Allahu Akbar, Indeed

Hello, faithful followers. This will be my final dispatch from Morocco, though, who knows, maybe later in 2010 I will be able to travel again to foreign lands, and you will be interested in the journey.

I haven't made any major progess on my midlife crisis (i.e. deciding what to do during the second half of my time on earth), but I do feel extraordinarily rested and my mind is pleasantly empty. Morocco has been the perfect setting: absorbing, safe, visually thrilling, and just crazy enough to prevent me from conducting any serious thinking.

I will return to the U.S. this coming Saturday, insha'Allah, and after reacclimating (e.g. having to prepare my own food, make my own bed, do my own laundry), I will begin to explore some ideas about the future.

For now, let me tell you about my final destination in Morocco, the resort city of Agadir. Most independent travel guides dismiss Agadir, because it is a modern city (rebuilt in the 1960's after an earthquake killed just about everyone who lived there), without alot of charm. However, I found it just a wonderful place to end my sojourn in Morocco. I was able to revel in the natural beauty of the setting, and spent hours watching foreigners and locals strolling on the beach and boardwalk in various stages of dress, undress and overdress. Agadir is simply a happy place, where people of all stripes and nationalities swim, walk, body surf, go to the zoo, eat ice cream and just relax in the warm breezes. Five blocks in from the beach, and it becomes a littered, dumpy city, but...that's Morocco!

The bus trip to Agadir from Essaouira (see previous blog) was a bit hair-raising. Naturally, I chose to sit on the side of the bus nearest the ocean, but this was also a perfect location to see how treacherous the journey was, with the bus winding precipitously close to sheer cliffs, unwitting pedestrians and hapless farm animals. Once again, the landscape was different from anywhere else that I'd seen: scrubby mountains covered with thuya trees, and towns tucked into lush river valleys.

Agadir itself is spread around a half-moon bay, with a wide red sand beach and boardwalk-style promenade. Tourist hotels (some very exclusive) line the beach, as do small restaurants, including the everpresent McDonalds. There's also a large port, which you can see in the foreground of this picture.

Above the city stands the original ancient kasbah, which was the only part of the area not destroyed in the earthquake, and below it you see, formed by stones, the national motto of "Allah, Al WaTah, Al Malik" or "God, King, Country." It's an interesting order of priorities, I think, especially that the king is before the country!

Near the beach, there's a small zoo called "Vallee des Oiseaux" or "Valley of the Birds," where visitors can enjoy a playground, buy cotton candy, view various exotic birds and receive henna tatoos.

Agadir's sister city is Olhao, in Portugal. High up in the city, away from the beach, there's a park called Jardin de Olhao, that honors the relationship between the cities, and that shows off Berber architecture and masonry.

This gate shows how Berbers (or Amazigh, as they call themselves) use flat, slate-like stones to create elaborate walls. About half of the people in Morocco are Berbers; the other half are Arabs. There's a growing movement to teach Berber languages (there are three used in Morocco) and alphabet in schools.

The word Berber is derived from "Barbarians," which is how European merchants and colonizers referred to native Moroccans. This is insulting of course, which is why Berbers want to be called Amazigh, or "free men." The ruling dynasty in Morocco has been Arab for some time, but today's king, Mohammed VI, is no dummy, and he married a Berber woman to unite the country.


Flora, fauna and history aside, it's the people that were most amazing to me in Agadir. During the day, the beach was populated with sunburned European tourists, including families and even gay couples. But later in the day, as the temperature went down, the Moroccan (and I think Saudi) tourists began their swimming and promenading.

The women for the most part stay fully covered, even as they wade into the water with their children.

Here two women watch their kids from afar, guarding the big bouncy balls they bought at the zoo.

Here's an extended family, all dressed up, wearing leather shoes and silk caftans, relaxing together and making cell phone calls as the sun goes down.
The sunset seemed to go on forever, and the evening call to prayer emanating from various local mosques added to the poignancy of the moment. What a great place and time to reflect on all that has been given to me here in Morocco: peace, friendship, understanding and more than anything, a wonderful empty space in which to leave behind my stresses and frustations and failings!

During the next two days, I'll wrap things up with my English class (having visited my baby boys at the orphanage last week for one final smoochathon) and will try to figure out how in the world to bring back everything I've purchased in only two checked bags and a carry-on!

Thanks for paying attention to this blog. It's been a great pleasure to share what I've seen and learned here. It's a new year in the Islamic calendar, too, so let me bid "Sana Saida" to all - Happy 1431! I will see many of you soon, and hope to remain connected to all the rest.

B'salaamah.

Happy Start to the New Year: Essaouira

Happy New Year! Please consider this picture my 2010 greeting card to all, as "Saida" means "happy" in Arabic, and well, this gull kind of looks like a dove, right?


I returned late last night from a four-day jaunt to the southwest coast of Morocco, where I traveled to escape the wintry rain and wind of Rabat. My first stop was yet another fabulous beach town, Essaouira, and then I moved on to the tourist favorite Agadir. Both cities are pretty far away from my home base in Rabat, and far from each other. All told, I was on trains and buses for about 25 hours of the four days, but really enjoyed the passing scenery and the company of fellow travelers.

Essaouira is a hippie favorite, because it's low key, warm, friendly, exotic, quite removed from the rest of the country, and seemingly the world at large. Most of the time, the town enjoys a rather stiff wind blowing in from the sea, and consequently is popular with wind- and kite-surfers. In the winter, Essaouira is apparently also a favorite hangout of junkies, n'er-do-wells and various perverts, but they seemed to stay indoors during the day!


I did see lots of European and American people in their twenties, sporting unusual combinations of Rastafarian/Moroccan garb and hairstyles, looking bedraggled, but content.


Once again, the small blue fishing boats dominated the waterfront scene. (In the background you see the ramparts and bastions commissioned by the local sultan in the mid 18th century, but designed by a famous French military architect.)

The fisherman seem quite accustomed to foreigners staring down at them from the docks as they conduct their business. The man in this next picture is pushing the boats apart, moving his boat out from the tangle of moored vessels, so that he could load it up with baited lines, and then head out to open water.

I was stupified by the warm air and peaceful setting, so hung out at the docks watching the activity for almost two of the five daylight hours I had alloted to see the town.

Now if I had been looking for a peaceful setting of the eternal kind, there's the Christian cemetery just outside the gates of the old medina. The gravestones there date back to the 1800's, but others are as new as June of 2009. Some of the people interred there are clearly Portuguese, Dutch and French officials or merchants (and their wives), but I guess today's non-Moroccans (non-Muslims) who find themselves drawn to this quirky spot also need a final resting place.

While in Essaouira, I also shopped for wooden items made from the local "thuya" tree, a hardwood that Moroccans use for charcoal, carving, inlay and to feed their goats. (I actually saw, on my way to Agadir, with my own eyes, goats that had climbed way up into the thuya trees to nibble on the upper leaves.) Essaouira is also one of the few places in Morocco where you can get interesting paintings (as pictorial art tends to be undeveloped in Muslim countries), so I bought just a wee one, and was able to talk with the Berber artist.

I spent less than 24 hours in Essaouira, but it was worth the effort to spend the first day of 2010 in such a low-stress and pretty place. Next blog: Agadir, haven for European tourists in need of a mid-winter break and site of the most fantastic sunset I've ever seen. B'salaamah.

Volubilis: Roman Paradise in Morocco

Hello, followers. I'm back again with a short dispatch about last weekend's post-Christmas visit to the Roman ruins of Volubilis, near the royal city of Meknes. (Loyal readers will recall that Meknes is the city in which I and my fellow companions witnessed a vicious catfight between a man's mistress and his wife/family.) No fights this time! It was just a quick, mild-mannered journey by train to another Ibis hotel (conveniently located next to a McDonalds), another evening of English-language news, the deeply appreciated comfort of my very own hotel room, and then a private ride by taxi to Volubilis.

The area surrounding Fes, Meknes and Volubilis (in the foothills of the Atlas Mountains) is some of the prettiest in Morocco. Recent torrential rainfall has made everything particularly verdant and beautiful. Naturally, the taxi driver was careening toward Volubilis at breakneck speed, waving off potential customers, because mine was a private trip (costing about $45); this picture was the best I could get given how much I needed my hands to hold on for dear life!


Volubilis dates from the third century BC, and was inhabited by Mauritanians of the Roman empire until about the third century AD. (You may recall that the current nation of Mauritania is just to the south of Algeria, southeast of Morocco.) After the Roman Empire faded, Christians wandered in, and finally, Muslims, from about 700 to 1100 AD. After that, it was abandoned as people moved to Fes or Meknes, from which the various the Moroccan dynasties ruled.

The picture at the top of this post shows a closeup of a mosaic from the House of the Cortege of Venus. The picture just above shows a wide shot of about half of the city, with the Triumphal Arch on the left; in the center, the remaining structure of a wall that lined the main street (the Decumanas Maximus); and in the foreground the remains of the House of the Golden Coins.
This is the entrance way of the House of Columns, which was in the aristocratic section of town, and which featured a grand reception area as well as a huge courtyard and pool (to entertain company, I guess).



On the other end of Volubulis are the Basilica (from which the Senate governed), the Capitol (where religious rites honoring Jupiter, Juno and Minerva were performed for the public) and the marketplace. I should mention that along many of the roads in Volubilis (and into some of the houses), one can see remnants of a very sophisticated aqueduct and sewage system.

My friend Kristine is a rug buff, and she will be interested to know that the beautiful geometric patterns found in the mosaics at Volubilis are actually still found in Morocco; they are now seen in wool rugs woven by Berber craftspeople of the various mountain regions.

Although it might look in my pictures that I was alone at Volubilis, there were a number of tourist buses there, as well as roaming school children on a field trip. Notice that the girls are not wearing hijabs, or head coverings; here in Morocco, girls are usually about 14 years old or so when they decide whether they will commit to wearing the hijab whenever they are in public. (It is not worn inside the home unless unrelated men are in the house.) Here at our home base in Rabat, the women who work in the house wear theirs at all times because men work here, too, who are not related to them.

The hijab is quite interesting, culturally. Although many women here in Morocco do wear the hijab (with some covering their faces as well), many women in cities do not. There is absolutely no stigma, in educated circles, with wearing or not wearing the hijab, as it is considered a personal choice. In conservative regions of the country, however, it is expected, and somewhat scandalous to go bareheaded. Yet again, in some educational settings, such as engineering schools at universities, or in military or police training, women are prohibited from wearing the hijab. Hmmmm...I have lots of information here, but no real understanding!

So this report brings me up to date on my travels thus far. I have one more weekend (and it's a long one, because of the New Year's Day holiday), so I'm thinking I will travel to the magical beach town of Essaouira (where Jimi Hendrix partied, and where craftspeople specialize in inlaid wood) and the resort city of Agadir (where the fat white tourists go to get thin and tanned). I think I must give up my hopes of going to the mystical mountain town of Chefchouen, because heavy rain is forecast again for the already-drenched region, and I'm afraid that whatever cheap hotel I select will fall away in a mudslide!

More soon! I still want to share some interesting tidbits of what I've seen with everyone (not directly related to a specific location), so I may be over-blogging this week and next. Please forgive my enthusiasm!

B'salaamah.

El Jadida: the Pause that Refreshes

Hello friends and family. As of this moment, only two more weeks for me here in Morocco! I hope everyone has enjoyed a lovely Christmas and is looking forward to a great New Year. We had a quiet time here, with only five volunteers, but I did get to Mass (in English) at Rabat's St.Pierre Cathedral.

Two weekends ago, I ventured to my second Portuguese beach town, El Jadida. I was determined to have a relaxed and contemplative time, so booked myself into the western-style Ibis Hotel (part of a large chain), right on the water.

It was terrific. I strolled along the ocean on Saturday afternoon, without being bothered by anyone, observing the rocky shore (notice the red stone that, along with reddish sand, is characteristic of the Atlantic coastline of Morocco), and enjoying the strangely warm weather. (It had been very cold the previous week.)

After my walk, I freshened up, had a nice normal meal in the restaurant, saw a rainbow right outside my window facing the beach (and observed that it ended just about 500 yards out), and snacked on dark chocolate and red Moroccan wine in my room while watching American movies on satellite. I'm ashamed to say this sequence of events nearly constituted heaven on earth!

On my way to the medina (old town) on Sunday morning, I passed probably a thousand young men playing soccer on the wide hard beach at low tide. As usual, I photographed them from a distance. Any closer and they'd be offended or at least distracted.

El Jadida's old town and ramparts are reknowned (and are a World Heritage Site); the Portuguese built the town (then called Mazagan) in 1506 and held it until 1769. It's quite small, but very impressive. The town has an active coastal fishing industry; the small boats around the old medina catch mackerel, sardines and anchovies.

The houses are somewhat reminiscent of Tuscany in shape and color, and the whole town has a beautiful soft golden light - very painterly. I loved this simple image of two houses, showing the shadows of their neighbor's satellite dishes.


The Catholic church was delapidated, but beautifully so! Apparently, when the Portuguese were driven out by the sultan Sidi Mohammed, they dynamited many important buildings and cathedrals. Of course, now at the center of the medina is the mosque, in this case one with a five-sided minaret (the only one in Morocco).


The big draw in El Jadida is the Portuguese Cistern, an amazing well that was once an underground armory, built in a Gothic style in the mid 1500's. It would have been lost to history, but a shopkeeper found it in 1916, when he knocked down a wall to expand his shop. Isn't that weird? How do you lose a big hole in the ground? Orson Welles used the Cistern for scenes from Othello (which of course features a "Moor" from Morocco).

El Jadida is quite popular with Moroccans, especially in the summer. I was one of the few tourists there, and was the only customer in the small stores I visited and in the restaurant where I ate lunch. A truly solitary weekend, but much more relaxed than my trip to Asilah (see previous blog).

This past weekend, I ventured to the ruins of Volubilis, a Roman city near Meknes, at the foothills of the Atlas mountains. Stand by for that update! I've got some lesson planning to do for my English class right now.

Until then, b'salaamah.

English is Hard! My New Gig at the East West Foundation

Hi, all. It's one week until Christmas, oh my! It's easy to forget while I'm here. Today is the first day of the Muslim New Year, so it's a holiday here, and none of us went to our volunteer placements. Of course, we didn't know until last night whether the holiday would be today or tomorrow (they watch the moon, I guess, and some kind of ministry of the government declares whether to begin the holiday or not!).


As mentioned previously, I have switched to a new placement. I am now teaching advanced English at the East West Foundation here in Rabat, or more properly, the Fondation Occident-Orient. It's a Moroccan foundation (the president is the daughter of a previous prime minister), and its purpose is to foster cross-cultural exchange and better relationships between Moroccan people and other Africans, especially sub-Saharan.

They do lots of work for refugees, helping them to get acclimated to Morocco, to develop marketable skills (there's a room filled with manual sewing machines for example), and to learn English. Lots of Moroccans also attend the free English classes, so it's a great mix of people.

I teach four days a week, 2.5 hours per day. The size of the class ranges from six people to twelve; I'm not quite sure what secret Moroccan rhythm makes the class size vary! Here's a picture of my classroom, and I've sprinkled other pictures of the foundation throughout this post.

My students are primarily Moroccan, with some Africans too, and they range in age from twenties to sixties, I would say. As mentioned, Moroccans are often uncomfortable being photographed, so I'll take pictures of actual students later, when they get to know me better.

So, what am I doing teaching? Good question! Some parts of my personality come in handy, such as feeling comfortable speaking in public, being able to perform Charades/Pictionary to teach new vocabulary, and my true pleasure in sharing new information with others. What's missing is any formal knowledge of English grammar or pedagological technique! I'm faking it the best I can, but now going into my third week, I feel like I'm beginning to know what I'm doing.

Each week, I'm organizing lessons around a theme (last week was environment and nature; next week is economy; the week after is politics and human rights; and for my final week, love and family). I'm stealing grammar concepts and exercises from some ESL books that I bought in Ireland; using games and idioms from a junior high school English text book for Moroccan students; downloading songs and lyrics from the Web and Amazon.com; and making the rest up! For example, did you know (enough to teach someone) that there's an order to a string of adjectives? First is how big, then how old, then what color, then where from, then what it's made of, then the noun. Example: "Khadija wore her old yellow Moroccan silk dress." Like most native English speakers, I would automatically say something like "black leather gloves," but wouldn't know that I was required to by English grammatical rules.

For music, I'm resisting using songs that I think project a negative image of American culture, such as basically almost all rap music! (Don't worry, though, they get plenty of rap here, along with such stellar action TV programs as "Prison Break.") You may be amused to know that I have already made my students listen to the classic "Rocky Mountain High," by John Denver and "Wildflowers Don't Care Where they Grow," a sweet bluegrass song by Dolly Parton. I rounded out the environment songs with Marvin Gaye's "Mercy Mercy Me(Ecology)." Honestly, they all loved these songs (even my West African students), and were humming along as they studied the lyrics.

This is Morocco, so nothing is ever quite as you expect it. Although I have this nice classroom in which to teach, along with polite and attentive students, I have to compete for my white board daily (and bring my own markers), wear warm clothes to overcome the lack of central heating, yell over the major construction occuring just outside the window, and tune out the African choir practicing in the library (as lovely as they sound).

My predecessor from CCS, Jen Bieter, was much beloved by the class, so that adds another wrinkle!

In short, I am challenged, made nervous, entertained and enriched by this new work. Hopefully, my students, who deserve the best from me, are really learning something and feel their time in class is worthwhile. They all have different reasons to learn or study English, but all seem to feel it's a ticket to opportunity, and I'm thrilled to be helping in whatever small way I can.

That's all for now. It's getting COLD here in Morocco (and the Home Base has no central heat), but I'm headed to another beach town this weekend, El Jadida. My hotel is Western style (part of the Ibis chain), located right on the beach, with heated rooms. Can't wait to lie in a warm room, with one eye on the sea, and one watching CNN. Simple pleasures are the best!

B'salaamah.

Cool Respite in Ireland

Hello, all. I hope everyone had a wonderful holiday. We made a big Thanksgiving dinner here at the house ourselves, so 'twas good.

During the week following Thanksgiving, and the holiday of Eid al Adha here in Morocco (November 28 to December 5), I had the pleasure of visiting my childhood friend Susan McIntyre and her husband Niall Bell at their home outside of Belfast. (Oh, and I should not forget that I also visited with their darling pooch Poppy.)

It was a week filled with fresh air, fond reminiscences, farm animals and full-fat dairy products. In short, perfectly wonderful. After living in topsy-turvy, dusty, somewhat smoggy Morocco, Northern Ireland felt delightfully orderly, clean and fresh. It also brought tears to my eyes to be back in a culture familiar to me; for example, to have strangers smile at me spontaneously and without cause, just to be nice!

Susan and Niall live in the countryside, but still close to Belfast and a large city called Lisburn, so I felt perfectly situated, both for fun and for some critical shopping tasks (ESL books, novels, yoga pants, Exedrin, etc.)

On my first full day, we walked in a beautiful park, with deep woods, fields and a pond. Poppy tried to scare the swans, but they remained implacably serene.

Monday dawned bright and clear, so we headed for the Mourne mountains for a vigorous hike. Although the mountains are low, it was a somewhat strenuous climb, due to some icy conditions and chilly air. Nonetheless, I absolutely LOVED it, and the day will stay with me for a long time as a happy memory.

We ate a picnic lunch at the top of our climb, and conducted a photo shoot with the fabulous Poppy. Niall called a few friends on his cell phone (I guess in a small country, the cell works even at the top of the mountain) to find out whether they knew a less icy path back down the mountain, but to no avail. We survived, though, with only a few aches and pains.

In the middle of the week, Susan and I had fun, low-key days of discount shopping and hairdressing and the like. Again, so great to be able to speak English and to shop without having to negotiate the price for everything.

On Thursday, based on a tip from a fellow volunteer, we headed down to the Dublin area for a visit to a neolithic site called Newgrange. Located in the Boyne River valley, this is a 5000 year old "passage tomb." It's a large circular structure built of stone (imagine a bowl upside down), with a long narrow passage to a small burial chamber in the middle. On the outside you see enormous granite "kerb" stones around the base, carved with interesting (indecipherable) designs, and the "walls" are made of smaller white stones, that come from 50 to 100 miles away from the site. (Archeologists can't quite figure out how the neolithic people managed to move the stones.) The building is oriented such that during the winter solstice, the rays of sunrise go directly down the long narrow passage to illuminate the burial chambers. Amazing! Even more amazing to me is that these tombs dot the landscape in Ireland and other parts of Europe, and somehow got grown over and forgotten. In this picture you can see an overgrown passage tomb in a farm field. They're all over the area!

My final full day in Ireland, we headed to the north coast, with trusty Poppy of course. (Note that driver Niall is on the right, as those crazy UK people drive on the left! I had to sit in the back for most of these trips, because I felt confident that we were going to die at any moment.)

Speaking of dying, along the way, I asked Niall to stop so that I could photograph this cemetery. In Northern Ireland, the law requires everyone to have the same style of gravestone, so that one's wealth and station in life are not reflected in death. All are equal!

Also saw this fantastic treelined road between farm fields.

On the coast, we visited a stunning geological wonder, the "Giant's Causeway." It's an area comprising 38,000 columns, created by volcanic activity. The mostly six-side columns nearest the water have been worn down by the ocean waves and look almost like paving stones, but the columns also towered around us, forming cliffs. There's a legend that the Irish giant Finn MacCool laid the stones to cross over to Scotland to face a rival giant.

It was FREEZING along the coast that day, with an offshore wind of about 30 mph, and Niall, Susan and I each wore many layers of clothing, including long underwear and wool liners. We still froze! Hiking back up from the water, I took this shot of a plant with yellow flowers called "gorse," about which I had always read in dramatic British novels like Wuthering Heights.

Our final destination was one of Susan's favorite places, Dunluce Castle. What a wild and romantic setting! The castle was many centuries old, and had been the home of at least one warring clan. It featured various delapidated manor houses, a fabulous gate area complete with turrets, ruined kitchens and halls for feasting, and even a secret passageway to the sea.

Niall became so cold at the castle that he stole back to the heated car with Poppy. I was so chilled myself that I became nauseous! We were kind of like little kids who stay in cold water until their lips turn blue.

Afterwards, we warmed up with red wine and a delightful meal in a local town, so all ended well.

I should mention that throughout my stay, I was warmed after the cool days by yummy, heavy Irish food. During the trip I had cottage pie, steak and potatoes, bangers and mash, etc. In the evening, Niall would prepare "milky coffee," or steamed milk with a bit of decaf instant coffee. It had such a strong narcotic effect on me that I had to get into my pajamas before he served it, lest I lapse into a coma right there on the couch!

Anyway, big hugs to Susan, Niall and Poppy for their wonderful hospitality (and to Niall's mum, too). I am back in sunny, but cool Rabat, teaching English (more on that later), and secretly wishing I was still in Ireland....

Bye for now. More on my new assignment soon.

B'salaamah.