Al-teqedda ma al-a'eela

I wasn't able to write about Chefchaouen yesterday for two reasons: First, I had no Internet connection at my host stay and second, I was too mad at myself for forgetting my camera (so no pictures, sorry!). Actually, it's even worse. I brought my camera and even charged the battery the night before, but I left the memory card in my computer. I asked my friends to take lots of pictures though, so I'll post theirs in my album as soon as I get them.

The day started early, when I woke up at 6am to head over to our program's bus by 7:30. I had told my family the night before that I was leaving early and would not need breakfast. And yet, just as I was going to bed, my host-aunt (for clarification, there are four of them) brought me a huge slice of cake and a carton of milk. "I'm leaving these for you in the fridge, fahamty?" Melted my heart, wallahy.

So the next morning I ate the cake and ran out the door, walking across the city to the hotel. No one in Morocco is awake at 6:30am, that's crazy talk. To my surprise, when I arrived at the hotel, I found the entrance blocked by a huge cloud of what appeared to be thick, blue smoke. It barely moved in the morning air, almost like floating cotton candy. "What the hell?" I thought. "Is it exhaust from the bus? Tear gas?" Not seeing anyone around, I decided to make a break for it, holding my breath and running through a gap in the cloud.

Inside the hotel, the students were gathering to wait for the bus. A friend came up to me and said, "I want to get a snack before we go but the hotel staff said I couldn't because they're spraying insecticide."

Crap. Hello cancer.

We loaded onto two buses and drove off towards Chefchaouen. The name apparently means "the city between two horns" because it is located between two mountains. It is located in the north of the country, and so its history is heavily influenced by Spanish culture. The history is actually really interesting, so if you want a primer, check it out here: Wikipedia - Chefchaouen. The town is known for its distinctive blue color. Many of the houses, streets and alleyways are painted various shades of blue. It's really beautiful (give me a break about the camera, jeez).

Sadly we only spent a few hours in the city because it was a day trip, but we took the opportunity to explore the small mountain town. The old city is much like any other besides the blue color scheme, but other nice features are the little aqueducts that run through the city carrying cold river water from a mountain spring. Children play in the water and store owners keep sodas in it to keep them cold. I, James* (remember him?) and Jasmine* split from the group and decided to follow a trail that led into the mountain above the town. We followed the trail out, past a woman herding goats who eyed us suspiciously and up to a mosque that overlooked the town. It was a gorgeous view, though the mosque was sadly closed. After taking some pictures, we walked even farther up the mountain, past a couple of guys who were sitting under a tree and possibly smoking hashish and up until we found another tree, where we saw a bunch of little heads pop up under the shadows of its branches.

"Puppies!" yelled Jasmine*.
"Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr," growled the mama dog as she emerged from the shadows and stalked towards us.

Crap. Hello rabies.

James* grabbed a rock and we backed away slowly (no, just kidding, we flat out ran) back to the woman with the goats, who was still not amused with our antics. Back in the town, we made our way to a pizzeria where Jasmine* and James* ordered fries and ate them cautiously, complaining that the cook had put the fries on their plates with their hands after handling raw meat.

I slept most of the way back, though the seats in the bus were so uncomfortable that my back was still sore this morning.

Today was less eventful. I woke up blissfully late and went to the old city market with my host aunts (all four of them) where I followed them around and learned how terrible I am at bargaining in comparison with seasoned Moroccans. Those ladies went to four different hanawat (shops) in search of a new grill top before they settled on one they liked. They kindly offered to go with me to buy a gift for my family, and helped me argue with the store owner to get a reasonable price (He was a tough cookie. I think I still overpaid.).

After that I said "see you later" to my family and walked to the language center, getting lost in the old city in the process and navigating its more seedy corners (I certainly won't miss that smell of garbage roasting under the sun) until I found the center. A note for travelers to Morocco: in the old city, the direct route is not necessarily the best route. But honestly, getting lost in the old city is one of the pleasures of Morocco. You find something new and wonderful every time.

Tomorrow I have the most important exam of the summer, so wish me luck out there.

Le al-mukhadarat wa le al-sandweech

I could have cried today. My last Cous-cous Friday. I just had to take a picture to preserve the memory of my host family telling me Kul! Khud! Zeed! (Eat! Take! More!) as they heap pornographic amounts of cous-cous and vegetables onto my plate. My host-aunt (is that a thing?) grabbing a fistful of cous-cous and tossing it gently until it curves into a perfect sphere before popping it casually into her mouth.

A couple of my host family's sons or cousins or something (I honestly can't keep track) invited me and a friend from the program to "play ball" with them. I assumed this meant soccer, but it was a little strange that they were asking at 9 o'clock at night. But we said yes and walked down the street with them and into a creepy alley until we arrived suddenly at a pool hall. The boys invited us into the pool hall, which was a supremely weird place. Techno music blared from the speakers and club lights flashed, but inside there were only some arcade games, a couple foosball tables, and a bunch of pool tables inside. We played foosball for a little while, dropping coins into the machine every couple of minutes, and then we moved on to the pool table, which cost 5 dirham for a round.

I didn't really understand the rules that the boys insisted on playing by, which seemed loosely organized at best ("Wait, this time I get two turns because [indecipherable Moroccan]"). As we were playing I noticed a sign by the table that read "No drugs. No sandwiches. Interdat is forbidden." I pointed it out to my friend and he sighed, "Then what's the point of living?" True dat.

I had a short conversation with him about living at my host family's house (he lives in a different apartment but they own and inhabit the whole building). We're both guys, and so we discussed how women cover inside and outside the home. Most of the women in my host family wear the hijab outside of the house, but inside the house they don't cover. An exception to this rule was when I asked to take a picture of them at lunch today, and my host-aunt declined because she wasn't covering.

My friend lives with a more conservative branch of the family, and the wife (Saleema*) always covers in front of men, even in the home. It's pretty awkward sometimes because I'll walk into a room and all the women will be sitting and talking, and Saleema will see me and run scurrying into another room to put on a scarf. I sometimes feel like I should wear a bell around the house.

Tomorrow I'll be traveling to a region known mainly for its picturesque landscapes and its agriculture (i.e. marijuana). A friend was visiting my house today and my host-aunt asked her why she was going. "Al-keef", said my friend ("the marijuana"). My host-aunt laughed and gave her a high-five.

Don't do drugs, kids. Or sandwiches.

Irfa'u ka'askum

I hosted a small party today at my host family's house. It went pretty well, though many students weren't able to make it because they had to finish final projects. We got a good group though, and our professors even showed up for a while and we talked about Arab culture and how you just can't say the word 'penis' in Arabic whenever you want to.

After the party died down a small group of us worked on our final project, which is a pretty epic full-length movie based on an Egyptian novel we read this summer. I play an evil outlaw who accepts payment in order to carry out a revenge killing (and gets shot off a horse in the process).

Tisbahu ala kheer.

Wash kein tasheelat dyal qitat?

Sorry to do this to you guys, but this is the saddest picture in the world. I was walking around the Hamariya in the blazing July heat when I found this homeless cat sleeping in a bucket of dirt.  If you know of a sadder picture, please don't send it to me. I'm not sure my heart can take it.

Other than that, nothing much has happened in Meknes. I'm pretty sure that demonstrations continue in the country's larger cities over the new constitution due to the explosion in the number of flags I have seen hanging on government buildings.

I asked my speaking partner about the flags but she gave me a characteristically evasive answer ("Oh, they just really like Morocco").

With the program winding down, we're all working on our final projects, and (as usual) adding as much shock-value as possible to make our professors uncomfortable. Suffice to say that it's probably illegal to publish a good portion of our work within the country's borders.

My battery's about to die so I have to post quick but I hope to have more exciting adventures later this week.

Bisaha

This morning I was still sick, so I took off the day from classes to sleep (yay!) and catch up on homework (wah wah). Sleeping was a bit difficult as demonstrations have been escalating around the country both calling for greater reforms and defending the new constitution. And for some reason my neighborhood seems to be the source of all political expression in Meknes, as two marches have chosen my street as their starting point in as many days.

And other than that I've just been lying in bed today, enjoying the silver lining of food poisoning. And between cramps I felt a pang of homesickness for the US of A, where at least I know I'm free (of bacteria).

Kenabky ala al-ard

Last night I went to bed tired but content after a great day in Rabat, but at some point during the night I woke up to a wave of nausea that sent me racing for the bathroom. I clung to the toilet in agony, knowing something big was about to happen, but not sure whether to sit on the bowl or just hang my head over it. I spent between thirty minutes to an hour on the floor of the bathroom, moaning, whimpering, and half-sobbing "damn you Morocco, damn you straight to hell." Surprisingly, my stomach slowly settled down, and I was finally able to get up and crawl back into bed.

Until a couple hours later, when I woke up with my stomach screaming just one thing: RUN. Twenty minutes later, feeling as if I had nothing left in my system, I returned to bed. Even this morning, my stomach is still going through its own Arab Spring. I'm writing this post to distract myself, but I'm still racing to the bathroom every ten minutes or so at the hint of another spasm of unrest.

I promised to write about Rabat today, though, and this seems like a good opportunity (oh god stomach cramps whyyyy?).

Yesterday morning I woke up at 4:30 and walked with my friend James* to the train station so we could catch our 5:30 train. We were leaving early so that James could attend church in the morning (Rabat has one of the only Orthodox churches in the country). Once we arrived in Rabat, James asked a taxi driver to take us to the church and the driver said he knew where it was. Ten minutes later he dropped us off in front of a synagogue. We decided to just find it ourselves on foot because we knew it was nearby. After a long search we finally ended up at the gates of the church, but unfortunately the gate was locked, the intercom was unresponsive, and the posted schedule was in Russian, which neither of us could read.

So with a maalesh (never mind) we hailed a taxi and asked the driver to take us to the government district. Interestingly enough, he took us back to the train station, which is located in the district. We walked around, taking pictures of the Parliament, the Palace of Justice (a courthouse) and various other buildings. In a park across of the Parliament, protesters had hung banners stating: "Military prisoners of the War in the Moroccan Sahara demand his Majesty the King Mohamad VI intervene for their just treatment. Long live the King" and "We spent 25 years in the prisons of the enemy and we didn't see the rights of the nation" among others. As far as I know this refers to the ongoing conflict between Morocco and Mauritania over land in the Western Sahara. Other signs stated the protesters had been camped out in front of the Parliament for 61 days.

From there we took a taxi to the mausoleum of Mohamad V, where the remains of two previous kings of Morocco (Mohamad V and Hassan II) are buried. The grounds are very beautiful, with an open court yard full of old columns facing a tall sandstone tower. The site is an unfinished mosque whose construction began hundreds of years ago. On the end of the grounds across from the tower is the tomb of Mohamad V, which is guarded by (surprisingly friendly) guards in traditional military dress. There is a man sitting in one corner of the tomb reading the Quran silently to keep vigil over the tomb (he sits so still I first thought he was a wax figure).

The mausoleum overlooks the ocean, so we decided to walk down to the beach. To get to the best spots of the beach however, we had to walk through the old city, which was packed with people. It had a relaxed feel, though, as the shopkeepers were less aggressive than in other cities. The alleys were full of European and American tourists, holding copies of the Lonely Planet guide to Morocco in front of them as the walked (don't do that) and asking their guides the proper prices of souvenirs in loud English ("Mohamad! How. Much. Is. This?).

As we exited the walls of the old city, we passed by an old citadel that also overlooks the ocean. A man inside said the citadel was used for defense by Moroccans, the Spanish, and the French. There is a historic prison inside, which he said we could enter for 11 dirhams. We declined because we had used our small change.

We walked to the beach, which can only be accessed by walking through a sprawling graveyard. The juxtaposition of gravestones in front of people playing on the beach is, needless to say, weird. But the beach itself is very cool. A long stone walkway divides the beach in two. On one side, huge crowds play in the waves and sit under umbrellas that young men offer you wherever you walk. Parasol? Parasol? On the other side are rocky tide pools, beyond which surfers ride in powerful waves and bail out before they are smashed against the rocks.

At the beach we met up with some friends in our program and split up into two groups. James, Anna* and I walked back into the old city to find food while the other students went to find a restaurant elsewhere. We stopped at a little stand where the server was incredibly kind and talkative, praising our limited Arabic. The food was very good but I strongly suspect it's the reason for my current illness.

After eating we explored the old city for a few hours and then headed back to the beach to wade in the gentle waves until it was time to go home.

All in all a successful day in Rabat (oh god stomach cramps I hate you Morocco I hate you so much).

*James and Anna are not their real names.

Finally in Rabat

Rabat was so cool. It was a very long day in the capital so I'll save the stories for tomorrow. Until then, check out the pictures!