The first word in the title of this writing... In'shallah...I believe it tells one everything one needs to know about Morocco. It translates loosely as God willing and covers a multitude of situations. In'shallah, I will find a place to buy a phone card so I can place a phone call...or maybe not. I will be successful in flagging down a taxi driver that will actually take me to my destination...or maybe not. I will find a bathroom stall in a restaurant that has toilet paper to use...or maybe not in which case, I will use a paper envelope I happen to have in my purse. In'shallah... we will find an internet cafe so we send a few e-mails home...and we do find an internet cafe but I won't lie ...the Arabic keyboard does make for a few challenges in composing an e-mail in English. In'shallah...the gentleman who works at the internet cafe speaks a bit of English. He helps us navigate through the cyberspace world working our way around the Arabic keyboard. In'shallah...we purchase first class tickets for train travel between Rabat and Fes with designated seat assignments and train car compartment numbers noted on said tickets. We board the train and find that the train conductor can not find our seats...and a big reason for that is because all the train car numbers are the same and the seat markers are worn so it is a bit difficult to discern seat 8 from 18 or 9 from 29. And the seat numbers on the tickets do not correspond to the numerical choices on the train. But we do eventually end up in 2 First Class seats...In'shallah. If you can accept that the simple becomes complex and the everyday, ordinary tasks of a given day can become epic events in and of themselves, then Morocco is the place for you.
My first impression of Morocco? It's very warm...and it is very dark. Let me explain. This could have a lot to do with the fact that we arrived in Casablanca around midnight. Casablanca is not basking in neon, bright lights/big city a la Hong Kong or New York City nor would I expect it to be....but what I see is what I am sharing...it's dark. As we drive from the airport to our friend's parents home where we will be staying for the evening I do catch glimpses of Casablanca from the glow of an occasional street lamp. Most of the storefronts have metal gates shut tight...and I see a lot of rubble and incomplete construction sites. I know we are right alongside the ocean but again that just translates as darkness. I decide to reserve my first impressions until morning...when daylight rules.
We have a dear friend here in the U.S. Her name is Fatima. When she heard we were traveling to Morocco, she told us, "My sister will meet you at the airport and drive you to my parents house". I thought to myself, "That is very kind of complete strangers to welcome us at midnight and open their home to us". I still find myself thinking and reflecting on the hospitality of Fatima's family. I have two regrets....one, is that the incredibly delicious stuffed fish that Fatima's Mom made for us could have been enjoyed at an hour other than 2 a.m and two, I wish I could speak the unique Arabic dialect that Fatima's parents understand. A smile goes a long way...and pantomiming does as well but something tells me that with a common language between us the cross-cultural verbal exchange would have been extraordinary. We tried to convey that we would not be hungry upon our arrival but the other thing I have learned about Morocco is that food and hospitality go hand-in-hand....and mint tea. Mint tea, I am convinced, is the national beverage of choice. It is offered everywhere....in homes, in our riad (think bed and breakfast as it pertains to accommodations), in shops, in restaurants. I love the mint tea but yes, the first thing I did when I returned to the U.S. was to head for a diner in Virginia where I downed a carafe of coffee with milk. But I love the mint tea in Morocco...particularly when served with my favorite cookie that Mom and I found in Rabat in a cookie store no bigger than a closet...but I am getting ahead of myself here...more about that in Part II of the Morocco adventures.
It's 3a.m. when I finally tuck under the sheets and attempt to call it a night. But you know how jet lag works. Sometimes it is when one is most tired that sleep simply will not come. I lay in bed wishing sleep to come and it does around 4a.m....it must have because all of a sudden around 4:15a.m. I am awake again. What is that noise? Ah, of course, the call to prayer. I did not realize that it resounds throughout the city...and if one was thinking, "Hey, maybe I'll just sleep in and catch the next call to prayer"..well, you would be in luck because about an hour later there is another call to prayer...along with roosters crowing and trucks honking and rush hour traffic making its presence known. I give up on sleep because....God willing...maybe I can sleep once we arrive in Rabat later.
I make my way down to the first floor of the house where breakfast is already in full swing. I am one of those strange people who do not usually eat breakfast before noon but I do today. "Mama" is already in the process of kneading dough for what will be the daily bread. Now those of you who know me know that I have no culinary talents whatsoever but I gesture that I would like to help Mama with the bread-making. Leaning over a huge orange bowl, I start kneading the dough (okay, more like rolling it around with no real muscle effort being used). Well, obviously I am not fooling anyone least of all, "Mama" so she corrects my form, so to speak. Wow...what I now know is that if a person is kneading dough for bread each day, there is no need for a workout at the gym. Her workout is everyday in the kitchen. I was exhausted...and whether or not I actually helped at all? I doubt it...but it was a lot of fun. And I am still a firm believer in the fact that my kitchen at home would be best put to use as a walk-in closet for clothing and shoes :)
My Mom gestures to Papa Kebir that if he would like, we would like to take a walk with him around the neighborhood before our train departure to Rabat. As an aside, I have to say, I love his knitted hat...very colorful. His nephew Adam joins us and off we go... my Mom, Papa, Adam and I to explore the "real" Casablanca. I know you are all conjuring up images of Rick's Cafe in the movie Casablanca (and yes, we did see the cafe but just remember things are never quite as they seem in the movies)...the real "Casa" is a tad different.
The streets that are half-paved and dusty are teeming with carts being pulled by donkeys, old diesel Merecedes that are the fleet of grand taxis in Casa and women walking in groups donning their jhellabas (the traditional long tunics..many with hoods that the women wear). We walk past housing where the carpeting is hanging out the windows and satellite dishes can be found on every rooftop and outside of every window...or so it seems. This walk through one neighborhood is a walk replete in contrasts. Modern-day Morocco collides with traditional Morocco as we get closer to the souk (the local market) where turkeys have been de-feathered and are hanging upside-down off the roof of a wooden cart and piles of purple onions are piled up in little hills on the street and are as high as I am tall. Fish of all kinds are being sold...minus refrigeration and that lends itself to a degree of concern I rather not dwell upon. Donkeys are the mode of transport within the souk...and Mom and I are the tourist sites for the locals. I never thought that we would just blend in...and knew that we would be the local curiousity at the souk that day.
As we took pictures of the beautiful colors of vegetables and fruit (and ooohhh, the pomegranates in Morocco are yummy!), the local vendors asked us to take pictures of them...not the veggies. It all made for a fun time at the souk.
We made our way back to the house. Papa Kebir showed us around his personal garden/courtyard which is a mini-Farmers Market opportunity unto itself as there are lime trees and fig trees and avocado trees right outside his kitchen door...all in all, a lovely visit. We arrive back at the house with just enough time to get ready to head to the train station.
We say our goodbyes to Mama and Papa, hoping that we will have a chance to visit with them again at the end of our stay in Morocco before returning back to the States. We share gifts with them that we brought from the U.S. to say thank you for their amazing kindness and hospitality. I hug them and genuinely miss them already. Papa tells me to learn Arabic...I tell him I will make a deal with him. If he learns English, I will give Arabic a try. We agree this is an "In'shallah" moment. God willing, we will find a way to expand our language talents.
Aziza, Fatima's sister drives us to the station....along the way, we stop at a mosque along the Atlantic Ocean; one of only two mosques that is open to non-Muslims in all of Morocco. I can appreciate the artistry to be found in the mosaic work of this structure...the shades of blue that compliment the backdrop of the Atlantic Ocean. I can not help but to reflect upon the thought that, yes, I am in a Muslim country...and I am a United States of America citizen and I am a woman. As I stand alongside the mosque with Aziza and my Mom...I am torn. Torn by certain harsh global realities which I know to be true...and the simplicity of this moment. Right now, we are simply three women enjoying a beautiful day alongside the ocean...
We say our good byes at the Casablanca train station. Mom and I are making our way now to Rabat. I'm a little tired...jet-lagged still...and a little teary-eyed. These are good people we have had the chance to spend time with...good people that I hope to see again one day as they touched my heart with their kindness. Perhaps some day they will come to New York City and we can return the favor....
In'shallah...God willing, it will come to pass :)
My first impression of Morocco? It's very warm...and it is very dark. Let me explain. This could have a lot to do with the fact that we arrived in Casablanca around midnight. Casablanca is not basking in neon, bright lights/big city a la Hong Kong or New York City nor would I expect it to be....but what I see is what I am sharing...it's dark. As we drive from the airport to our friend's parents home where we will be staying for the evening I do catch glimpses of Casablanca from the glow of an occasional street lamp. Most of the storefronts have metal gates shut tight...and I see a lot of rubble and incomplete construction sites. I know we are right alongside the ocean but again that just translates as darkness. I decide to reserve my first impressions until morning...when daylight rules.
We have a dear friend here in the U.S. Her name is Fatima. When she heard we were traveling to Morocco, she told us, "My sister will meet you at the airport and drive you to my parents house". I thought to myself, "That is very kind of complete strangers to welcome us at midnight and open their home to us". I still find myself thinking and reflecting on the hospitality of Fatima's family. I have two regrets....one, is that the incredibly delicious stuffed fish that Fatima's Mom made for us could have been enjoyed at an hour other than 2 a.m and two, I wish I could speak the unique Arabic dialect that Fatima's parents understand. A smile goes a long way...and pantomiming does as well but something tells me that with a common language between us the cross-cultural verbal exchange would have been extraordinary. We tried to convey that we would not be hungry upon our arrival but the other thing I have learned about Morocco is that food and hospitality go hand-in-hand....and mint tea. Mint tea, I am convinced, is the national beverage of choice. It is offered everywhere....in homes, in our riad (think bed and breakfast as it pertains to accommodations), in shops, in restaurants. I love the mint tea but yes, the first thing I did when I returned to the U.S. was to head for a diner in Virginia where I downed a carafe of coffee with milk. But I love the mint tea in Morocco...particularly when served with my favorite cookie that Mom and I found in Rabat in a cookie store no bigger than a closet...but I am getting ahead of myself here...more about that in Part II of the Morocco adventures.
It's 3a.m. when I finally tuck under the sheets and attempt to call it a night. But you know how jet lag works. Sometimes it is when one is most tired that sleep simply will not come. I lay in bed wishing sleep to come and it does around 4a.m....it must have because all of a sudden around 4:15a.m. I am awake again. What is that noise? Ah, of course, the call to prayer. I did not realize that it resounds throughout the city...and if one was thinking, "Hey, maybe I'll just sleep in and catch the next call to prayer"..well, you would be in luck because about an hour later there is another call to prayer...along with roosters crowing and trucks honking and rush hour traffic making its presence known. I give up on sleep because....God willing...maybe I can sleep once we arrive in Rabat later.
I make my way down to the first floor of the house where breakfast is already in full swing. I am one of those strange people who do not usually eat breakfast before noon but I do today. "Mama" is already in the process of kneading dough for what will be the daily bread. Now those of you who know me know that I have no culinary talents whatsoever but I gesture that I would like to help Mama with the bread-making. Leaning over a huge orange bowl, I start kneading the dough (okay, more like rolling it around with no real muscle effort being used). Well, obviously I am not fooling anyone least of all, "Mama" so she corrects my form, so to speak. Wow...what I now know is that if a person is kneading dough for bread each day, there is no need for a workout at the gym. Her workout is everyday in the kitchen. I was exhausted...and whether or not I actually helped at all? I doubt it...but it was a lot of fun. And I am still a firm believer in the fact that my kitchen at home would be best put to use as a walk-in closet for clothing and shoes :)
My Mom gestures to Papa Kebir that if he would like, we would like to take a walk with him around the neighborhood before our train departure to Rabat. As an aside, I have to say, I love his knitted hat...very colorful. His nephew Adam joins us and off we go... my Mom, Papa, Adam and I to explore the "real" Casablanca. I know you are all conjuring up images of Rick's Cafe in the movie Casablanca (and yes, we did see the cafe but just remember things are never quite as they seem in the movies)...the real "Casa" is a tad different.
The streets that are half-paved and dusty are teeming with carts being pulled by donkeys, old diesel Merecedes that are the fleet of grand taxis in Casa and women walking in groups donning their jhellabas (the traditional long tunics..many with hoods that the women wear). We walk past housing where the carpeting is hanging out the windows and satellite dishes can be found on every rooftop and outside of every window...or so it seems. This walk through one neighborhood is a walk replete in contrasts. Modern-day Morocco collides with traditional Morocco as we get closer to the souk (the local market) where turkeys have been de-feathered and are hanging upside-down off the roof of a wooden cart and piles of purple onions are piled up in little hills on the street and are as high as I am tall. Fish of all kinds are being sold...minus refrigeration and that lends itself to a degree of concern I rather not dwell upon. Donkeys are the mode of transport within the souk...and Mom and I are the tourist sites for the locals. I never thought that we would just blend in...and knew that we would be the local curiousity at the souk that day.
As we took pictures of the beautiful colors of vegetables and fruit (and ooohhh, the pomegranates in Morocco are yummy!), the local vendors asked us to take pictures of them...not the veggies. It all made for a fun time at the souk.
We made our way back to the house. Papa Kebir showed us around his personal garden/courtyard which is a mini-Farmers Market opportunity unto itself as there are lime trees and fig trees and avocado trees right outside his kitchen door...all in all, a lovely visit. We arrive back at the house with just enough time to get ready to head to the train station.
We say our goodbyes to Mama and Papa, hoping that we will have a chance to visit with them again at the end of our stay in Morocco before returning back to the States. We share gifts with them that we brought from the U.S. to say thank you for their amazing kindness and hospitality. I hug them and genuinely miss them already. Papa tells me to learn Arabic...I tell him I will make a deal with him. If he learns English, I will give Arabic a try. We agree this is an "In'shallah" moment. God willing, we will find a way to expand our language talents.
Aziza, Fatima's sister drives us to the station....along the way, we stop at a mosque along the Atlantic Ocean; one of only two mosques that is open to non-Muslims in all of Morocco. I can appreciate the artistry to be found in the mosaic work of this structure...the shades of blue that compliment the backdrop of the Atlantic Ocean. I can not help but to reflect upon the thought that, yes, I am in a Muslim country...and I am a United States of America citizen and I am a woman. As I stand alongside the mosque with Aziza and my Mom...I am torn. Torn by certain harsh global realities which I know to be true...and the simplicity of this moment. Right now, we are simply three women enjoying a beautiful day alongside the ocean...
We say our good byes at the Casablanca train station. Mom and I are making our way now to Rabat. I'm a little tired...jet-lagged still...and a little teary-eyed. These are good people we have had the chance to spend time with...good people that I hope to see again one day as they touched my heart with their kindness. Perhaps some day they will come to New York City and we can return the favor....
In'shallah...God willing, it will come to pass :)
It's so fun reading your perceptions of Morocco! What an adventure! I look forward to reading the next two installments!
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