Saffron:
Chicken peas and fava beans:
Pesticides and rat poisons:
Honeycomb:
Hardware store:
One of the many tents for the gold merchants:
Dates and nuts:
Roasting corn:
Holy crap that’s a lot of carrots!
Fresh bread:
Norah didn’t know what to make of the cows’ feet:
Tripe and assorted goodies:
Group photo with our butcher friends:
I got to hold the knife:
The wagon back to town (we took a taxi):
The souk is a dusty place:
Today we got up early and went to Rabat, the capital of Morocco. It’s about a 45-minute drive, and Ben’s uncle Abdullah has apparently become our personal driver because he went with us again today and is also planning to come along to Marrakech. It’s nice to have someone who knows where they’re going because the driving can be a little crazy.
In Rabat we visited the Mausoleum of King Mohammed V, and La Tour (Tower) Hassan. The pillars in the courtyard of the minaret are what’s left of a huge mosque that was destroyed in an earthquake. The mausoleum is beautifully decorated with wood, stucco, and zellij mosaic, and of course the gorgeous bronze doors.
After touring the mausoleum we rode the new tram that crosses the river to Salé. I had read about the medersa (school) and Grande Mosque within the Salé medina and was intent on finding them. Ben didn’t want to ask anyone which stop to get off the tram, so we ended up going a couple of stops too far and making our way through the medina on foot. I’ll bet we walked 5 miles in total, but it was worth it. The school and mosque were built in 1333, and the school is extremely well-preserved (I couldn’t enter the mosque because I’m not Muslim). We were able to go into the “student cells,” tiny rooms where the students lived. The place was just about deserted, so the attendant showed me how to lock the front door (you’ll have to check my other blog in a couple of days for those photos).
Inside one of the tiny student cells:
Inside the mosque:
Salé from the roof:
We were sooo tired that we didn’t even stop for a late lunch…we just drove home and as usual had an amazing dinner waiting for us. I could really get used to this!
Moments from today…
Passing a huge field of sunflowers beside the highway.
The welder who was just holding a little piece of plastic in front of his eyes instead of wearing a welding helmet.
Asking Uncle Abdullah what the men at the rotary had in their wheelbarrows – “cows’ stomachs.”
The amazing ocean view in Rabat, with shanties lining the road – pretty nice real estate for a shanty town.
A modern tunnel in Rabat – Ben was shocked.
Prior planning promotes perfect performance…lots of teachable moments today.
Seeing a guy holding down a mattress by laying on it in the back of a small pick-up truck.
Being asked to take photos of teenage boys, and unsuccessfully asking for their email addresses, until one of them suddenly said “Facebook?” and they all started repeating, “Facebook” and writing down their names for me. Unfortunately their names are very common on Facebook and I can’t find them.
The school with chalkboards hanging out the windows…each student’s number was listed and showed who passed.
Aliya’s comment, “Those stairs are a fire hazard!”
Uncle Abdullah getting hip to my search for cool doors, and then showing me every door of interest along the way. Through this archway I found my favorite:
Trying to explain to the kids why the beeping cars were driving through town with the “bloody rag” after the wedding, without stealing the thunder of the 5th-grade health teacher.
The kids hunting for pieces of broken tile along the street – a cool collection!
Teaching the kids how to use the squat-toilet. Norah was definitely not a fan.
The henna ladies who accosted us, told us they would do a little design on the girls for free despite our protests, and then b*tching when Ben gave them too little money. The amount they were asking for their “free” designs would have paid for hands and feet in Mohammedia. Annoying!
Today I worked until about 3 p.m., with a break for couscous at lunchtime. For those of you who haven’t had Moroccan couscous and are wondering what all the fuss is about, I’m not talking about the boxes of couscous that you can buy from Stop and Shop and mix with water.
In Morocco, couscous is traditionally served every Friday, the end of the religious week. The couscous, made from semolina, is the base of the dish, with vegetables piled on top of the hidden meat. The idea is for everyone to fill up on couscous and vegetables, and the meat is saved for last. The meat, vegetables, and spices are boiled in a broth in the bottom of a pot called a couscousiere, and the couscous is steamed above it. It’s so delicious, even Adlani likes it (just the couscous, not the vegetables or meat, of course).
For scale, this bowl is about 24″ around (the potatoes are HUGE):
Late this afternoon we went to the moussem, a cultural festival where several hundred horses and riders in traditional clothing perform fantasia. Fantasia involves a team of riders running from one end of the field to the other, stopping on a dime, and firing their muskets into the air. The object is for the whole team to shoot their guns simultaneously. Historically, fantasia is based on war-time attacks of Berber and desert knights. Now it’s like a sport, or a martial art. It’s really beautiful to see, with plenty of photo ops.
Aliya was a little freaked out being there because she didn’t like the guns and it was very close quarters with the horses, riders, tents, spectators, and merchants. One horse fell during the line-up, and there were several horse-on-horse altercations. The horses were all keyed up, and I can’t blame them, but to move around we had to walk right between the horses who were shackled to ropes. The riders kept loading their guns and firing random shots so Aliya spent the whole time with her fingers in her ears. In her journal she wrote that her favorite thing about the moussem was “leaving.”
I, on the other hand, had a great time. I’m in my glory when there’s something cool to photograph, and I’m never lonely here because someone is always trying to talk to me. And by that I mean someone who is trying to communicate in another language, not someone who’s trying to speak to me when I’m in the bathroom.
The spectator tent:
This place can’t be all bad – there’s cotton candy!!
I wonder what the handprint signifies…
My favorite saddle:
The older man in this photo posed several times and asked if I wanted to take his photo. Each time he seemed to close his eyes on purpose, and kept them closed while I was taking photos. Maybe he was trying to keep me from stealing his soul.
Each team has a tent for the riders:
This is the first time I’ve seen girls participating in fantasia:
Patiently waiting:
At the signal:
And they’re off!
After the moussem we had an impromptu trip to the beach, where we tried unsuccessfully to fly a kite. The highlight of the beach was when a guy walked in front of us leading two camels, and then there was a ruckus and we turned to see a third camel chasing down its comrades. It’s not every day you see a free-running camel.
Uncle Abdullah has the patience of a saint but we could not get that kite up.
Ben wandering into my sunset shot:
We also saw another heddia today, this time carrying food for a wedding. A cow led the procession and I think he knew what was ahead because he was not very cooperative. I’m sure he was on the menu for the wedding dinner.
The photos are at the bottom again!
I’m realizing how much like me Aliya is. She keeps asking what time it is, where are we going next, who’s going with us, what’s for lunch…normally I’m all about the schedules and details because we are so overscheduled that I live in fear of missing something. All day long Aliya has been asking questions and I’ve been telling her to “Just go with it.”
Life is different here, and I have slipped easily into the Moroccan way of life (while still working part of each day) . This is my 6th trip to Africa and I’m very family with “African Time.” Things move much more slowly and people seem like they meander through life instead of racing from one thing to the next. I like it.
Today we woke up at 10 a.m. (5 a.m. at home). Our internal clocks are still messed up. At least that’s my excuse and I’m sticking to it. After breakfast the kids all started putting on their bathing suits and gathering up their pool-related paraphernalia…apparently we were going swimming. Since my Arabic is very rusty I’m in the dark about what’s going on half the time.
Since we are here to work out my mother-in-law’s estate (she passed away last year), Ben has to get a government ID as part of that process. He came to the US over 25 years ago and is a US citizen, but he needs this Moroccan card for some reason. Adlani was out of sorts so Ben decided to go to the pool and I would stay home with Adlani. Then a friend showed up to take Ben to the police station for something to do with the ID (at which point Ben asked me if I had a copy of our marriage certificate, and I stared at him with the stunned look of someone who was never told that a marriage certificate might be needed), so suddenly I was going to the pool and leaving Adlani home with my sisters-in-law. Whatever…just go with it.
My brother-in-law drove us to the pool and paid the admission – 120 dirhams ($13.50) per adult and teenager, 70 dirhams ($8) per kid. There was hardly anyone at the pool and we immediately realized why. A woman followed us into the pool area and said that if we wanted to sit down, each lounge chair would cost 50 dirhams ($6), and we weren’t allowed to bring in any food or water. We hardly had any food with us – just a few granola bars and a bottle of water. Knowing that there were no “free” chairs in the place, why wouldn’t they have told us that when we paid our admission?? Annoying! We got our money back and left on principle. (Aliya: “Where are we going?!” Me: “Just go with it.”)
We drove to another pool that was in the middle of nowhere, with a single-lane paved road shared by two-way traffic, bikes, motorcycles, pedestrians, donkeys pulling carts, sheep, cows, and various other animals. Whenever two cars met, someone would have to pull off the road.
The pool was in a place called “Dream Village.” They also had a small zoo and a café. There were 5 pools of different depths, plus another pool with a bunch of slides. The kids loved it and I had a great day of people-watching. We didn’t have to pay extra for our lounge chairs and there were no rules about granola bars. There were several bus groups that came and went, and at the end of the day all of the lifeguards started horsing around – jumping off the bridge, diving over a line of 3 friends, and doing various flips. They kept sidling by me and one guy finally started speaking to me in English. After the normal pleasantries he said, “I see that you enjoy watching us.” Busted! Was it that obvious?? 🙂
We came home to another beautiful dinner of chicken, mashed potatoes, and several different salads. More aunts and cousins showed up to visit and everyone is just sitting around chatting and enjoying the cool night air. I only have 48 emails to answer and then I’ll be able to sit around too. Just go with it.
The road to the pool:
Traffic jam:
Beautiful fields:
I have no idea why there is a plane up on blocks.
I think these tents are probably for the farm workers:
The water slides:
Racha (my nice from Holland):
Tissem (my niece from Morocco):
Amine (my nephew from Morocco):
Aliya:
3-person game of Chicken:
Can you spot the blondie?
Norah posing for an ad for Sprite:
Aliya and Racha:
Water gymnastics:
Not camera-shy:
Cool dude:
Me: “Line up for a picture.” Norah: “I’ll be the one with my feet showing.”
Cousins!
This is what typical Moroccan teenagers look like (none of them are mine).
I thought this cage would have a giant pig in it but it had 2 porcupines, 1 albino.
I had mentioned that a mule was from a donkey and a horse mating, and I heard Aliya tell Norah, “This is when one parent is a horse and one parent is a goat.”
Out cold:
Another one bites the dust. Apparently it’s legal to ride in the way-back.
Ben’s aunt just dug up this old photo of him (on the right). Too bad I missed his six-pack!
The photos are at the bottom if you want to skip the family chronicle!
One of the things on my to-do list before I left home was to write a blog post about Norah’s kindergarten graduation. It didn’t seem right to skip over it and go straight to posting about the trip, but I never got a chance and given the speed of my current internet connection, it will have to wait. I’m sure Norah will hold it against me someday but it can’t be helped. I’m hoping I have enough connection speed to post photos without going to the internet café. I’m currently using some sort of USB modem that you pay to add time to. I don’t actually know if it’s time or data that you pay for, only that my niece put $2 on it. Considering that the data price for my phone is about $20/MB, and I’ve transferred over 6MB in the last half hour, it’s a good deal either way.
We left our house a little after 1 p.m. on Tuesday. It is now 8:30 p.m. Morocco time on Wednesday (5-hour time difference – later in Morocco). The fun started over the weekend, because I am a big-time planner and I don’t like to wait until the last minute. My husband, and just about everyone else I’ve met from Morocco, lives by the principle of “If God wills it – Insha’Allah.” Me: “Do you want to come over for dinner next Thursday?” Everyone from Morocco: “Insha’Allah,” which roughly translates to, “If the stars are aligned I’ll come over sometime on Thursday and if there happens to be food, I’ll eat it.” Since I chose to marry someone from such a completely different world, I’ve obviously had to adapt to our cultural differences, but this one still gives me trouble. Most of the time we handle it well…I plan and my husband follows along (Insha’Allah), but when planning a trip to Morocco there is certain information that I need him to provide, and waiting until the last minute gives me heartburn. Let’s just say that I’ve gone through an industrial size bottle of Tums in the last 2 weeks.
Me: “We need to go to the travel clinic to get shots.”
Ben: “Insha’Allah we won’t get typhoid.”
Me: “How much cash do we need to bring?”
Ben: “Insha’Allah there will be an ATM machine in Morocco, and also Insha’Allah my new ATM card will show up before we leave because the ATM ate my old one.” (Apparently it wasn’t God’s will because it didn’t arrive in time.)
Me: (It is customary to bring gifts to family members because we’re coming from the Land of Plenty and they live in a 3rd-world country where it’s tough to get something as basic as decent toothpaste.) “I heard that your sisters would like us to bring sandals. What size, color, and style?”
Ben: “Just get 5 pairs and Insha’Allah they will fit.” (I found out 72 hours before the flight that the criteria was “Clark sandals, 1 ½” heel, no thong between the toes, no ankle strap, sizes 8, 8 ½, and 3 @ 9 ½.”)
So you get the picture. Just multiply by at least 20.
By Monday night I had everything pretty much packed. We were carrying a lot of extra stuff for our relatives so we ended up with 8 big bags that were between 40 and 50 pounds each (50 pounds is the limit and the norm is to look around the house for any last-minute random items that would take each bag to 49.999 pounds, but I put my foot down on that.) We also had 1 carry-on backpack each, and I had a small carry-on for my computer.
The next problem was that everything had to be stuffed into or tied onto my Jeep Laredo for the 200-mile trip to JFK Airport. We ended up with 3 big bags wrapped in plastic and strapped to the roof. I strapped them down as well as I could, but I really had a bad feeling about the whole thing. I was ready to spend a half hour taking out the non-essentials so everything would fit into the car, but we had our neighbor come over to check it out and he proclaimed that the load was, “Not going anywhere.” My husband seemed to have no qualms about tying a bunch of stuff to the roof but I realized that it’s because in Morocco I wouldn’t be surprised to see a live sheep tied up there. (“Insha’Allah it will still be there when we reach our destination.”) I spent most of the trip staring at the bags in the passenger-side mirror, and checking the tie-downs at each rest area. At one point I looked away from the mirror and Ben tilted it down so he could see to change lanes, and I almost had heart failure when I looked back at the mirror and the bags were gone.
We had left home very early thinking that there might be traffic associated with July 4th, but there wasn’t much traffic at all. We made 2 stops to buy last-minute things we realized that we forgot (a 2nd rectifier/adapter and Benadryl cream), and still hit the airport parking lot more than 4 hours before the flight. It took us a while to get everything off the roof and unwrapped, but then we had an uneventful ride on the shuttle bus, and got the bags checked in. Now I know what it feels like to lose almost 400 pounds! I asked the security lady about Ben’s knee brace (he has a torn ACL) and she sent us to the Business Class line so he didn’t have to wait so long. Then the gate guy let us onto the plane early because we had 3 kids. Smooth sailing!
I was a little worried looking at the number of kids running wild in the gate area (and by “number of kids running wild” I mean at least a dozen kids running full speed and screaming at the top of their lungs while their parents allowed it – my kids just sat there in shock), but it in no way prepared me for the flight. We departed at 9:45 p.m., which means bedtime, right? Wrong. One 3YO sitting in front of us kicked up a huge fuss because he didn’t want to wear his seatbelt. He was traveling with his parents, teenaged brother and 18MO sister. The parents seemed to have brought nothing to entertain (or bribe) the kids with. The mom smacked the kid several times and ignored him the rest of the time, while he screamed until he started to gag. Later in baggage claim we saw her grab his hair and smack his head into the stroller. 🙁
Anyway…I was surprised to be served dinner (lasagna or fish, tossed salad, tomato/mozzarella salad, a roll, cheese, and chocolate cake), so that brought us to after 11 p.m. Time for bed! Not so fast. For the next 2 hours one of the kids from the same family was screaming, and other random kids would join in. I’ve never heard anything like it. I finally gave the 3YO my iPad and he shut up for a couple of hours. I was desperate to sleep and get our kids some sleep, because it was only a 6 ½-hour flight, with dinner and breakfast served, arriving at 10 a.m. local time. None of us slept much but I adopted a position that included headphones and a travel pillow which helped a little.
By the time it was 2 a.m. Massachusetts-time, we were flying in bright sun and people were awake and talking (loudly). One sleep-deprived passenger approached the screaming family and a fight almost broke out (seriously). Breakfast at 3 a.m. Mass-time was yogurt, a croissant, and a muffin, but my kids wouldn’t wake up to eat a bite. We finally got them up just before we landed, and it was really clear and they loved checking out the landscape from above – so brown and dry even though it was farmland. When we landed, Adlani’s comment was, “Great, we’ve landed in the middle of the desert.”
The planes don’t arrive at regular gates with jetways…they just taxi to a big airplane parking lot and a shuttle bus takes everyone to the airport. Our plane was met by an ambulance but I don’t know what happened. It must have been someone behind us because we saw the female paramedic come up the stairs with a medical kit and nobody was still seated in the rows in front of us. I was surprised that they didn’t ask people to stay in their seats while the paramedics got to the person in trouble, but I don’t think it would have worked anyway. We had to wait a while at Immigration, with the screaming family directly behind us (WTF?), but we got through without a problem. It took forever to get our bags since we checked in so early they must have been underneath everyone else’s stuff. They all showed up and we were off to Customs.
We have learned that I need to go first at Customs so they don’t hassle us and want to check each bag in hopes that we’ll give them some “coffee money” to avoid the trouble. The first time we came to Morocco I was like, “no way are we giving this guy coffee money (a bribe),” and they probably recognize that it’s pointless to expect most Americans to do it. I don’t care if they want to open each bag and rifle through my undies. I’ll wait. So I went first and the guy waved me through, but stopped Ben and asked for his passport. When Ben yelled to me that he needed his passport the guy realized that he was with us and let him through too.
We were met at the airport by 2 of my brothers-in-law and 1 of Ben’s uncles, with a minivan and a car. We didn’t have to tie anything on so I was happy. It takes about 45 minutes to drive home from the airport, and it’s a regular highway. We saw a few farm animals, a grass fire, a couple of wagons with horses or mules pulling them, but mostly the kids were either excited (Adlani), amazed (Norah), or freaked out (Aliya) because there were no seat belts in the back seat. This is common in Morocco, as is having 4 people riding in the back. (“Insha’Allah we won’t be ejected from the vehicle.”) When we got home our relatives were all waiting for us and made us a great lunch. Aliya and I took a nap while Adlani and Norah played with the kids, and then we had dinner. Aliya was fading fast although she said she didn’t feel sick, so she’s out cold now. The other kids went to the beach.
I am alone but luckily I wasn’t hoping for peace and quiet. It’s 10 p.m. here and there are kids running around outside the window, motorcycles whizzing by, trucks idling, and other random sounds. The call to prayer was a little while ago and I could hear several mosques from our house That will happen again later, and super-early in the morning too. Before dinner, I heard a sound and ran to the window (alarming Aliya) to see the heddia go by. A heddia happens when someone gets married, circumcised, and probably for other reasons – I’ll ask Ben. There was a wedding on our street yesterday – total bummer that we missed it, but the heddia was to take food to the bride. The food was loaded into a van along with family members, and a band follows behind with other friends and anyone who wants to join in, singing/chanting, clapping, and just generally participating in the excitement and celebration. I love the idea of random parades.
Maybe there’s something to the Insha’Allah way of life. If I hadn’t spent so much time stressing out over what to bring and all the other details, we probably would still be sitting here, safe, and with everything we need. I hope our kids grow up with some of my organizational skills and some of Ben’s Insha’Allah outlook.
I’ll have to post the video later because when I tried to upload it the progress bar said 873 minutes remaining, but here are some photos from today and yesterday:
At JFK Airport with the luggage:
Airplane dinner:
Trying to sleep:
My sleeping technique:
Ben handing over my iPad:
Trying to wake up:
Almost there!
Morocco from above:
Our plane:
In the Casablanca airport (and still playing Nintendo):
WHAT? No seatbelts?!
The highway home. No, the town was not named after Daddy.
Lunch!
