It has been too long since I have updated this blog. I fear I have been a little caught up in the work I am doing for the ARANAS program. As I am sure you have all heard and/or read by now, I was not expecting quite this much work. When I heard about a two-month trip to North Africa, I began foaming at the mouth. However, let me be frank... the froth was created because I was hungry for the experiences associated with traveling to an unfamiliar locale, certainly not because I could not wait to crack into my 400 page Arabic textbook. Al-Kiitab (the book, printed by Georgetown University Press, actually quite good :) is what I seem to be spending the majority of my time viewing. It's a little bit of a shame, but, I feel that the investment I am making in my capacity to speak Arabic will pay dividends later. Of course, continuing my studies promises to be difficult upon my return to Helena, but I feel that a stern commitment, and a little help from others, might force me to continue my Arabic studies independent of academic oversight.
Regardless, I have a couple of excellent weekends in front of me. This upcoming weekend, the program is taking a three-day trip to Marrakesh, which promises to be exciting, and the following weekend I will be participating in a family homestay. These weekends ought to provide my tired mind with a little room to wander. But enough about future trips, I have not had a chance to write my about my trip to Tangier.
After our first semester final wrapped up on Friday June 27th, a posse of five of us took off for Tangier, located in the northernmost portion of Morocco, only a couple of miles from Spain (across the Strait of Gibraltar of course). Our trip was a long one, and one of the hottest days of my life. Thinking that we were fortunate, the group of us each purchased first class train tickets, thinking that the 30dh upgrade would certainly be worth it. Were we right? Probably not. The train was basically fire-pit. Not only because the temperature remained on the verge of excruciating for the majority of the trip, but also because the "air vents" in each compartment could only spew out ash (I think from cigarettes... hopefully not from the train...yikes!), the trace amounts made me wonder about the Mount St. Helens eruption.
Now, on the surface, that last reference was probably straight out of left-field, but I was struggling to breathe with only a finite concentration of ash in the air, how could people around the mountain breathe when the ash was thick enough to coat cars just like snow?
Either way, we arrived in Tangier at about 11pm Friday night. After struggling to find a good price for transportation, a grande taxi offered to take us to the Medinah for about 80dh (not bad when split 5 ways) we arrived at the medinah and had to walk the rest of the distance (about 1/4 mile) to our hotel, because the alley-ways of the medinah are much too small for automobile transportation. We had a reservation for a room with two-beds in a riad in the heart of the old city. Considering that we booked the room earlier that day, we were fortunate. The entrance to the riad was a thick turquoise steel door. Clearly this riad owner meant business. He marched down the stairs to greet us, and his mouth dropped open. Not because we were so disheveled from our travels, not because we were five young Americans arriving at his lodging at 11:30pm on a Friday, no, the proprietor's mouth sat ajar because his "two-bed" room was barely big enough for one person... but it had two twin beds, pushed slightly apart... Clearly the five of us were not all going to have a good nights' sleep. Regardless of the insufficient bedding, the owner of the riad was more than willing to let us eat his leftovers (some tajine cooked vegetables...the tajine even had discarded chicken bones in it, very good though!)
The view from the terrace of the riad was truly spectacular. With an unobstructed view of Tangier's primary beach... You must see the pictures to understand the beauty. After sleeping the night in our crammed quarters, the five of us were treated to the best breakfast I swear I may have ever had, complete with homemade jam... this stuff was absolutely phenomenal, and considering the setting for our meal, it was all the more surreal. Our group took off for the port, because one of the members was intent on taking a ferry to Spain. I, being the tight-fisted; fiscally responsible member of the group, decided that $100 US dollars for the ferry ride was a little outrageous, so I decided against the trip. After finding a new hotel, the rest of our group spent an afternoon at the beach. Absolutely spectacular! Really a relaxing weekend, and one I don't plan on forgetting anytime soon.
P.S. Should you like, I can give anyone the name of the riad we stayed in... if anyone is ever in the area it is well worth the trip.
Monday, July 7, 2008
Sunday, June 22, 2008
Oops
The most awkward incident of my trip so far happened just about three hours ago. To everyone who thought I could last this entire trip without doing something to embarrass myself (probably not many of you, I am well aware) you have been proven incorrect.
Where should I began. Well from the beginning of course. My friend Nick and I decided it was time for a haircut late this afternoon. While at lunch today, all I could notice was my hair, and how annoyingly long it was in the back. I know very well that I have certain fits of anal retentiveness and this long in the back look spawned one. Easy fix, right? Nick and I took off for the marche to get some new hair at about 6:00 pm. After the usual 20 minute walk into the Marche, we approached the usual street corner where we eat our weekly tajine. Their is a classy looking salon right across the way (the marche doesn't not have streets, it looks more like an outdoor mall.) The salon has nice furniture (which is usually hidden by lacy curtains that span the length of the boutique's ceiling to floor windows) and all of the salon technician's (coincidentally all women) seem very professional. Wearing traditional hijab's and white coveralls, they look as if they could cut hair for weeks on end without getting any of the pesky hair debris in their clothing. Surely, these are the people that should be cutting our hair. Or at least that is what we thought. Nick and I strolled into the marche as if we were regulars. Hell, we have been in Ifrane for about three weeks now, we ARE the regulars, at least at our little tajine shop. I remember being surprised at the ease with which we knew our way around. It seems like just yesterday I could not find my way around that crowded little marketplace, without being solicited by souvenir shop owners and/or gawked at by restaurant patrons for looking so out of place. But I digress...
Nick and I were both reluctant about asking for a hair cut in a strange tongue. I, for one, do not know how to ask for a haircut in Arabic. Asking for some chicken? That is no problem, but we haven't spent any class time learning to say obscure things like "take a little off the top please." But Nick and I remained dedicated to looking spiffy. As we approached the little salon across from the tajine place, I noticed that all of the flowing vanilla curtains were stretched width-wise, completely blocking the outside world's gaze, or maybe to keep the sun out. The door was ajar, so it could not have been closed. Nick led the way, and gently eased the door open. He pulled the curtains back, and we saw several women getting their hair cut, and a couple of salon technician's waiting around for additional business. We were met with awkward gazes from several of the beautician's and even more female patrons, whose hijab's were neatly folded in their laps. OH CRAP!!!!! The curtains are drawn because women have their traditional hair coverings off to cut their hair.... We were quickly, and dare I say forcefully, shooed out of the salon, and the curtains were drawn swiftly behind us. Of course it is faux pas (and in some situations more than that) for a woman to expose that much of herself to a strange man.... and that was us.
So, having realized that we may be the biggest idiots on the planet, Nick and I walked to the MALE hair salon (perhaps I will call it a barber shop), where we struggled to speak enough French/Arabic/Darija (Reminds me of the Adam Sandler movie Spanglish...perhaps we will call this quasi-mutant language Frarija) to ask for some new does. I was impressed with my stylist, who humored me as I used a lot of hand gestures and sputtered out a few sentence fragments in frarija. He pulled out an old-school, blade razor to detail the area around my hair (getting all of that loose stuff that grows independently of a hairstyle) whilst stopping with regularity to turn up the television and comment about the artist whose music video was on at the time. I didn't think I would ever hear the song "My Humps" by the Black Eyed Peas ever again, so that was a mighty fine treat.
I paid my 20 dirham (less than $3) , I was wished SaBaHa (basically wishing me good health to go along with my foxy new hairstyle) and Nick and I took the long walk back to campus, still a little ashamed of our cultural insensitivity, hoping we would never be so audacious again.
P.S. I will try and put up new pics from my class trip to the Souk in Azrou. Not much to report from that trip, except to marvel at the expansiveness of the tent village. Considering it is a one day a week market, it is really something.
Until Next Time
Dick
Where should I began. Well from the beginning of course. My friend Nick and I decided it was time for a haircut late this afternoon. While at lunch today, all I could notice was my hair, and how annoyingly long it was in the back. I know very well that I have certain fits of anal retentiveness and this long in the back look spawned one. Easy fix, right? Nick and I took off for the marche to get some new hair at about 6:00 pm. After the usual 20 minute walk into the Marche, we approached the usual street corner where we eat our weekly tajine. Their is a classy looking salon right across the way (the marche doesn't not have streets, it looks more like an outdoor mall.) The salon has nice furniture (which is usually hidden by lacy curtains that span the length of the boutique's ceiling to floor windows) and all of the salon technician's (coincidentally all women) seem very professional. Wearing traditional hijab's and white coveralls, they look as if they could cut hair for weeks on end without getting any of the pesky hair debris in their clothing. Surely, these are the people that should be cutting our hair. Or at least that is what we thought. Nick and I strolled into the marche as if we were regulars. Hell, we have been in Ifrane for about three weeks now, we ARE the regulars, at least at our little tajine shop. I remember being surprised at the ease with which we knew our way around. It seems like just yesterday I could not find my way around that crowded little marketplace, without being solicited by souvenir shop owners and/or gawked at by restaurant patrons for looking so out of place. But I digress...
Nick and I were both reluctant about asking for a hair cut in a strange tongue. I, for one, do not know how to ask for a haircut in Arabic. Asking for some chicken? That is no problem, but we haven't spent any class time learning to say obscure things like "take a little off the top please." But Nick and I remained dedicated to looking spiffy. As we approached the little salon across from the tajine place, I noticed that all of the flowing vanilla curtains were stretched width-wise, completely blocking the outside world's gaze, or maybe to keep the sun out. The door was ajar, so it could not have been closed. Nick led the way, and gently eased the door open. He pulled the curtains back, and we saw several women getting their hair cut, and a couple of salon technician's waiting around for additional business. We were met with awkward gazes from several of the beautician's and even more female patrons, whose hijab's were neatly folded in their laps. OH CRAP!!!!! The curtains are drawn because women have their traditional hair coverings off to cut their hair.... We were quickly, and dare I say forcefully, shooed out of the salon, and the curtains were drawn swiftly behind us. Of course it is faux pas (and in some situations more than that) for a woman to expose that much of herself to a strange man.... and that was us.
So, having realized that we may be the biggest idiots on the planet, Nick and I walked to the MALE hair salon (perhaps I will call it a barber shop), where we struggled to speak enough French/Arabic/Darija (Reminds me of the Adam Sandler movie Spanglish...perhaps we will call this quasi-mutant language Frarija) to ask for some new does. I was impressed with my stylist, who humored me as I used a lot of hand gestures and sputtered out a few sentence fragments in frarija. He pulled out an old-school, blade razor to detail the area around my hair (getting all of that loose stuff that grows independently of a hairstyle) whilst stopping with regularity to turn up the television and comment about the artist whose music video was on at the time. I didn't think I would ever hear the song "My Humps" by the Black Eyed Peas ever again, so that was a mighty fine treat.
I paid my 20 dirham (less than $3) , I was wished SaBaHa (basically wishing me good health to go along with my foxy new hairstyle) and Nick and I took the long walk back to campus, still a little ashamed of our cultural insensitivity, hoping we would never be so audacious again.
P.S. I will try and put up new pics from my class trip to the Souk in Azrou. Not much to report from that trip, except to marvel at the expansiveness of the tent village. Considering it is a one day a week market, it is really something.
Until Next Time
Dick
Monday, June 16, 2008
The Desert
Welp... Even though desert's are traditionally defined as barren wastelands, and very few people live in them, I decided I want to live in the desert. I had a blast during my trip to the Southeastern corner of Morocco. The trip started at about 2pm on Friday, after a four hour day of classes. With 1500 dirham, my passport, my sunglasses, and some clothes, I loaded the bus: destination Erfoud. Erfoud is a smaller Moroccan city, known for its conservative citizenry and its breath-taking fossils. After a six hour bus ride, anything would be a welcome destination, but Erfoud did not disappoint. We arrived at Hotel Tafilalet, at approximately 9:30pm, and we were immediately treated to a feast fit for kings. A grandiose buffet-style meal including, cucumbers, carrots, tomato and tuna salad, beef tajine, chicken tajine, vegetable tajine, lamb kidney tajine (surpisingly good...by the way), and 6 full size platters full of a garden variety of fruits. Needless to say my long trip was immediately forgotten. Our hosts danced to the sounds of drum beats and various metallic clacking devices until nearly 1am. It was a real treat. Saturday morning was spent in Erfoud, where I walked around with my friends Nick, Meaghen, and Jade. As we sauntered around the city, I couldn't help but notice the abundance of fossil shops. The fossils are primarily maritime, as this area used to be under seawater. Interestingly, just about everybody in the Erfoud has some link to the fossil trade, whether it be in digging, distribution, or sales. I am still amazed by the lack of regulations for fossil excavation. Perhaps I am viewing a different culture from an Amero-centric lens, but it seems that fossils are a sacred scientific discovery. Only scientists like Jack Horner uncover fossils, and it seems (I don't know the man personally) that he would be perturbed to know that fossils are being hoarded by Moroccan shop owners and negotiated away just like a touristy dagger or pair of Babush's. The group left Erfoud at about 4:30pm to head for Merzouga...right on the tip of the Sahara desert. Unfortunately, we did not get to sleep on the dunes in goat-hair tents, but the group was forced to stay in hotel rooms that remained oppressively hot even after the sun went down. The most amazing thing happened in the desert. As tacky as this sounds, I felt personally liberated after I climbed the tallest of the sand dunes within visibility. It was grueling...like riding a stair master, yet still having a goal to reach a higher elevation. It was exhausting. After getting to the top of the dune, however, I watched the sunset and looked on the microcosm that was our hotel. After getting little sleep, we rode camels to far away dune to watch the sun rise. Another beautiful moment, hopefully I captured it well in the pictures. The rest of Sunday we spent in a nearby Souk. The marketplace stretched indefinitely as we wandered through mountains of fruit, stacked neatly like an expansive urban development around the walk way. I was tempted to buy just about everything, but alas, I knew that a frugal disposition would pay dividends later.
I returned to my dorm room at about 8:00pm last night. My roommate, who spent the weekend in Jadida with his family, had already arrived. A freshly cooked rotisserie chicken under his right arm. But that's not all. In his left hand he carried a yellow bag, partially translucent, allowing me to give the stash of fruit hidden inside a cursory glance. What a meal! Samir brought even better tidings. He rented a car to drive around for 15 days. The car will be our mode of transportation when we go to Casablanca this weekend. I look forward to seeing the ocean (on a different continent) and having a look around at my roommates stomping grounds.
Stay tuned...
I returned to my dorm room at about 8:00pm last night. My roommate, who spent the weekend in Jadida with his family, had already arrived. A freshly cooked rotisserie chicken under his right arm. But that's not all. In his left hand he carried a yellow bag, partially translucent, allowing me to give the stash of fruit hidden inside a cursory glance. What a meal! Samir brought even better tidings. He rented a car to drive around for 15 days. The car will be our mode of transportation when we go to Casablanca this weekend. I look forward to seeing the ocean (on a different continent) and having a look around at my roommates stomping grounds.
Stay tuned...
Saturday, June 7, 2008
First Weekend
Ossallam Allaikum!
I am done with my first week of classes in the ARANAS program. What an exhilarating experience it has been so far. I am happy to say that I have started learning Arabic, and I am having (limited) success so far. Arabic is a particularly difficult language to learn, because the alphabet contains several letters which most English speakers are not accustomed to pronouncing. I love my professors (oostev for male, oosteva for female) Meriem and Abdullilah are spectacular instructor's with impressive resumes. Being in class 4 hours a day is particularly grueling, but I feel that the reward at the end of it all will justify the long hours spent in the classroom, and even the night's staying up late trying to do my homework!
The ARANAS program organized a trip to the ancient Roman ruins of Volubilus and to the medinah in Meknes today. What an experience! I knew nothing of Volubilus and was particularly impressed at how well preserved the ruins are. I will put up pics from the weekend to give everyone a look into my life. Next weekend we head to the desert, and I can not wait to ride the camels and spend the night perched atop a sand dune in the Sahara.
I thought I would make a little list of some of my favorite things about Morocco thus far... in no particular order:
1. My roomate Samir
2. The Tagine (a delicious Moroccan dish, if you don't know what it is I suggest you look it up on wikipedia, learn how to make it, and enjoy.
3. My fellow classmates
4. The Hamaam (Turkish bath) I haven't actually done this yet, but I will tomorrow morning. Sounds like it will be very interesting. (More updates to come.)
5. Writing in Arabic. Even though I have not learned all of the letters in the alphabet yet, I am surprised at how quickly I have familiarized myself with those I have learned.
6. The cheap prices. I have the luxury of not needing to buy gasoline, so the prices are spectacular so far.
Now a different kind of list...the list of things I don't like so much
1. The homework. I normally lead a lazy lifestyle during this time of the year. When I left I was so excited to be coming to Morocco. I completely forgot that I was going to an INTENSIVE (literally this is intense) language institute, and one that is widely regarded for teaching Arabic.
2. The large groups. I was frustrated during my trip to Volubilus and Meknes today, because we had to do everything in a group of 40+ people. I don't like viewing a mozzoleum, while simultaneously shielding my eyes from the constant flicker of bright camera flashes.
3. Missing my friends and family. As little as I have communicated with everyone so far, I am missing everyone from back home. Little things in Morocco remind me of time spent at my desk at work, or of my family, and I feel homesick. I am getting accustomed to my surroundings, but I still wish more people (that I am familiar with) could share in this experience with me.
4. The town of Ifrane. This place is surprisingly cold, because we are at 5000 feet in elevation. It is a wealthy town, and the culture of Al Maghrib does not seem to be represented very well. The university is practically a gated community, and the town is a vacation spot for some of the richest people in the Eastern hemisphere.
I am so glad that I made the decision to come to Al Maghrib. Hopefully I can make it through.
MaSallam
Dick
I am done with my first week of classes in the ARANAS program. What an exhilarating experience it has been so far. I am happy to say that I have started learning Arabic, and I am having (limited) success so far. Arabic is a particularly difficult language to learn, because the alphabet contains several letters which most English speakers are not accustomed to pronouncing. I love my professors (oostev for male, oosteva for female) Meriem and Abdullilah are spectacular instructor's with impressive resumes. Being in class 4 hours a day is particularly grueling, but I feel that the reward at the end of it all will justify the long hours spent in the classroom, and even the night's staying up late trying to do my homework!
The ARANAS program organized a trip to the ancient Roman ruins of Volubilus and to the medinah in Meknes today. What an experience! I knew nothing of Volubilus and was particularly impressed at how well preserved the ruins are. I will put up pics from the weekend to give everyone a look into my life. Next weekend we head to the desert, and I can not wait to ride the camels and spend the night perched atop a sand dune in the Sahara.
I thought I would make a little list of some of my favorite things about Morocco thus far... in no particular order:
1. My roomate Samir
2. The Tagine (a delicious Moroccan dish, if you don't know what it is I suggest you look it up on wikipedia, learn how to make it, and enjoy.
3. My fellow classmates
4. The Hamaam (Turkish bath) I haven't actually done this yet, but I will tomorrow morning. Sounds like it will be very interesting. (More updates to come.)
5. Writing in Arabic. Even though I have not learned all of the letters in the alphabet yet, I am surprised at how quickly I have familiarized myself with those I have learned.
6. The cheap prices. I have the luxury of not needing to buy gasoline, so the prices are spectacular so far.
Now a different kind of list...the list of things I don't like so much
1. The homework. I normally lead a lazy lifestyle during this time of the year. When I left I was so excited to be coming to Morocco. I completely forgot that I was going to an INTENSIVE (literally this is intense) language institute, and one that is widely regarded for teaching Arabic.
2. The large groups. I was frustrated during my trip to Volubilus and Meknes today, because we had to do everything in a group of 40+ people. I don't like viewing a mozzoleum, while simultaneously shielding my eyes from the constant flicker of bright camera flashes.
3. Missing my friends and family. As little as I have communicated with everyone so far, I am missing everyone from back home. Little things in Morocco remind me of time spent at my desk at work, or of my family, and I feel homesick. I am getting accustomed to my surroundings, but I still wish more people (that I am familiar with) could share in this experience with me.
4. The town of Ifrane. This place is surprisingly cold, because we are at 5000 feet in elevation. It is a wealthy town, and the culture of Al Maghrib does not seem to be represented very well. The university is practically a gated community, and the town is a vacation spot for some of the richest people in the Eastern hemisphere.
I am so glad that I made the decision to come to Al Maghrib. Hopefully I can make it through.
MaSallam
Dick
Sunday, June 1, 2008
Friday, May 30, 2008
Arrival
Well... I arrived in Ifrane approximately 20 hours ago. I have not had much of a chance to inform people that I arrived safely, but I did!
Funny story, the airlines lost my baggage somewhere along the way. Basically, I have my computer, my headset (to communicate with people), one spare change of clothes, and a couple of notebooks. I am glad I traveled with everything important in my backpack. I think it may have been a blessing in disguise lugging that beefy thing around.
I must have looked pretty funny standing quietly by my TA as she spoke with the gentleman from the airline. After reporting my lost luggage, I walked over to join my fellow students in the two vans that were picking us up. I got into the larger of the two passenger vans, ironically enough, I was the last to get in, so I ended sitting in the van filled with everybody's luggage.
Then the fun stuff began. just so that everyone knows, Moroccans-like most Africans-drive a little differently than most of us are used to in the states. For example, the customary 30 foot rule for following a car does not exist in Morocco. Instead, the driver will follow the car in front of him as closely as possible; until the other lane is clear to pass. So there I am, driving in a luggage filled van (with no seatbelt, because the van had none) flying down the road in excess of 130 km/hr, casually peering in to the cars in front of us, just before we pass them.
Hope you are excited for me! I have some pictures from the beginnings of my trip. I will post them at the bottom, take your time to enjoy them... be awed at the sights, and feel free to laugh at my lost luggage "incident."
It is 11:00am in Morocco as I write this post. I have an introductory Moroccan culture lecture to attend at 2:00pm, and then some administrative things to deal with shortly thereafter. We are getting a tour of Ifrane-starting at 5:30-so I will be sure to take plenty of pictures.
Salaam
P.S. If anyone is interested, you might consider sending me a little gift, just follow the hyperlink.
Gift for Dick
Funny story, the airlines lost my baggage somewhere along the way. Basically, I have my computer, my headset (to communicate with people), one spare change of clothes, and a couple of notebooks. I am glad I traveled with everything important in my backpack. I think it may have been a blessing in disguise lugging that beefy thing around.
I must have looked pretty funny standing quietly by my TA as she spoke with the gentleman from the airline. After reporting my lost luggage, I walked over to join my fellow students in the two vans that were picking us up. I got into the larger of the two passenger vans, ironically enough, I was the last to get in, so I ended sitting in the van filled with everybody's luggage.
Then the fun stuff began. just so that everyone knows, Moroccans-like most Africans-drive a little differently than most of us are used to in the states. For example, the customary 30 foot rule for following a car does not exist in Morocco. Instead, the driver will follow the car in front of him as closely as possible; until the other lane is clear to pass. So there I am, driving in a luggage filled van (with no seatbelt, because the van had none) flying down the road in excess of 130 km/hr, casually peering in to the cars in front of us, just before we pass them.
Hope you are excited for me! I have some pictures from the beginnings of my trip. I will post them at the bottom, take your time to enjoy them... be awed at the sights, and feel free to laugh at my lost luggage "incident."
It is 11:00am in Morocco as I write this post. I have an introductory Moroccan culture lecture to attend at 2:00pm, and then some administrative things to deal with shortly thereafter. We are getting a tour of Ifrane-starting at 5:30-so I will be sure to take plenty of pictures.
Salaam
P.S. If anyone is interested, you might consider sending me a little gift, just follow the hyperlink.
Gift for Dick
Thursday, May 22, 2008
Getting Ready to Leave
Well, shoot. I am about to embark on a meritorious journey to an historically marvelous, merrily magnificent locale. Perhaps you (the reader) have caught on to my blatant alliteration, if so, my description can only mean Morocco, or maybe Mongolia, Mauritania, or Madagascar...but who's keeping track. It is with a mixture of excitement, and uncontrollable nervousness that I prepare to leave on a jet plane (to borrow a line from Peter, Paul and Mary) destined for Ifrane, Morocco, where I will be taking Arabic language classes and assimilating into North African culture.
I will be departing from the Helena Regional Airport at 8:00 am which makes me nervous, because this is the first time I will be leaving the North American continent. But should I be worried? To put it simply, I feel that I owe myself an adventure that will make me feel uncomfortable. I love learning about Islam, but textbooks can only get me so far. I have to experience the culture to feel like my education will pay me dividends later.
Hey....Everyone has to leave their comfort zone every once in a while. Right?
Dick
I will be departing from the Helena Regional Airport at 8:00 am which makes me nervous, because this is the first time I will be leaving the North American continent. But should I be worried? To put it simply, I feel that I owe myself an adventure that will make me feel uncomfortable. I love learning about Islam, but textbooks can only get me so far. I have to experience the culture to feel like my education will pay me dividends later.
Hey....Everyone has to leave their comfort zone every once in a while. Right?
Dick
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