields for farming littering the ground. These patches of farms stretched as far as the eye could see. And then I saw highways and roads with some cars. As the plane further descended to the ground, I saw exits of dirt roads. It appeared as if exits were simply a place where a group of individuals decided to create a dirt road.

The airport in Casablanca was typical of any traditional airport. I crossed through the border without any problems or need to claim any materials. I found the IES representative at the airport, Sabeer, and I met the other three other IES students studying in Morocco and the head of the program Sidi (Mr.) Muhammed.

We began a quick trip to the Hotel and drove through a shanty town and arrived at our destination, the Atlas Hotel. It was here that we experienced our first food in Morocco, American-style Pizza, and met our first Moroccans.

(As I write, I will attempt to name all of the 21 students in my program. Luckily, none share the same name).

I chose my pizza because Sidi Muhammed recommended that we do not eat the Moroccan food for two reasons. First, the sauce contains extra oil that Americans are not use to digesting and Second because Moroccan wives are infamous for their cooking abilities and no restaurant could attempt to create a worthy imitation of home-cooked food.

That night, we students attempted to find the last semblance of American influence through the use of Wi-Fi. With a sketchy connection, I finally connected to the Internet and made a few phone calls. It was there that I noticed my internet usage will really be very limited. Therefore, I will write my blog without the connection and post at my first convenience. I was exhausted and ready to sleep. Luckily, I did not need to combat the jet-lag that other students were dealing with.

Flight

So, to briefly examine how I arrived in Europe.

My parents were gracious enough to provide me with transportation to the airport. Once I made it through security, I had the brilliant idea of opening up my skype account and placing minutes on it to make calls. For anyone looking for a cheap form of communication to the states, restaurants, taxis, without calling another computer, look no further than skype.

Geeze, where were we before the internet. And to think that during my own lifetime we have gone from a simplistic Apple pc to the laptop that I am currently using with WiFi internet and without a power cord.

So I dined on some Earl of Sandwich (try it out, great stuff) and then got on my flight for a turbulent, exciting flight. I figured that while in International Air, I would take a glass of white wine with my succulent, delicious meal of chicken, potatoes, and green beans. I am a classy individual.

My arrival went without a problem, but we recorded 3 1/2 hours of turbulence. Yikes. I thought it was exciting. Hence, I have come to the conclusion that it was the safest form of transportation to the UK. I don't think a car or train would get far... That's why planes don't worry me. I would much rather have my hands in the capable hands of a Virgin Atlantic pilot.

So, I arrived and ran to customs in an effort to get my connecting flight to Edinburgh. The customs officer was, in nice words, a jerk =-) Sure, there is a bunch at stake if she messes up.

Here is a quick synopsis of her and my conversation

Me: Hello, How are you?

Her: Good. What is your purpose in the UK?

Me: Please. I'm visiting my brother and friends from school

Her: How long will you be here for?

Me: 1 week

Her: What are you doing then?

Me: I'm going to Morocco to study for a semester

Her: Can you prove it?

Me: Uhhhhh ya hold on. I preceeded to shuffle through all my papers to find something with the name of "IES Student" on it. I guess it sufficed. (she handed the papers back and didn't look at me again)

Her: Next!

So anyways, I made the quick jump from London to Edinburgh without and trouble and I arrived in Edinburgh. I quickly took a bus from the airport to Waverley station.

My journey begins...