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.

Alone (Sort of) in Asilah

Hello, friends. Last weekend I ventured out on my own for a solo trip to the former Portuguese colony of Asilah, up the Atlantic coast, and just shy of Tangiers. Most of the people in my original team of volunteers (there were 12 of us) have returned home or on to other places, so I thought I should get used to being on my own. There's still alot of Morocco to see!

I met interesting people on the train. In my first first-class car, there was a rather modern Moroccan woman. Wearing too-tight Western clothes on her slightly too-plump figure, she discussed her boyfriend in Casablanca, gave me her phone number, and languidly slept across three seats. At some point a young man joined us in the car, and I was able to observe their soft flirtation. (Such things are more charming and mysterious when you can't understand a word!) When he removed his headphones so that she could hear the rap music playing on his laptop, I changed cars.

In car number two was a man to whom I was speaking in French, but who responded in English. He was from Mauritania, vacationing in Morocco for the fourth time. He worked for the Organization of Islamic Countries (75 members), which is headquartered in Saudi Arabia, but his assigment was tsunami relief in Indonesia. Amazing, huh? He was very polite and funny, and said that people were crazy to learn French, when English was all that mattered!

Coming back from Asilah, I shared a car with a young woman (from Tangiers) who worked as an auditor in Casablanca. She was quite sophisticated and chatted on her cell phone every once in a while in that strange Moroccan mix of French and Arabic. We talked about Moroccan culture and language, and even a bit about religion.

Now, Asilah itself was quite stunning, with one of the most beautiful and clean medinas I've seen. It was under Portuguese and Spanish rule during its history, and has that kind of sunwashed feel to it, with fabulous intact ramparts around the medina. Great beach, snazzy authentic fishing boats, etc.

I felt that I should share this picture of the bath in my hotel. What it lacked in length, it made up for with the double decker design! My hotel was perfectly adequate, though the proprietor kept answering ALL my questions with a very relaxed "No problem." I eventually realized that he just pretended to speak English.


And, while I'm at it, here's a typical public toilet in Morocco. It's BYO toilet paper, or just fill the bucket with water and use your hand!



Arriving at Asilah, I spoke briefly with a Western-looking couple about the distance to town (it's amazing how quickly you find each other), and then I kept running into them throughout my stay, to the point that I was afraid they would think I was stalking them! Matt and Annie are their names, and it turns out they are Peace Corps volunteers just finishing their 27 months in the southern desert towns. They know our staff here at Home Base, because they are former Peace Corps trainers themselves.



So, here are various shots of this delightful town. In the summer, Asilah sponsors an international arts festival, so there are murals all over the buildings, and bands of roving adorable pre-teen boys offering to let you take a picture of their smiling faces for 20 Dirhams.


Local musicians perform Moroccan music and also pose for pictures for a small fee. The souks are low key, with pretty good stuff.

I must include a picture of a ram, who was munching in a small park with many other sheep, behind some buildings. Why is this notable? Well, this is the week before the BIG holiday, Eid Al-Adha, during which every family slaughters and cooks a sheep. It's a celebration of the Old Testament story of Abraham's son being spared by God. (As a reminder, the Q'uran repeats many of the stories of the Old Testament, and also acknowledges Jesus as a prophet.) So, there are rams munching in lawns and empty lots all over the place this week, awaiting their cruel destiny. We've seen them in trucks, on billboards (included in deals for other products) and even in cartoons. (It's like our rush to get Christmas trees.) Luckily, as I'll be going away this weekend, I'll miss the mass slaughter.

Back to Asilah. There was a nice Catholic church in town (built by Franciscans from Spain, and with the only bells for Mass allowed to ring in Morocco), not to mention convenient phones just outside! Also, this part of Morocco is in the migration path between Europe and Africa, so there were thousands of birds around the church and everywhere in town, more than I'd heard since I've been here.

The beach was protected by a seawall made of interesting concrete objects that looked like giant jacks. You know, the kind you played with as a child.


Well, as mentioned, this was a solo trip. I don't like to travel alone to nice places, but I thought I could compensate by thinking deeply about my future as I strolled on the beach, or as I took pictures. But no, ALL Morrocan boys, teens and men feel compelled to speak, uninvited, with any Western woman they see. Hola, senora! Hello, lady. Comment ca va, madam? Or they make some sound, like a harumph, or a mild hiss, or a whistle. Though harmless, it's quite intrusive, and I could not relax at all during my stay in Asilah. There are a number of places I would like to go yet in Morocco, and I'm likely to be by myself, so I may try wearing a headscarf or something. (Ha! My camera and sneakers will show me for what I am.) Seriously, though, it's my first real disappointment with this country. It hasn't been noticable to me before because I've been traveling with a gaggle of attractive young women, and I have been the invisible one. By myself, not so much.

Oh, well. More to think about during my trip to Belfast next week. Tomorrow, while you are all enjoying what I hope is a wonderful Thanksgiving, I will have my introduction to the East/West Foundation, where I'll be teaching English to adults beginning December 7, and will also hang out at the orphanage with departing volunteer and traveling companion Jen.

I'll be back with you sometime during the week of December 7, I hope with a description of my new gig. While I'm in Belfast, I'll have to prepare a bunch of lesson plans, yikes!

Happy Thanksgiving and Eid Al-Adha. I'll leave you with this photo of my lunch in Asilah, a cheese omelette with some kind of scary lunch meat, french fries, olives, bread and soup. B'salaamah.

Buses, Horses and Taxis

Hello, all.

Sorry for the short absence. Our access to the Internet goes out here at Home Base every once in a while, so I fell behind.

Two Sundays ago, fellow volunteer Judy and I headed off on a mini-adventure to the seacoast to ride horses. The adventurous part was not so much the horses, but rather taking a city bus to the next town (Tamara), then negotiating a taxi to the stable on the shore, and then getting back!

The bus ride took us out of Rabat and into the poorer suburbs, where the real people (such as our cooks at the house and the nurses at the orphanage) live. It was the first time we'd really ventured where tourists or outsiders never go. As always, people on the bus were delightful and patient with what I call our "Frenchabic," and helped us to get to Tamara without any problem.

Here in Morocco, there are three kinds of licensed taxis. First is the "petite" taxi, a small blue deathtrap designed to swerve and squeal and honk within cities. (Typical fare for us to go from our affluent suburb of Hay Riad to the Rabat Medina is about $3.00).

Second is the large white standard-transmission Mercedes Benz, usually quite long in the tooth, which is used go between cities (rather than within), and which usually won't depart a location until SIX passengers have booked a ride, and are all securely wedged together in the front and back.

Third, and strangely, is the horse-drawn jitney, here shown in Meknes, but used by locals in smaller cities like Tamara.

Anyway, Judy is great at negotiating, so got us a cheap intercity taxi ride to the seashore from Tamara (about five dollars).

The stable itself was combined with a restaurant overlooking the shore (you can imagine the flies!), but we had both a delightful ride along the waves, and a nice beer afterwards. As I've mentioned in previous blogs, it is such a great but rare experience to have a beer in Morocco!

Coming home, we waited and waited on the seashore road for a different city bus, but as the sun set, we crammed in with four other people in a taxi back to Tamara.

I wish that I could bottle the experience, and ship it to everyone! Moroccans are so friendly and calm. We're all strangers, literally squashed together in this car, with some ladies in headscarves chatting and laughing with the ancient, wizened driver, who was wearing the classic Moroccan djellaba, complete with a pointed hood.

I've put a picture of a man wearing one here, so you can get some idea.

In the back of the cab with Judy and I were a teenaged couple (in acid-washed skinny-leg jeans, of course) who had been strolling the beach (probably making out), and who were on a cell phone throughout the drive. There was a little body odor mixed in, and some nice argon oil or something, that one of the women used. Nobody made any big deal about us, it was all just normal to be squeezed together in this tiny space for twenty minutes. Imagine a similar scene in New York!

It was dark and dusty and crowded in Tamara by the time we got there, so we were having a little trouble figuring out which mob of people was at which bus stop. Luckily, we managed to cram into another taxi back to our neighborhood. (The drivers get one fare, and then search at the street corners for other fares. We heard "Hay Riad, Hay Riad," so we knew we had found our man.)

Admittedly, this may not sound like a big adventure, but Morocco is so topsy turvy, and so hard to decipher without language, that we could have ended up in a strange location, with no way home. For a control freak like me, this was a pleasantly edgy experience!

Okay, that's all for tonight. I took my first solo trip this past weekend, to Asilah. It's a Portuguese city on the northern Atlantic coast, known for its small size, charm, and great beach. More on that later this week.

I've also been asked by my friend Juli to describe my ongoing work in the orphanage. This is actually my last week there; I've asked to be transferred to the East West Foundation, where I will teach English to adults. In any case, I will write more on the topic, and I will continue to volunteer at the orphanage during the afternoons a few days a week. I can't leave some of those babies behind!

Until my next blog, b'salaamah.

Casablanca in a Day

Hi, followers!

Last weekend we went to the reknowned Casablanca for a quick trip. It's a commercial city (one of the largest in Africa), with about 3.5 million residents. It has lots of architecture, parks and boulevards left over from the city's heyday in the '20s and '30s, and miles of poverty-stricken shantytowns.

The most important building in the city is the Hassan II Mosque, a fantastical structure built above the sea by the late king (father of the current king), using his own money and "donations" from every single Moroccan.

It's the third largest mosque in the world, and the only mosque open to non-Muslims in the country (see previous blog). It's hard to describe how incredibly huge this place is! I hope you can grasp the scale of it from these pictures.

The interior can house 25,000 worshippers (yes, I said 25,000), and the roof retracts to let in natural light. Female worshippers have a separate, raised area, called the women's gallery, which accomodates 5,000. If there are more than that at a service, such as during Ramadan, the women pray in the back of the great hall, where no one can see all their rear ends!

Almost all the material used in the mosque is from Morocco, including cedar, marble, ceramic tiles, granite and wool. Craftspeople from all over the country contributed, and decorated sections with signature designs from their home regions. (Someone who lives in Morocco can tell in an instant the embroidery, rugs, tilework, etc. from various places such as Fes and Marrakesh.) Even the elaborate woodwork used to build the women's gallery is divided into sections made by woodcrafters from different areas.

Below the main hall are the ablution rooms, where worshippers cleanse themselves in a ritual fashion at one of dozens of marble fountains, before praying.

The mosque is at the edge of the ocean (and is in fact built on pillars above the sea), so the location is a favorite relaxing spot for Casablancans. (At some other point, I'll describe the courtship scene in Morocco, but young couples do spend a lot of time together, and do NOT have sex before marriage.)

No visit to Casablanca would be complete without a trip to Rick's Cafe, of film fame. It never was a real place, of course, but in 2004 an American created a very fine restaurant that mimicked the style of the movie cafe.

The food was fantastic there! It was quiet during the day, but looked like it would be quite exciting and beautiful at night.

In general, the people with whom we interacted in Casablanca were relaxed and friendly (we think because it is not a tourist city and they were not focused on trying to sell us anything).

At a small park outside Rick's we chatted with a 10-year old girl who spoke English, French and Arabic, and she helped me pronounce a number of phrases in my phrasebook. My fellow traveler Judy took a video; I'll let you know if she posts it anywhere on the Web. Of course, I look stupid in the video, but I'll overcome my vanity!

After the mosque and Rick's, we strolled the city streets in a leisurely way, looking at buildings and parks and going into the occasional shop, and then returned to Rabat via a one-hour train ride.

Although Casablanca is big and littered, the sun shone, the air was sweet with the moisture of the ocean, and the people were lovely. You can see why it is a romantic place where people want to escape!

The following day we went horseback riding at a seaside town near Rabat. More to come!

B'salaamah.