Cultural Comparisons and Contrasts

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My program here in Marseille is focused on the Middle East and North Africa – all students are required to take Arabic and our humanities classes are focused, in some way, on MENA – so included in our program of study is a weeklong on-site study in Fes, Morocco. Two weeks ago we left Marseille for the start of our adventure. Even though a lot of things were familiar given last semester, I still had an incredible trip. And this time around I had the added experience of my last three months in France. Instead of just thinking about the differences and similarities between Morocco and the U.S. (as I know realize I spent most of September through December doing whether I was aware of it or not), a new spectrum of contrasts and correlations between the U.S, Morocco, and France emerged.  Things struck me about Morocco that I hadn’t picked up on before, parallels between France and Morocco that I hadn’t imagined became evident, and, once again, my own identity as an American was re-enforced just as I was seeking to expand it.  It is a bit hard to organize these relationships in words (on the other hand, I have finally found use for a Venn diagram) but I will try.

The U.S., Morocco, and France

Technology and pop culture have truly succeeded in connecting the entire world. It was still a little shocking to be watching a Pittbull music video while sitting on a couch inside a traditional riyad located in the 9^th century medina and eating tajine with my hands from a communal plate, but that is, apparently, the modern world. Moroccans know all about American music, movies, and television shows. They watch E! News, MTV and youtube videos as much as any American. A Moroccan, an American, and A Frenchwoman could all sit down and have a perfectly delightful conversation about the acting career of Bradley Cooper.

Of course facebook is insanely popular in Morocco. The cultural rules are a bit different (Moroccans seem to think that every time you appear on facebook chat a thirty minute conversation of pleasantries must ensue) but the idea is the same. Just like in France and the U.S. facebook has become a key tool for communication and sharing photos.

And cell phones. Everyone in all three countries has one and is on it frequently. It has actually been a strange experience to be abroad with a crappy twenty-dollar Nokia phone that’s best feature is the game snake, while my French and Moroccan counterparts are whipping out Iphones and playing Angry Birds.

Of course, these similarities that connect three countries are the most modern, you might say even the most American, but their presence is strong. And the foundation they provide  - for starting a conversation or a business – is critical.

France and Morocco

            When you have a meeting at 9:00 am in the states, you get there at 8:45. When you have a meeting at 9:00 am in Morocco, you are lucky if everyone shows by 9:20. There is just no conception of time as something that can be “lost” and therefore no sense of urgency. The same holds true in France, although less so in a professional context. In general, France and Morocco move at a much slower pace than the U.S. People take their time, stop and sip a coffee (café culture is another shared element), and always find the time to exchange pleasantries. While sometimes I find this habit disconcerting, I also relish in taking a lazy afternoon, sitting out in the sun, and munching on a croissant.

Unfortunately, this leisurely mode vanishes, in both countries, the minute the French or the Moroccans enter a vehicle. On the road these civilized café-goers become Tasmanian devils ignoring all road regulations and squeezing three people onto one moped.

            This insanity could have something to do with another similarity between the two countries – a lack of emphasis on practical information. Trying to call a movie theater and find out showing times? You will probably be told that even though the film is set to open the next day the times are unknown, then you will be hung up on. Looking for a bus schedule to get yourself to school in the morning? There isn’t one! Buses don’t have schedules! When they arrive, you can leave. So maybe the information about safe driving just hasn’t been properly disseminated yet.

Morocco and the U.S.

            During my semester in Morocco I was so caught up in the differences between my current residence and my home that I never noticed any similarities. But this time, after 3 months with the French, I could finally see the connections and they were actually comforting. Moroccans – like Americans – like to talk and they like to talk LOUD. In France, everyone speaks with a low, rhythmic voice. Laughing out loud at a restaurant is considered an imposition on your fellow dinners. I have missed shouting to your friends, cracking jokes, and just generally expressing enthusiasm for things. It was also refreshing to have a break from the strict societal norms that govern France. In Morocco, like in the U.S., no one judges you for cutting cheese incorrectly. You don’t have to worry about addressing everyone with the proper form of “you.” Despite the sometimes tense male/female dynamic, there is a much more casual approach to social interactions that reminds me of the U.S.  And I was surprised how much I had missed this familiar, easygoing attitude.

 But even with my discovery of the parallels between the U.S. and Morocco, visit #2 still re-affirmed what I felt four months ago – that while I love Morocco, I find it incredibly difficult to live there. Parallels do exists and there are aspects of Moroccan culture that I prefer to their American counterparts, but overall the differences are vast. There are certain elements that I consider too fundamental to my life (like the freedom to leave my house safely after nine p.m., to wear shorts, to be governed by a democratic system of government, to speak freely) to give up.

The U.S. and France

            This affirmation of the difficulties of living in Morocco, also explained why studying in France has been so easy. Yes, there are cultural differences between the U.S. and France that occasionally drive me crazy. But there are very important elements - secular, democratic governments, the importance cleanliness and hygiene, equality between men and women, liberal social relationships – which both cultures share. And there are the small things, like fashion, grocery stores, interior design and toilets, that in day-to-day life can be almost as critical. When I first arrived, France almost seemed too similar to the U.S. But with time, I realized that these similarities have made my life in France, in the words of a friend, “infinitely easier” than my life in Morocco.

            There is, of course, still a part of me that is distinctly American. That yearns for the independence and individualism that you only find in the U.S. I miss direct communication, yes or no answers were you don’t need to read between the lines.  And I miss the efficiency that comes with our obsession with the Internet – the ability find any information you need online or to receive an instant email response to any question. I want to smile in the street without it being interpreted as an invitation and I want to wave goodbye to a friend or a shop owner and receive a wave in return. But with all the history, art, panoramic views and croissants that France has to offer I think I will survive...

Kif-Kif

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I stare at her, open-mouthed. Shocked that such a word has come out of the mouth of this chic French girl with her typical red lipstick and perfect hair. “What did you just say,” I ask. “Kif-kif,” she responds with a slight accent. “It’s a very popular slang word in Marseille…” she continues, explaining the word to the other American students around us, but I have stopped listening. I already know this word. I heard it for the first time six months ago in Morocco but, while it quickly became on of my favorite Moroccan expressions, I never imagined I would be hearing or using it much outside of Morocco.  I knew Marseille was a diverse city, but before this experience, and others like it, I just didn’t understand the true character of the city.

The meaning of kif-kif is equivalent in Morocco and Marseille; it literally means “the same.” So if your friend orders a coffee at a café and you would like one as well you simply tell the waiter, “kif-kif.” Or if you show up to school wearing the same shirt as another student you laugh and tell everyone you are “kif-kif” fro the rest of the day.

In Morocco you could say kif-kif to anyone and be understood. In Marseille, it’s popular with university and high school students and, of course, in full use among the immigrant families themselves. It is thanks to them, after all, the word entered the city’s vocabulary in the first place. But it’s due to the unique character of Marseille that “kif-kif” achieved its popularity. 

The city is a blend of Mediterranean cultures and has a lexicon and dialect all its own. The rest of France tends to make fun of Marseille with its long “a” vowels and crazy foreign words but I find such integration one of the city’s best qualities. Marseillians themselves don’t consider it strange to incorporate Italian, Spanish, or Arabic words into their conversations. If you question them about their use of a non-French word they will say, “Yes, but I am Marseillais.”

It is this attitude that I couldn’t comprehend before living here. The personality of Marseille is so strong that it overtakes even nationality. And while there are some problems in such a diverse city, there is a such distinct sense of “Marseille” that joins everyone together. So it makes sense the word “kif-kif”(the same) would be in vogue in Marseille. The Marseillans wouldn't have it any other way. 

Film a la francaise

The lights dim. The music begins. John Williams’ notorious melody floods the theater. A picture of outer space appears. The title reads: STAR WARS. But the iconic first line “A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away…” is not there. Instead, “Il y a bien longtemps dans une glaxie lointaine, tres lointaine…” scrolls across the screen.

The movie theater in France is, in principle, the same as in the U.S. Posters of upcoming attractions cover the walls and everything is decorated in bright colors and modern shapes. But there are little differences that strike me. The popcorn sizes are notably reduced and there is not nearly as much butter soaking the container. Everyone queues up in the main lobby in orderly lines according to the time of their showing. And no one dares show up in sweat pants.

The film too, while visually the same as the American version, changes slightly with French dubbing. The court, casual American phrases are transformed into lengthy formal sentences. Yoda doesn’t sound as strange in French, as the language naturally features inversion (“know you the homework for tomorrow?” is perfectly correct here). And of course the series most famous line “May the force be with you” sounds ridiculous in French “Que la force soit avec toi.”

But the entertainment value is still there. We all laugh at Jar Jar Binks and lean forward during the light saber battles. When the lights come up the boys (young and old) imitate the fights with slashing motions and personal sound effects and everyone is slightly humming along with the credits as we exit.

American culture is not, in general, admired by the French. We drink our coffee too fast. Our food is unoriginal, supersized, and unhealthy. We talk too loud and walk around wearing any old thing. But our movies, our movies are fantastic. Everyone in France knows the latest hit, the hottest actors and actresses, the next big director. They speak about ‘Arrison ‘Ord and ‘Ow I Met ‘Our Mooother” with wonderfully hilarious accents. They admire “The Artsist” even though it hasn’t been released here yet and they mourn the deaths of starts like Heath Ledger and Patrick Swayze.

Films have always been admired in France and with the increased and easy access to information the Internet provides that appreciation has only grown. When I run out of things to talk about with my language partner or my host siblings, I just bring up Hollywood. It’s interesting that this connection is such a superficial one, the movies are never anything like real life. But maybe that’s exactly the point. We all love the escape, the fantasy they provide. The chance to imagine another life, another reality. And while I might have trouble expressing that idea in French, I have no trouble asking if my French friend what she thought of the new DiCaprio movie. And our following conversation, even if it’s basic, adds another element to our relationship, another link to our cross-cultural friendship.

Food Tour

After looking at my pictures from the last week I have concluded that I am not studying abroad, but rather conducting an extensive food tour of France. My journal, which contains the following list of foods that I have tried since arriving (banh bao, rice with chopped peanuts and sugar, banh couh, carmel pork, durian, speculoos, pave du poulet, foie gras, dauphin potatoes) displays similar evidence. Last weekend I actually visited a traveling show entitled Salon du Chocolate. It was, as you are probably imaging, literally a warehouse full of chocolate vendors. The pictures below come nowhere near capturing the amazing flavors I have experience, but they are all I have. Bon appetite!

A field of chocolate flowers

Nougat

Me and my new best friend

Arles Market

Pave du Poulet and Dauphin Potatoes

Vegetables from beneath the rotisserie

Baguette, Sausage, and Comte Cheese

Raspberry, Coffee, and Vanilla Macaroons

Tiramisu Ice Cream

Macaroons and Crepes and Tartes Oh My!

Espresso and Chocolate Macaroon

Stuffed chicken thigh with date, fig, and prune sauce, curried chicken, homemade vegetable soup, meat and caramel sauce, tripe, scallion and cheese quiche, apple tart, crepes, macaroons. This is a just a sampling of the foods I have eaten over the past two weeks. My family has this horribly wonderful habit of serving five different dishes for dinner each night to satisfy everyone. From an honest desire to be polite and a selfish love of food, I have been trying everything that appears on the table. My family is very encouraging with this habit and keeps offering me more and more food. I try to keep my portions small, but they don’t really have an understanding of this and continually berate me to “Mange! Mange!” (Eat! Eat!). So, it quickly became evident that I needed to learn a polite way to express that I was stuffed! After gesturing to my stomach when night and saying, “I can’t” one evening, my host mother provided just the phrase. “Ah,” she said, “you are rassasié.” Rassasié, she explained, is a more polite and posh way of saying that you just cannot eat another bite. The traditional, “Je suis plein” which is a direct translation of “I am full,” is not as chic as rassasié. This new expression has served me well over the past weeks. Waiters at restaurants are always pleasantly surprised to hear such a Parisian phrase coming out of an American mouth and when I am invited to other French homes it usually wins me laugh. In a country where eating is truly an art form and even the fast food takes a half an hour, rassasié is one of the most useful words I have yet to encounter.

Photos!

Marseille!

Old Port and view of the Notre Dame de la Garde

My new dream neighborhood......

Starting the week of with a bang, well, more like a siren

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So despite my family hosting students for the past ten years, I managed to surprise them (only me!).

Monday, when I got back from school no one was home yet. I couldn't exactly remember the security code so I waited, and waited, and waited hoping someone would come back from work. Finally, I decided I remembered the code and opened the door. I couldn't find a light switch so I hit what I thought were the correct numbers and waited. For about twenty seconds I thought I was fine. Then this awful blaring noise rose up all around me. Halogen lights started flashing. NO! NO! NO! I run to the kitchen and find Cathy's number and then run back into the hall to get the phone. The alarm stops, perfect I think, I will have time to call Cathy before it starts again. But the stupid phone doesn't work! Some perfectly poised French lady is telling me I need a card. I don't have a card! So I run to get the OTHER phone. And as I'm running the alarm starts up again, louder even more high pitched. I have visions of mean French police bursting in like a SWAT team and demanding what I am doing in this house and me struggling to explain myself through tears and poor French. I dial Cathy's number on the second phone and wait. She picks up, I frantically explain, as best I can, what I have done. She tells me the code but, of course, I can't here her until I stow away in the pantry. Then I run back out to the hall to stop the alarm (which I still can't see because I still can't find the light) and everything stops. Just like that it's over.

I am still a little shocked this happened to me, but I'm already laughing about it. After everything I have been through this is "c'est normal", as the French say, for me and for study abroad.

Is this for real?

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Basically, Marseille is a dream. A really good one. The city is beautiful with its charming old red roof houses and classic French apartment buildings. The corniche languidly runs all along the coast offering spectacular views of the ocean and the isle d’If. The calanques, as they are called here, circle the city and plunge in to sea. My house is incredible with an open concept design that offers the best view of the city. The Notre Dame de la Garde basilica with it’s golden Bonne Mere watching over the all the city’s inhabitants is level with my living room. And in my room I have my own closet and shower!

My family is so nice and understanding. They have hosted many students before me so there is little I can do that surprises them (of course I did find one way…more later). They actually EXPLAINED things to me. As we drove through the city on Sunday they pointed out the big sites and important neighborhoods and commented on everything. My host dad is part Vietnamese and this weekend was a holiday celebrating the Vietnamese New Year so we have been eating the most amazing Vietnamese food. I have never eaten anything like this before but I love it!

The only problem is that, like all dreamers dreaming good dreams, I keep waiting to wake up. It can’t be this good…....right?

Entr’acte

One week and it starts all over again. The redeye flight. The overstuffed suitcases. The confusion. The excitement. Of course it won’t all be the same. I will be in new city, with a new family, at a new school. But the preparations – physical and emotional – are similar. I am once again off to Target with a shopping list in hand (this time modified to include travel tissues and cliffbars after various Moroccan experiences). And my anticipation of both the delightful and the dreadful is abounding. Marseille is inherently less intimidating than Rabat, but knowing exactly what can go wrong spawns a different kind of anxiety.

Luckily, I have had plenty of time to prepare. My one-month break between semesters has been ideal. It has lasted just long enough for me to recuperate, relax, and re-invigorate. By now, I am itching to be off exploring again. My “intermission” has been strange of course. After four months in Morocco things seem a little off, even though I am back in the “familiar.” Coins seem much too small – dirhams are just slightly larger. Toilets flush with handles on the side, not with buttons on top. And clementines don’t taste nearly as good. But ohh the showers. The showers are heavenly.

The croissants, however, are calling.  I can’t wait to explore Marseille and the Provence region – to eat fresh goat cheese and bouillabaisse, to see the countryside by train, to make new French friends. And I’m eager to continue with my French and Arabic (I already feel sadly out of practice). I hope my already signed and submitted language contract declaring that I will only speak French for the entirety of my program will ensure an improvement in my language skills.  Finally, I am already looking forward to my one-week program visit to Fes – yes, that’s right I’m going back to Morocco! I’m so glad my French program incorporates a little of le Maghreb.

So until my next post, a bientot!

Day 100: Rabat, Morocco

With less than two weeks left in Morocco I have been thinking a lot about my experience abroad this semester.

Am I different?

Has this experience changed me?

What have I learned?

Will things be different when I go home?

Thoughts like these run through my head as I wait for the tram to bring me to school in the morning or as I lay in my bed at night, my head resting on a pillow that is not my own. Only time can really answer these questions but I am too impatient for that. Instead of waiting, I decided to try to quantify my experience in some way. I needed something concrete to reference. Something I could point to and say here is what I spent the last three months doing and I am changed for it.

So, here is my list of Moroccan Firsts, a collection of experiences that I had for the first time here in Morocco and that whether big or small, happy or sad, are a definitive part of my semester abroad.

First time in Africa

First time I lived abroad

First time I lived in a Muslim country

First time I felt discriminated against and unequal because of my sex

First time I experienced that amazingly rewarding feeling you get from teaching

First time I regularly ate from a communal dish

First time I saw an animal killed

First time I ate an animal I had just seen killed

First time I rode a camel

First time I traveled without my family

First time I washed my underwear in a shower

First time I saw first hand the disparity between the developed world and the developing world

First time I really understood and appreciated the benefits and privileges of growing up in the United States

First time I read a novel in another language

First time I learned to read and write in another alphabet

First time I discovered just how much you can communicate without a common language

First time I acted as a translator

First time I realized how behind the U.S. education system is in language

First time I kept a blog

First time I was ever a minority

First time I saw a wild monkey

First time I swam on the other side of the Atlantic

First time I ate couscous

First time I milked a cow

First time I drank sugar cane juice

First time I held a baby chick

First time I played hearts

First time I made my own bread

First time I celebrated a holiday (Thanksgiving) without my family

First time I celebrated a holiday with friends and realized they are just as great as family!

First time I went to a desert

First time I wove a rug

First time I took an overnight bus (last time I will ever take an overnight bus)

First time I smelled leather tanneries

First time I ate a date

First time I successfully haggled for my purchases

First time I felt normal sitting and eating in silence with others

First time I took a cold shower

First time I used a Turkish toilet

First time I waited until seeing a guy’s teeth to judge his appearance

First time I rode on top of a 4x4

First time I ate a magnum bar (heaven!)

First time I altered my dress to be culturally sensitive

First time I really thought I might die

First time I sang happy birthday in Arabic

First time I ate a sandwich cooked at a gas station

First time I went Berber sand skiing

First time I stayed in a hostel

First time I traveled with only what I could carry and actually had to carry it

First time I drank mint tea

First time I hitched a ride on a tractor

First time I danced around a campfire

First time I lived out of a suitcase (closets aren’t really a thing here)

First time I wore a djellaba

So, on my 100^th day in Morocco I am celebrating this list. It may not be much, but it’s what I have. Here is to these firsts, the others I can’t remember right now, and the ones yet to come!

Day 86: National Library, Rabat, Morocco

With the end of the semester has come a lot of homework, so over the past few weeks much of my time has been spent at the National Library. The library is brand new, has reliably speedy wifi, can constantly provide coffee and French Fries via an attached cafe, and is conveniently located right on the tram line I take to get home. The only problem I have is this library rule that doesn’t allow any bags inside the library. All items you wish to take in must be carried. For Moroccan students, this is not a problem. For us American students, it is. Why?

Because the list of what Moroccan students need to study looks like this:
1.     Textbook (1)
2.     Writing Utensil (1)
3.     Cellphone (not necessary but frequently seen)

The list of what American students need to study looks like this:
1.     Laptop
2.     Notebook
3.     Textbook (2-3 if writing a paper)
4.     Writing Utensil (3)
       a.     Pen
       b.     Pencil
       c.      Highlighter
5.     Laptop charger
6.     Adaptor
7.     Headphones
8.     Cell phone
9.     Water
10. Snack
11. Chapstick

Obviously, rather than change our study habits, we just try to carry all of these items into the library with us, drop something on the way to our study spots (making an obscene amount of noise in the silent library and drawing attention to the fact that, in case you missed it, we’re foreign!) and look completely ridiculous. Luckily, I accepted my own ridiculousness long ago. I wouldn't have lasted this long in Morocco if I hadn't!

Day 79: Morocco

Six Reasons Why I Love Morocco

It has been quite awhile since I posted, not do to lack of material, but rather the opposite. The last few weeks have been packed with some of my best and worst moments in Morocco. I traveled across the country for a week with friends over fall break, welcomed family to the Maghreb, and experienced the fantastic kindness of Moroccans again and again. But I also witnessed the slaughtering and skinning of two sheep on my terrace, spent way to many hours on buses, slept on top of the sheets in questionable hostels, and got quite sick. The highs and lows left me exhausted, and honestly, a little homesick. My best memories were overridden with the bad and I was finding it hard to get my “balance” back. To help myself out, I wrote this list of things I love and will certainly miss about Morocco. Happily, this therapeutic exercise, time with friends, and a return of my health has put me back on track to enjoy the last month of my semester. So here it is…

Six Reasons I Love Morocco

1. Mint Tea

A staple of Moroccan culture and a sign of the country’s abundant hospitality, mint tea is everywhere in Morocco. Whether enjoyed at my homestay with my Moroccan family or at a café with friends the tea always represents a delicious and relaxing break to my day. 

2. Hanoot Guy

A Hanoot is kind of like the Moroccan equivalent to a convenience store. The store space itself is always tiny but the shelves climb all the way up the walls and are stuffed with cookies, candy, chips, soda, yogurt, tuna, jam, bread, fruit, cheese, toilet paper, deodorant, shampoo – anything you can think of really! The man who owns the hanoot next to my school is possibly the nicest and most patient individual I have ever encountered. At least once a day I buy something from him – water bottle, kitkat, Pringles – and every purchase leaves a smile on my face. Hanoot Guy, as we have come to call him, happily puts up with my shabby darija and always has exactly the snack I am looking for. On more than one occasion a student has left something (lunch, book, cell phone) amongst his produce and only to see it emerge from behind his counter on the student's next visit to the hanoot. 

3. Café Culture

Moroccans love cafes. Its one of the many holdovers of French colonialism, but one that, along with fantastic pastries, is appreciated by all. It is perfectly acceptable to linger at a café for hours after ordering only one cup of coffee, or better yet to hop from café to café all afternoon in search of wifi, plugs, or some quiet, as we students tend to do. The pull of the café is so strong that my Moroccan Literature professor has conceded and allowed our class of four to meet in the café next to school. Any of my study abroad troubles melt away with a perfectly steamed café au lait and a croissant au chocolate. 

4. Dollar Dirham Exchange Rate

One dollar = 8 dirham. Delicious rotisseries chicken, fries and bread from Atlas Chicken = 25 dirham or $3. Two nights in a charming riad/hotel in Essaouira with on suite bathroom = 250 dirham or $31. It is incredible. Not sure I will ever re-adjust to the dollar, let alone the Euro. 

5. The Language Blend

Keeping up with four languages (English, French, Classical Arabic, and Moroccan Arabic) has severely limited my ability to speak (or think) comprehensively in one. Consequently, I tend to blend all of them in crazy combinations like, “Bishel for ca?” (Bishel = how much in Moroccan Arabic and ca = this in French) or “La, shoukran (No thank you in Moroccan Arabic) juste le the pour moi” (just the tea for me in French).  Luckily, Moroccans tend to do the same. It is totally normal to here Arabic, French, English, even Berber used in a Moroccan conversation. For me, this mélange is a symbol of the cultural acceptance found throughout Morocco and a fantastic testament to the incredible Moroccan capacity for language acquisition. While the mix leaves my brain (and tongue!) constantly confused, it also gives me a unique opportunity to communicate. Moroccans are always willing to talk with me in any language or, more often, languages that work.

6. Emails From Friends and Family Back Home

I have certainly missed my family and friends here, the distance has allowed a rare form of communication to emerge – the written word. The emails I receive here, whether short notes typed in only a few keystrokes, or long epistles with the smallest details, always give me an amazing sense of joy. I relish the sense of contact with the U.S. - that strange OTHER country that at times really does feel 3,786 miles away. And typically, the act of writing forces my correspondents and myself to be more expressive. Stories get funnier, emotions get stronger, and I feel a greater sense of connection. And while the letter may have been replaced by the email, the sense of excitement when a new message arrives in my inbox has certainly been maintained. Best of all, the messages stay safely stored in my inbox – accessible at almost anytime and a lasting record to my experience in Morocco.

Day 46: Old Medina, Rabat

Happy Birthday. Joyeux Anniversaire. عيد ميلاد سعيد

Last Saturday I went to my first real Moroccan celebration, a nine-year old family friend’s birthday party.  I was a little nervous about attending. I expected to be pretty much ignored by the Moroccan guests and, therefore, a little bored. But still felt I couldn’t pass up this chance. And I am so glad I didn’t! The party was so much fun. Homemade candies, cookies, and cake were passed around and I met two American girls studying abroad with another program. But the best moment was when the music came on and the Moroccan moms, decked out in djellabas and headscarves, stood up and began to dance. To see their energy and excitement emerge from under their typically reserved demeanors was fantastic. They even pulled me and the other Americans and tried to teach us some moves!

On Sunday, Amideast organized a trip to a professor’s farm an hour outside of Rabat as an “Introduction to Rural Life.” A platter of cookies, homemade couscous, and fresh squeezed juice from fruit we picked ourselves hardly seemed “rural” to me but I wasn’t going to complain. Things got a little more realistic as we planted trees, milked cows, and made homemade bread, but mostly the day just felt a relaxing break from the bustle of Rabat. 

 

 

Day 40: Azrou, Atlas Mountains, Morocco

“Just walk assertively, but not aggressively pass the monkeys and everything will be fine.”

I had never imagined myself in a situation where this advice would be necessary, or even reassuring, but on a hike last weekend in the Atlas Mountains such a scenario emerged. Our group of nine, distracted by a herd of sheep and a Berber shepherd to our left, had slowed upon entering a forest and startled a territorial group of Barbary monkeys. While we were stopped taking pictures, three of four monkeys began to advance towards us and hysteria immediately ensued. Cries of “They look just like mini-humans!” and “They have opposable thumbs!” and “We can’t even outsmart them; they are just as smart as us!” rang through the trees. Luckily, calmer heads prevailed and we simply moved out of monkey territory and continued on our way, but, for me, the incident was emblematic of my Azrou experience.

Traveling on our own, without the direct support of Amideast, was wonderfully confusing. I was out of Rabat and independent - buying my own train tickets and setting my own itinerary. At the same time, underestimations and language confusion lead to overpaid cab rides, angry drivers, and the group walking for 55 minutes and not making it beyond the city limits of Azrou. But all of it was so fantastically Moroccan I didn’t really care. So there wasn’t an online review of the inn for me to study in detail before we left – it turned out to be an amazing Berber guest house complete with our own sitting area. So I paid four times the price of a cab to ride down a mountain highway on a tractor – it was the best form of transportation I’ve ever taken. So I didn’t bother to explore Azrou and just ate at the inn– I had the best vegetable soup and chicken and carrot tagine of my life! The ups (seeing endless country stretch for miles) AND the downs (sweating for the entire 2 and a half hour train ride back to Rabat with no A/C) were both fantastic. And when I didn’t know exactly what was going on or what to do it was ok. Instead of freaking out, I just followed the monkey advice and acted like I did, “walking assertively, but not aggressively,” and everything turned out fine. 

Day 33: Rabat, Morocco

“Head, Shoulders, Knees, and Toes – Knees and Toes! Head, Shoulders, Knees, and Toes – Knees and Toes! Eyes, and ears, and mouth, and nose. Head, Shoulders, Knees, and Toes – Knees and Toes!” shout my twelve teenage Moroccan students. They are doubled up in laughter as they sing – at the song, the accompanying gestures, or at me I don’t know – but I know they are happy because huge smiles are bursting across their faces.

Today was my first day teaching English at a non-profit organization in Rabat and singing this silly song is how I ended one of the best experience I have had in Morocco. Teaching was incredible. Most of my students were eager to learn and anxious to show off. They shouted answers and skipped ahead, always trying to best their friends. And even those that seemed less interested were so proud when they answered something right. They giggled, cracked jokes and – at times – ignored me and my fellow teacher Brittany, but it didn’t matter. We handed out vocabulary lists and verb charts, but our real goal was to make English fun for them. One of professors had told us that this sense of amusement and joy was the most important thing we could teach. And as their laughter and shouts of “Head, Shoulders, Knees, and Toes” reverberated throughout the building, I knew we had done our job. Next Thursday’s class can’t come soon enough!

Day 30: Rabat, Morocco

View From My Apartment!

Day 24: Fes/Rabat, Morocco

I am stuck in the crevice of a 700-year-old wall with one donkey piled high with merchandise coming around the bend from my right and another ahead heading straight for me. Men are yelling in a strange language all around me and the acrid smell of the nearby tanneries hangs in the air. Confusion, fear, and excitement sharpen my senses but dull my mind. I can’t even think about explaining, in any language, this logistical complication to the men around me. Instead I remain still, back pressed against the wall with an expression of complete bewilderment on my face, and wait for things to work themselves out.

This was one of many exciting (and slightly terrifying) experiences I had last weekend in Fes. Despite crazy bus rides and medina heckling, my trip to the ancient Moroccan city surrounded by the imposing Atlas Mountains was fantastic. Fes is an incredible example of Moroccan architecture and culture. The medieval medina has remained unchanged for centuries and is said to be the largest car-free urban area. Donkeys, not cars, navigate the labyrinth that is the old city. The winding streets are bustling with tourists, locals, and shopkeepers. Spices, dates, and nougat candy are offered at every turn. Incense spills from the shrine of Moulay Idirss II, the city’s founder. The tanneries are tucked back near the river and leather is made using the same method and machinery as it was hundreds of years ago. And in the silver quarter hammers pound giant metal drums and teapots pour into the street from storefronts.

But it wasn’t just this exhilarating environment that made for a great trip; it was also the city’s atmosphere. Fes is a tourist city and I had no qualms about gawking and taking photos all over town. In Rabat I feel immense pressure to fit in and act like a true city resident. I feel like I should know how to get around, where to eat, where not to go. But the language barrier, Moroccan gender roles, and simple lack of experience have prevented me from feeling fully comfortable. In Fes I didn’t feel bad about not knowing where I was or what was going on. When you’re traveling that’s all part of the fun! When you’re living it everyday…not so much.

Finally, Fes marked the end of my self-imposed three-week shopping ban (I had promised myself not to be any non-essentials until I had been in Morocco for 3 weeks in order to better gage price and true desire). So, of course, I went all out and returned with a silver teapot (to make my new favorite drink Moroccan Mint Tea), leather sandals, a small camel-leather bag, and a beautiful scarf. And to top it off, the exchange rate (and some serious bargaining) meant I got it all for under $50!