"Postcard From Paris"

Would you settle for "Photos From Florence"?  Well, you'll just have to anyway, because seeing the City of Lights ain't in the budget!  But, I can, and am, jetting off to Italy tomorrow morning!  WOOHOO!  Multiple cities with world-famous attractions are on the agenda.  Hence, next week there will be no posting, but in two weeks I promise there will be a multimedia extravaganza!  Ok, I'll have some pics from my dinky camera... 

Anyway, this week's title references a tune from The Band Perry about ditching a sweetheart for lust at first sight.  I've been going steady with Barcelona for quite a while, but if I can't resist Rome's charms?

Did some traveling last week, also.  Went with about a dozen colleagues a few hours drive away to a beautiful little town in the Middle Atlas Mountains called Ifrane, which is Berber for caves.  Modern Ifrane was developed by the French protectorate and resembles an Alpine village; today it is a popular spot for outdoors and winter activities.  Again, it is gorgeous.

There is a school in Ifrane called Al Akhawan University, Arabic for The Two Brothers University.  That is a reference to former kings Fahd of Saudi Arabia and Hassan II of Morocco.  In 1995 there was a huge oil spill by a Saudi tanker off of the coast of Morocco, and the Saudi leader pledged $50 million for the cleanup.  A fortuitous wind blew away the oil, rendering the aid offer moot.  The money was used instead to found an American-style liberal arts university where the language of instruction is English.  There is tolerance for all faiths and many international programs.  The campus is lovely.  Many of the buildings resemble Swiss chalets.



We went to the university to see an Advent and Christmas program at the campus chapel.  Groups came from Christian churches in Rabat, Meknes, Fes, Tangier and Casa to read lessons and sing carols in multiple languages and perform interpretive dance routines.  Lots of very talented young people.

Speaking of talented people, I played Santa Claus yesterday.  Unfortunately, I didn't need to put a pillow in the uniform :(  You can stop laughing now.  Really, you can.  I gave out gifts to several K/pre-K classes.  Then, I went to the Upper School assembly and helped lead caroling.  Yes, I sang on microphone in public.  I'm just full of surprises anymore, huh?  Thank God my vice principal really led the way.  I then posed for pics with my fans.  Seriously.  I was in demand, baby!

Joyeux Noel!

"The House That Built Me"

I thought if I could touch this place or feel it
this brokenness inside me might start healing.
Out here its like I'm someone else,
I thought that maybe I could find myself...

Miranda Lambert, known to some of you perhaps as Mrs. Blake Shelton, is our host this week...

I live on the top floor of an apartment building which itself is perched atop a hill.  As I type this in my living room, I can raise my head and see the ocean.  If I walk about the place, I can see for miles across Casablanca.  Pretty neat.  What I find much more interesting is the area that immediately surrounds campus, campus being an appropriate yet misleading term.  The school and adjacent apartments are surrounded by a tall wall and patrolled by guards.  What with the buffer of fields, the police substation outside the front gate and the nearby soldiers guarding the king's compound across the road, I'm not losing any sleep over my safety.

What captivates me are the buildings at the edge of the fields.  I believe I can fairly describe them as slums.  So-called poor people in the U.S. sitting on their asses in their subsidized apartments with cable tv, yapping on their wi-fi smartphones about how bad they have it with their subsidized medical care, food stamps, welfare - I hate them even more than before if it were possible.  Come over here and see what poor looks like!  From my unique perch, I am closely surrounded by grinding poverty yet not of it.  I try not to stare - these people aren't zoo animals - but I will sit and people watch from my window, or just look around as I travel about the city and just be amazed at what some people do to eke out a living.

I'm not a bleeding heart; I'm just the opposite, whatever that term is.  But it's hard sometimes to see people who have absolutely nothing, through no fault of their own, working like dogs, and knowing it ain't never going to get any better for them.  I guess its because of some of the things I 've experienced in recent years, that I get emotional real easily, like from sad songs or scenes in a movie.  Makes me crazy, but maybe it's a good thing, letting your self just go and do its thing.  I'm sure some of my friends and family are picking their jaws up off the floor right about now...

It is still a real trip when I see people here, in this cosmopolitan city, in this more liberal of Islamic nation, try to be like Westerners.  I almost forget where I am, until maybe when I see someone wearing a djellaba or hear the call to prayer.  The conversations I have with locals about Islam, or with my many colleagues of faith about Christianity have opened up my mind about religion like never before.  I am almost certain I will try attending Mass after winter recess.  I'm taking a trip tomorrow to a university in the city of Ifrane for a Christmas concert by the school choir, if I remember the details right.  Should be interesting - given where the city is located, it may be the only chance I have this year to see snow.  I loved seeing the Christmas decorations in my new neighbor's apartment last night.  Being away from home, little things like that have actually made me care about the holiday at all for the first time in years, a decade at least.

Something else about the people here has struck me.  Actually, it's probably the other way around.  I am largely surrounded by a sea of colored faces, in every and all shades of brown.  I am the minority.  That doesn't bother me; I only get frustrated, at myself, when I cannot communicate effectively.  Anyway, not just visiting here, but living here, it has also had an effect on the way I see race.  Morocco is every bit the melting pot that the U.S. is, just in a different way.  It is generally easier to see back home what someone "is".  Black, Asian, whatever.  Here, it's a lot trickier, if you're stupid enough to even try.  Everyone here looks the same to me, even if they aren't.  They're all just people to me - a whole bunch of different things, none of them being brown...

If I could just come in I swear I'll leave.
Won't take nothing but a memory
from the house that built me.

"Changes In Latitudes, Changes In Atitudes"

Nothing remains quite the same...

All weekend I've tried to write this blog entry.  Under normal circumstances, writing is torture for me; when the little mental air traffic controller in my head goes AWOL, it's r-e-a-l-l-y tough to sit and do this.  So many thoughts have been bounding about my cranium that I've wanted to organize and get out through the keyboard.  If I had to say in a sentence what the theme of all these thoughts is, I'd have to refer you to this week's post title, which is the name of a 1977 Jimmy Buffett tune...

I'm a people watcher.  The examination of human nature fascinates me.  As an undergraduate student, I majored in history, but studied all of the social sciences.  I almost switched my major to psychology.  Sociology was also very interesting.  I'm an avid follower of politics.  I'd read up on education even if I wasn't a schoolteacher.  Religion, anthropology, economics - I'll have 'em all.  In my travels, I love to talk to people from all walks of life and learn something new from them.  I find myself now in a very large, very cosmopolitan city in an Islamic nation in North Africa.

I couldn't ask for a cooler social laboratory to pursue my interests, right?  Well, there are some complications.  I am, literally, starting life anew.  I'm back to square one in my adult life, with some awfully peculiar personal circumstances to make things far more challenging.  I'm not here on holiday - this is now where I live.  Starting a new job.  Living with a roommate.  Most residents here at the complex are younger than I am, by up to 20 years.  Did I mention I'm in Casablanca, Morocco?  99% of the population are Muslims, and they speak Arabic and French.  I am Catholic and speak English.  I am 6'3, 250 lbs, with a pale complexion.  I tend to stand out.

I knew coming in this was going to be a wild ride; I've gotten every bit that I expected, and then some.  The emotional swings have been frequent, and way up and down.  There are also my professional demands and new life experiences.  In this juggling act, they would be, respectively, the chainsaw, bowling ball and orange.  Let's talk about the orange...

I have learned more about race, ethnicity, religion, gender, sexuality, society and life in general in the last 43 days than in my first 43 years.  People who know me well are cringing in anticipation of what's coming next.  I am fervently anti-PC, and my social commentary pushes the boundaries of the NC-17 rating.  I believe I will surprise those people.  I've been peeling the orange that is my new life surroundings, and what I've found is staggering.  Talking to and watching students and native staff, and increasingly immersing my self into my new culture has led me to rethinking my values, atitudes, norms, conventions - virtually everything I ever thought I knew about life, and the world.  I have been literally staggered by where I have found myself of late on all the above social matters; I don't even know where to start, but I'll try next week...

If I couldnt laugh I just would go insane...
 

"Who Says You Can't Go Home?"

Jon Bon Jovi recorded a country version of this tune with Jennifer Nettles of Sugarland that reached the top of the charts in 2006.  He is talking about his New Jersey roots in the song.  In an aside, my native South Jersey made the national news this week for a toxic train derailing and hidden sex cams in a Catholic school.  Sigh.  Anyway, what I was thinking of this week were the things that make me miss being back home.  Some are obvious, others maybe less so...

Over the Thanksgiving recess, a colleague travelled to Spain.  When she walked into the airport terminal she was greeted by Christmas carols.  You're thinking to yourself: big deal, people are celebrating Christmas earlier every year.  I agree; that is the case - in Spain, a Catholic country.  Or the U.S.  How many Christmas carols do you think I've heard?  The answer rhymes with hero.  Or the guy that fiddled while Rome burned.  Know what I'm saying?  I don't have much in the way of family to speak of; basically, I could give a crap less about the holidays, for the most part.  Right or wrong, Christmas is just another day in the life.  This year, for reasons I haven't yet fully explored, I miss the trappings of the holiday season.
This morning, a pair of colleagues and I drove to a Christmas bazaar at the Churchill Club.  In the words of an informational sheet, it is a membership club that serves as a relaxing meeting place for English speakers, both Moroccan and ex-pats alike.  It has a bar, restaurant and garden - nice place, seems worth checking out sometime...anyhow, this opportunity to purchase Christmas gifts by local merchants was organized by the American International Women's Club of Casablanca and benefited various charities in the area.  Nice.
This was a little detour on the way to our final stop at the medina, the small, walled, older section of the city that predates French colonization of Morocco in the early 20th century.  By all accounts, it isn't too much to speak of, especially as compared to ones in other cities in Morocco.  Today, it is an interesting little place with cramped stalls and tight winding paths where one can buy souvenirs or haggle to purchase all sorts of goods that, um, either fell off of the back of a truck or aren't quite the real deal.  A smaller name brand gym bag from an Asian sweatshop sold in one of your nicer Casa sports stores retails for about 400 dirhams (about $50 USD).  The Adidas bag I got for 50 dhs, well, I don't know where the sweatshop of origin is.  The counterfeit logo and noticeable lack of quality is laughable, but will work just fine for my purposes, which would be travelling to Italy 3 weeks from tomorrow.

One of the things I am most anticipating about my trip is being in Rome on Christmas; you know, that is kind of a big thing to Catholics.  Some people reading this are chuckling, wondering just what does that have to do with me.  Well, something that has struck me as of late, is a desire to perhaps begin attending church here.  There is one Catholic church I'm aware of in this city of almost 4 million people.  Mass is conducted in French on Sunday at 1030 and in English at 1800.  Those who know me as a lapsed Catholic probably find it curious that I would want to put on my nice duds and hoof it halfway across the city during football-watching time to sit, stand and kneel in a pew.  Simply, I'm missing something, and I don't know what it is.  Attending church, I think, might help me figure out what that is, maybe...

Went down into the city last nite to meet up with a bunch of colleagues who live in that area to go to a place called Jackrabbit Slims.  It is a joint inspired by the establishment of the same name from the movie Pulp Fiction.  Had me a real good burger (not the Big Kahuna, but still) and Mia's $5 milkshake (35 dirhams, and a real bargain - it was good!)  After the soccer game was over, they threw ESPN up on the screen.  I honestly didn't know what to do.  Burger, milkshake, ESPN.  It had been 4 months since I had enjoyed any of those things, then I get all 3 at once!  USA!  USA!  USA!
When I got here I swore I would be the type to immerse myself into the Moroccan culture, and I have.  Actually, there a couple of art studios at which I would like to take some classes.  If I could only read the French-language websites, though I'm quickly improving via my weekly private French lessons.
A fellow employee here is originally from Chicago.  He married a local gal, had a kid - the whole nine.  That includes becoming a Muslim.  We have some very interesting conversations about Islam, and I can talk to this guy, who, being a U.S. native, understands exactly the nuances in my questions...

This morning, while handling some of the not-so-lovely streets of Casablanca, my colleague driving observed: "3 rights don't make a left".  True - figuratively, any given day here you don't know where life will take you.  Some days, I think to myself that I could make a career here, or somewhere else abroad.  Other days, I wish to God I were home.

I went as far as I could, I tried to find a new face
There isn't one of these lines that I would erase
I lived a million miles of memories on that road
With every step I take I know that I'm not alone...
It doesn't matter where you are, it doesn't matter where you go
If it's a million miles aways or just a mile up the road
Take it in, take it with you when you go,
who says you can't go home...

"Live A Little"

It's work, work, pay the rent, money and my time's spent
Not a minute left for me to be me
Been going like nothing can wait
I gotta get my priorities straight...

Thank you, Kenny Chesney!  Les Marocains may not celebrate Thanksgiving but this American school takes off for a four-day weekend, so I bought my first train ticket here, and headed to Meknes.  I hated navigating the Moroccan train system website beforehand because it was entirely in French, with no English translation button to click, but I managed just fine.  I was dozing and came way too close to missing my stop.  I make my way to the youth hostel I had reserved online and...the section where I was to stay was being renovated.  Switched to another section, which of course was more expensive (only an extra 5 dirhams, but it was the principle of the matter), was a dump, but it would do, or would it...

Time for some sightseeing!  Meknes is a city of approximately one million people in northern Morocco near the Atlas mountains.  The views of the surrounding area are tremendous.  I took so many photos from so many different perspectives, and none of them really did the job.  I am going to cheat (shhh...) and find a good Google pic: 

The ancient and modern halves of the city are separated by a dry oued (Arabic: river).  With the present city having origins dating back almost a millennium, it was one of four imperial capitals when Moulay Ismail became Sultanate of Morocco about four hundred years ago.  He was a real character.  Enough said about him, for now...

"Taxi driver - take me to the medina!  Step on it, and there is an extra dirham in it for you!"  Actually, there is no need to tell these guys to drive dangerously, and they would sell their grandmother for an extra dirham.  Anyway, first, a picture of Bab Mansour, the most famous monumental gate (Arabic: bab) built into the many miles of defensive walls:

When Moulay Ismail asked Monsieur Mansour if he could do better, he said yes, and for that he was executed.
Then, I turned around to take a picture of Place Hadim, which is the main square of the medina.

I walked toward a small crowd (always smart, right?) and what do I see:

Yes, the man is taunting a cobra.  He saw me line up a photo and came over to ask (demand) 5 dirhams to snap a pic.  I only happened to have 4 in my pocket at the moment; he wasn't pleased but didn't quibble.  If I were him, I would've payed more attention to the cobra - just sayin'...

The medina was very nice.  Later, I sauntered toward the rear of the Place and entered Dar (Arabic: house) Jamai, an former palace that is now home to the Museum of Moroccan Arts.  It was not the "palace" you would think of when you hear the word; it was lavish, but a little smaller, more intimate.  Beautiful design, awesome artifacts, and a lovely garden in the courtyard.  Sorry, photos not permitted.  This would be come a theme (but I am persistent)...

This is a photo of Habs Qara, Ismail Moulay's underground prison ;)

Or was it?  The guide told an incredible tale of 60,000 prisoners, including pirates, Christians, Jews and slaves being tortured.  Some people say it's all BS, and that it was just for for storing supplies.  It was next to impossible to see of course; the little things protruding from the ground came from UNESCO work (Meknes is a U.N. World Heritage site) and provided what little light there was.  I think the truth lies somewhere in the middle...

Next, I was off to the 9-hole Meknes Royal Golf Course, where the king is known to do his swing thing now and again.  This was a bad thing for me.  Why?  Well, I took a photo of the striking front gate; here it is:

 

Then, as I approached the gate, a couple of fine young men in military garb carrying automatic weaponry stopped me and had asked (demanded) that I erase the photo.  It seems that was for security purposes.  I entered the course and went to the terrace on the cafe to carry out my mission (I was determined to get pix!) but I was followed around by the guy working there.  On my way out, my scouting the area on the way to the cafe payed off and I slipped into a blind spot and quickly got these:

 

 

This course lies within palace grounds surrounded by high fortifications.  The flora and fauna are remarkable.  I cannot accurately describe how gorgeous this place is; the pair of pictures taken from around a corner while hidden by vegetation cannot hope to do it justice.  Golf fans can see legit pix online...

Next came the mausoleum of Moulay Ismail.  The area about the site was fabulous.  Notable are the stables (for 12,000 horses?!) and vast granaries to hold the stores for them.  Inside the sanctuary, photos were permitted; non-Muslims are not permitted to enter the tomb itself but can photograph the tomb from the entrance...

Thursday night was wild!  I walked the pleasant and entertaining new city (French: ville nouvelle), and found myself walking by a club that I could hear playing cool tunes from outside.  Fortunately, I didn't turn into a pumpkin at midnight.  Around 3:00 I left and then entered a small cafe to get a little bite.  The waiter woke me up at 5 when the place closed.  I guess I could've taken a petit taxi back to my room, but the train station would do ok.  The security guard woke me up when he was yelling at someone at 7.  Glad I didn't pay much for that room...

Early on Friday morning I negotiated with a grand taxi to drive me about 25 km to Moulay Idriss, which is a small city about 2 large hills which is an Islamic holy site.  The history of the place is fascinating.  Similar rules like at the mausoleum of Moulay Ismail applied to the sacred areas.  I leaned inside the small doorway to take a pic of the My. Ismail's tomb:

 A photo of the town from a vantage point above:

In the picture above, the green conical roof is of the building that contained the tomb.  (The guide said green was the color of Islam and all the green-roofed buildings were the most important ones).  Below is a photograph of the only cylindrical minaret in Morocco; and such a design is very highly unusual in the Muslim world.  It was added to the ancient madrasa (Arabic: Koranic school).

Next to the very nearby Roman ruins at Volubilis...

Volubilis was built by the Romans in the 3rd century B.C.  Today, the remaining ruins are a U.N. World Heritage site.  Some pop culture notes: Martin Scorcese filmed some of The Last Temptation of Christ there.  More famously, the scene from Patton that references the real-life belief in reincarnation by the general also was filmed there.  When the title character drives to ruins at "Carthage" and has some curious dialogue with his compatriots, that's right where I was! 

Some of the remains have been identified as the bordello room (even I will decline to include photos of a couple of artifacts within the room; a couple of people from an Italian tour group had no qualms about acting out a scene, if you will, on one of them.  A couple of artifacts I will include however are of olive presses, a smaller one operated by hand and a larger one operated by animals:

The vomitorium was another interesting place; people would eat and drink like gluttons then go and purposefully "pray to the porcelain goddess" in this space - YUCK!  There were aqueduct-fed public baths and solariums like below:

The themes of the many mosaics uncovered often were drawn from mythology.  So many photographs to choose from...one such pic is below; it is a particularly famous one called the Four Seasons, in the House of the Labors of Hercules:

Arches and temples and shops - oh my!  Which of the numerous pix do I select...

The trip home wasn't too eventful, if you discount the near riot on the train (had nothing at all to do with me, though I almost got caught in the middle by accident) and a cabbie threatening to call the police on me over a disputed fare (even by Moroccan standards, this was a serious attempted rip-off job).  Never dull here...

Liked Meknes an awful lot and would like to go back

Step back, smell the rose
Feel the sand between your toes
Unplug, unwind
Step out in the sunshine...

"Living In Fast Forward"

"Now I need to rewind real slow"...

     Kenny Chesney helps us kick off tonight's post.  This song references a crazy time in his life when in quick succession he had just made the short list of singers who can sell out a stadium, was married for a hot minute to a Hollywood actress and now tries to return to a life with some sense of normalcy under circumstances that simply aren't normal.  This fall I began another unscripted new scene in the wild second act of my life that began a decade ago.  What am I doing here in North Africa and not South Jersey?  It's Thanksgiving week already?  I should be planning on Thursday to drive to watch the Florence-Riverside game, not take a train to walk amongst Roman ruins.  But I am getting ahead of myself; let's look back at the week that was...

     Speaking of holidays, it's the New Year in the Muslim world.  Happy 1434!  Muharram marks the first month of the Islamic calendar, which is a lunar calendar, so annually it moves about the Gregorian calendar used in the States.  It gets a little more complicated than that, even.  You see, the holiday does not actually begin until authorities officially declare the first sighting of the new crescent moon (hilal).  Then, the word is broadcast via electronic media later that evening.  The date can differ from from the estimated date on such preplanned things such as, oh, school calendars.  Since this obviously happens at night, the timing can be tight.  I was hardly the only person unhappy at having to stay up later than usual to wait for an email to see if the scheduled day off Thursday was moved to Friday.  We had a similar situation earlier this year that wasn't as problematic; there is one more similar circumstance yet to come.  Never dull here...

     Parent/Student/Teacher conferences were Wednesday.  There is no way to get around it; sometimes you have to deliver bad news to Mom and/or Dad, often with the child sitting there.  Given the nature of my particular position, I am guessing I dole out more helpings of bad tidings than the average teacher.  If you remember, this is a trilingual school.  The students speak English, French and Arabic.  Most teachers are fluent only in English, the parents all speak French and Arabic, but English is more a hit-n-miss thing.  Local staff are there as always to help translate.

     I had next-to-no problem conversing with some parents, and the child helped fill in the gaps at other times.  See where this one is going?  (To those of you who have already figured out the ending, yes, I am that stupid).  One kid came with her mother and older sister.  Mom spoke zero English, and the older sister could only help somewhat.  The student translated what I said for her mother.  Some of the news wasn't pretty.  OK, all of it wasn't pretty.  Now, I could teach a politician a thing or two about how to spin bad news; heck, parents thank me after I tell them their child is a poor, and poorly behaved, student.  Anyway, it turned out to be a good thing a nice, and observant, native staff happened by and noticed my good comments were being delivered to Mom but not the bad ones.  I wonder what happened to that kid later...

     After conferences all day Wednesday a handful of colleagues and I got to race downtown to the police station before the office closed that is processing our applications for our residency card.  Note: they do things the French way here in Maroc.  The local motor vehicle agency in the U.S. runs rings around these people.  HR staff had me fill out or supply a staggering array of documents earlier this year asking about all sorts of things.  I should mention that at this same time HR is simultaneously moving heaven and earth to help facilitate this process.

     Recently, on short notice, I was told I had an appointment downtown, to submit the pile of papers and hope the package was accepted.  It was, and I was told to return in about a week to get my récépissé and go get it renewed monthly until I finally got my carte sejour.  Anyway, a bunch of us race downtown after conferences.  Some of us got our 'receipt' and some didn't.  Yup.  At least I got to drive back to campus.  I'm beginning to r-e-a-l-l-y enjoy city driving with no rules. Anyway, I told an HR guy how we all fared.  He said to expect to go back down a few more times to be told they don't have it before they finally decide to call me down at my inconvenience for an asinine interview.  I brought documents the first week of August.  Yet, in mid-November I'm nowhere near done...

Yeah I still got some miles to go...

"God is great, beer is good and people are crazy"

Billy Currington returns as our title track sponsor as I mark my 100th day in North Africa.

God is great

     It has been endlessly fascinating living in an Islamist state.  (No, Mom, I am not converting; I'm barely a Catholic - do you think I could be a Muslim?)  Everyday I want to learn new things; this ain't a place to be.  A colleague from Chicago who has been here a little longer married a Moroccan woman and converted to Islam.  I talk to a lot of people, but it's particularly interesting getting my knowledge on by talking to an American.  He knows what I really mean and exactly what I am trying to get at.  Tuesday was a big day here.  Google "Marche Verte" (French for "Green March").  It's a neat little story involving Morocco and King Hassan II and a famous incident involving the disputed Western Sahara territory.  This country has mountains, a desert, borders with the Atlantic and Mediterranean, and a wild history involving so many different peoples.  Lots to keep me stimulated.  Casa is also an awesome place from which to jump off to all over Europe and the Middle East.  It's 6 hours to fly across the U.S. - I can't count how many countries you could fly to in that time from here.  I chuckle every time someone talks about flying off to Barcelona or wherever for the weekend, like it's such a casual thing, then I remember that it is...

Beer is good

     I'll try about near anything once; I love sampling new foods.  The Berbers, Moors and Arabs have all had a hand in shaping Moroccan cuisine.  Beef, mutton, poultry and seafood are the main meats, and there seems to be an endless selection of fruits and vegetables used, along with a huge array of spices.  The one food that is (Berber) Moroccan that you've all eaten would be couscous.  Of course, there is the ubiquitous mint tea.  I'd like to dine on swine, but pork ain't exactly easy to get here.  Neither is alcohol.  Some things are oddly expensive/inexpensive as compared to the states.  A funny one the other day was a pint of Haagen-Dazs for almost $10.  Maybe being poor will be good for my waistline...

People are crazy

     On Tuesday I was off from work, and by chance a semifinal soccer match of an important tournament was going to be held in Casa at the 55,000 seat Mohammed V Stadium.  Soccer is the only sport in Morocco; the people are mad for it.  And the residents of Casa are particularly loony for their two pro teams, Raja and Wydad.  Care to guess who took the pitch on Tuesday at 2pm?

Now, a word from our partners at the NY Times: http://www.nytimes.com/2012/05/10/world/middleeast/morocco-struggles-to-rein-in-soccer-hooligans.html?_r=0

     The first few paragraphs tell you all you really need to know, along with the part about the man who was killed in the April riot where the stadium was literally torn apart.  So of course I went down there, by myself, to try to negotiate, in French, the purchase of a (hopefully legitimate) ticket from a scalper, not get pickpocketd, get into the venue, watch the game and (literally) get out alive.  And I did, but, boy, was it an adventure!  I did pretty well with the scalper, slipping away just before the police busted the guy.  I can't begin to tell you what the scene was in the blocks surrounding the stadium; to say there was a heavy police presence (city and state) would be an understatement.  It's difficult to describe what it took to get into the stadium; let's just say I was part of a crush of humanity that barged thru a gate into the place.  I literally was not propelling myself; instead, it was the wave of people that I rode inside, and I am not exaggerating.
     I am a veteran of many Eagles games from the 700 level at the Vet; they were church socials compared to this insanity, and that is no joke!  Thousands were there from the early a.m.  No assigned seating, the place was stuffed, with people actually sitting on every available railing, wall, you name it.  The fire marshall wouldn't have approved.  The stadium was segregated, red and green, with an actual DMZ in the middle of both ends.  It was loud!  Flares and smoke canisters are going off; the game hadn't even begun.  What an experience!  When I spoke to native staff later in the week, they were very nice, they didn't say I was an idiot, but I could see the looks of bemusement on their faces.  When I mentioned that so many looked like hoodlums, they told me of things you would read in the middle of that article.  They also told me that many don't even care about the soccer; that they get high beforehand before they come to cause mayhem at the game.  Glad I went, don't see myself returning.  Where to next?  Thanksgiving 4-day break coming soon...
 

"Comin' To Your City"

     I've been here in Casa for 3 months, and felt the need to. get. out. now.  4-day weekend?  Giddyap!  Spoke with many colleagues and got lots of excellent suggestions, actually, had a hard time narrowing them down.  Decided to take a bus trip way up north to a town called Chefchaouen, carved into mountains in the Rif range (the name refers to the mountain tops resembling a pair of goat horns).

     Chefchaouen was established in the late 1400s and is real close to Spain; European tourists flood into the area during the summertime.  People speak a lot of Spanish up there.  I loved being able to contribute to an intelligent conversation for the first time since late summer.  Chefchaouen is largely known for three products: its locally-produced goat cheese, its leather artisans, and marijuana.

     Yeah, that's right, mary jane, pot, weed, dope, reefer, ganja - it's 4:20 all the time in Chefchaouen.  While marijuana is illegal in Morocco, it's for some reason tolerated in Chefchaouen, where there are vast plantations nearby; depending on the route you take while hiking in the mountains within the national park you'll pass right by them.  I'll confess I wasn't dissuaded by the reports of armed guards; I wanted to see something I'll never have the chance to see otherwise.  Unfortunately, I didn't go the right direction behind the waterfall (not well marked) to see the fields, but I sure did get accosted constantly by pushers in town.  I was told they'd be persistent, but, wow, give me a break!  It started literally the minute I got off the bus.  The one guy was real kind - he had stuff for me to either smoke or shoot up.

     Ah, the bus.  I get motion sickness real bad on motor coaches, but I couldn't take a train there.  I figured if I took enough (legal) drugs I'd be ok.  I took double the Dramamine the pharmacist said and thought I was good to go.  Nah.  How I didn't vomit is a mystery.  I did NOT feel good for the 6-hour ride.  I had a list of inexpensive accommodations and since it wasn't the high (snicker) season wasn't worried about getting a place that evening, and fortunately I was right.  My hostel went for about $14USD per night.  Not fancy, but I didn't care.  Until I need to use a toliet.  There was a toilet bowl downstairs, but no toilet paper.  Guess I should've planned for that.  There was a hole in the floor and a spigot and pail.  Yep.

     Anyway, the next morning I hit the town.  Actually, it hit me.  It was s-t-e-e-p.  The town is famous for its whitewashed, blue-rinsed buildings.  The short version of why is it comes from former Jewish inhabitants who, per the Bible, originally used a particular shellfish to produce a blue dye for their prayer shawls, forgot how to make it eventually, and colored their houses blue to honor the biblical command.  Here are pics from the medina, the old, narrow, winding part of town:

 

 

     Given the people constantly soliciting me, I never felt particularly comfortable in this maze.  I don't spook easily, but my senses were on high alert the entire time.  There was also the kasbah, a fortress of sorts that looked interesting from the outside but inside supposedly didn't offer much.  I say supposedly because I didn't go in.  I didn't go in because as I approached, a guy said "cerrada".  It sure didn't look closed, but the look on his face and what I saw a guy doing inside told me all I needed to know.  Ok, about face...

 

Just because...

 



     I saw an area devoted to artisans and also a small waterfall.  Women use water diverted to a pair of sluices to do laundry.  I purposely didn't get too close for photos; I figured these poor women weren't there for my amusement.  Here are some photos from above the falls:

 

 

     Finally, I did some hiking.  I didn't go way, way up there, but enough to get some beautiful views of the already elevated town.  The first pic is of an abandoned chapel (in center of photo) then views of the town from said chapel (where, of course, I had to pass a group of n'er-do-wells to get to):

 

 

 

A door on the way up the trail?

 

Back to our regularly scheduled feature...

 

 

     It was a very nice night walking thru town, talking with shopkeepers.  Fortunately, the ride back the following morning wasn't too hellacious (only wanted retch the first hour), though if using so-called toliets with just a hole in the ground and a pail of water isn't bad enough, paying for the "privilege" is worse.  Listening to Arabic pop music for hours wasn't a highlight, though I got some of the country between Chaouen and Casa for the first time.

     Til later...

"Save A Horse, Ride A Cowboy"

Well, that's a very nice sentiment (especially if you are the cowboy), but it doesn't do a darn thing for the sheep, does it?  Huh?  You see, today is a an extremely important day for those who practice the Islamic faith.  It is the first and foremost day of the Eid al-Adha religious holiday, which is where the sheep come into play, but we'll get back to them later...

Eid al-Adha commemorates the prophet Abraham's willingness to sacrifice his young, firstborn son Ishmael in obedience to a command from God and also marks the end of the Hajj (pilgrimage) to Mecca.  Abraham had a recurring dream, in which God was commanding him to offer his son as a sacrifice; Abraham decided to fulfill God's command and offer Ishmael for sacrifice.  Abraham could not bear to watch his son die so he covered his eyes by a blindfold. When he cut Ishmael's throat and removed the blindfold, he was astonished to see that Ishmael was unharmed and instead, he found a dead ram which was slaughtered. Abraham had passed the test by his willingness to carry out God's command.

Got that?  The good part is coming...

After the Eid prayer, Muslims sacrifice their best halal (think Kosher) domestic animals (sheep 'round these parts).  The meat from the sacrificed animal is divided into three parts. The family retains one third of the share; another third is given to relatives, friends and neighbors; and the other third is given to the poor and needy.

Wait for it...

This week in school, students and local staff educated me, and also told some interesting stories.  I should be store soon for some God-awful smells when the heads are cooked.  All of the children spoke very matter-of-factly about the throat-slitting, respectfully, not immaturely.  Speaking of which, when one of my boys told me of his helping out with the sacrifice, I asked him if he had had ever actually done the deed.  He got a very embarrassed look, then leaned in toward me, away from his classmates, to tell me quietly, in an appropriate manner, that he had to be physically mature to be allowed. You know, like having hair down there.  You can't make up these stories...

Throughout the week, students spoke of having already gotten their sheep.  I saw them in trucks when I went into the city.  Sheep everywhere.  I'm trying to hail a taxi to get home last nite, it's dark.  A van stops.  After my incident with the gypsy cab last week, you'd think I'd know better to get in.  Nah.  2 guys ask me where to, I reply to the American school  just straight down the road.  We're good.  Small commercial van.  Guy driving and passenger next to him.  I'm on bench seat behind them.  Behind me, small area size of tiny crib, where you'd put tools and such.  Or a sheep!  Not until he stirred did I notice the sheep behind the seat, 6 inches away!  Uh, let's move it, fellas!  I couldn't tell if the sheep was incapacitated in any way, but wasn't in the mood to find out.  I got out in one piece.  Better than the sheep fared this morning.

I walked down the hill to a place nearby where I thought I might to see the ritual performed, but no such luck.  Anyway, had no work today and won't on Monday, due to the interpretation of the lunar calendar per the powers-that-be.  No photos this week, thought I'd spare you the blood and gore seen throughout the city today.  Enjoy your entree at dinner tonight :)
 

"Felt Good On My Lips"

Tonight's title references Tim McGraw's recent hit.  In the song, Tim falls for a Latina babe.  For me, no such luck.  Instead, I'm talking about McDonalds and Starbucks, which I treated myself to earlier this evening.  When I came here I was bound and determined to not be one of those people who travel abroad and don't embrace the local culture, including the cuisine, especially since I am not a tourist, but actually live here.  And I have done so at every opportunity.  I love me some tajine and pastilla.  My new favorite condiment is harissa, (ha-REE-sa) a very spicy peppery paste.  However, I have needed some American comfort food, and one of the world's biggest malls is 5 km straight down the road.  Giddyap!  After my McNuggets, an iced caramel macchiato enjoyed sitting oceanside hit the spot.  I took out a school vehicle for this road trip.  No cab this time.  Last weekend I was getting impatient waiting for a gran taxi and got into what I knew was a gypsy cab.  Mistake.   Fortunately it only cost a couple of extra dirhams.  Then I took a petit taxi for the next stretch and was subjected to a lengthy stretch of Arab pop music.  Remember when it came out that the Arab terrorists at Gitmo were blasted with American pop music to break them?  I know now exactly what it must've been like...

Getting a late start on the blogging tonight as I watched our Mustangs lose a nailbiter to Casablanca American School in boy's varsity volleyball.  It was hot and sweaty in that multipurpose room.  Good thing I had me some bottled water.  Everyone knows to never drink anything else.  Here's a random pic of a bottle of Sidi Ali, the dominant brand.

That Arab writing.  Tough.  Speaking of languages, funny thing happened tonight at McDonalds.  I approached the counter knowing what I wanted and rattled off my order in flawless Spanish.  ?!  When I realized what I'd done, I then repeated my order, a little slower, in French.  I guess my brain knew I wasn't supposed to speak English, but went to default mode and used the foreign language it knew best.  You had to be there...

That supersized McNuggets value meal cost about $5USD.  Funny how the largest paper note in Morocco is only 200 dirhams (currently about $22-23USD).  Always have to carry around a big wad of dough.  Hey, how about some pics of the bills in Morocco?

Included are a (top) 10dh coin and a (bottom) 5dh coin.  There are a 2dh and 1dh coin also that resemble our quaters in size and shape...

On the subject of money, it's amusing sometimes to listen to people around here talking about flying off to this country or that.  Hey, if you got it, spend it, right?  Though, I have to remind myself that it's very cheap and easy to jet around Europe, given our location.  I got a roundtrip ticket direct to and from Milan over the Christmas holiday for $133USD.  Ka-ching!  I will be traveling about Italy (including to Rome, Venice and Florence) for a week.  On the itinerary includes The Last Supper, the Sistine Chapel, the Colosseum, and the Leaning Tower of Pisa.  Speaking of holidays, there is a huge one here next week.  Should be interesting.  Details next week...
 

"Life In A Northern Town"

Hey!  Tonight's episode of Jack is sponsored by UK one-hit wonders The Dream Factory who reached #7 in the US in 1985 with "Life In A Northern Town".  Remember that one?  Though, I'm listening to the 2008 remake by the country group Sugarland with Little Big Town and Jake Owen.  Better than the original, I say...

It's kind of remarkable what you can used to.  I don't have a television.  There is a website I learned of from a colleague that somehow allows you to stream any sporting event worth watching to your computer, just like that.  With the time difference here, that basically means watching the Sunday NFL 1 pm games, the 4 pm games if I'm really motivated.  Basically, I haven't watched any American TV for over 2 months, and don't much care.  I've done it a week at a time before while traveling, but nothing like this.  I read newspapers electronically of course.  I miss my personal free lending library (a/k/a Barnes & Noble).  The IMAX Theatre at the mall plays a movie Thursday in English, but I haven't gone yet...

I came to the realization earlier this week that I've pretty much tuned out the adhan, or, call to prayer that blares out across the city multiple times every day from the minarets of the mosques.  I can get around town with relative ease, be it by using the taxi system or driving, which is saying something because the way taxis work here is ridiculous, and the drivers are lunatics.  My New Jersey training with traffic circles is no good because there is a different way you have to navigate the roundabouts, or, rond-point, the French term you hear around here.  I say this because I've began taking private French lessons within the past month, and am loving it!  My tutor is great!  I look forward to it all week.  And I'm starting to respond somewhat instinctively to basic stuff when interacting/practicing with native staff.  I'm trying to learn Moroccan Arabic on my own by reading/listening through the computer.  Not easy...

Wild thing happened this week.  I help students in all subjects - I'm a Jack-of-all-trades, if I say so - and I do.  Anyway, a kid in one of my small-group pull-out classes had a social studies assignment which mentioned the Arab Spring.  The talk moved to the Palestinians and Israel.  When I told the kids that in my country that the PLO is considered a terrorist organization, you could have knocked them over with a feather - they were legitimately stunned.  The real fun began when I asked some question about Israel and the Palestinian quest for certain of their land.  I'll never forget how one student reacted.  This teen did not yell and scream, or use profanity.  He was never inappropriate.  But in an extremely agitated, raised voice he made a brief, very angry, yet reasoned, statement for the Palestinian cause.  Now I was the one in shock.  All depends on one's perspective, huh?  Speaking of which, roommate got off a good one this morning, when I said I had a generally cynical view of things, he replied that could walk in a room, see a beautiful bouquet of flowers, and ask who died.  Gotta admit, he got me with that one...

Finally, folks, a few random photos from home and school...

God, I hate this stuff.  It's a 1 liter carton of the UHT milk I've told you about previously.  I buy it by the six-pack off a shelf.  Actually, I've kind of gotten used to it, but I really need to head to the King's Market for the real stuff, price be damned...

This is a canister of the "propane-like" gas hooked up to your stove so you can cook your tagine (had it for lunch today), or couscous (after all, it is Friday).  Looks safe, right?  Umm...

This is a typical piece of furniture you'll see in living areas 'round these here parts.  Notice it has no back.  Does wonders for your posture, though...

This is from the multipurpose room at school.  Remember, this is an American school in Morocco, hence the flags of 2 nations and the pictures of their heads of state on either side of the stage.  Here are a couple of close-ups...

This is His Majesty King Mohamed VI...

 

and the other Muslim...

Thank you, folks!  I'll be performing again next Friday night at this time.  Bonne nuit!

"A Real Fine Place To Start"

We're going with Sara Evans for this week's post title.  I'm listening to my country playlist, it's couscous Friday and the weekend is here.  Laissez les bon temps rouler!  Well, maybe not for the students who got poor midterm reports the other day.  Thought I'd talk a bit more about George Washington Academy at the half-pole of this marking period - my kids, my colleagues and the nature of my job.
As you know, GWA is not your usual school, a K2-12 private not-for-profit entity recognized by both the USA and Morocco as an American school, with graduates receiving an American diploma.  The student body is a fascinating mix.  Close to 2/3 are Moroccan, and thus speak French and Arabic.  Most of the faculty is North American, and don't speak French or Arabic as a first language, yours truly included, though I am working on it.  The rule in school is: Speak English.  The reasons should be fairly obvious, except for maybe one - when the little lovelies are speaking Arabic, most teachers don't know what they are saying.  Curses, threats, telling their friend an answer on a test - who knows?  Thus, English only, thank you.
The students wear uniforms; the only thing really at all interesting in their appearance is that a few girls wear a hijab (he-jab).  It is a veil worn to cover the head and neck, in the interest of modesty.  My understanding is that there is no consensus among Muslims as to whether or not the Qur'an explicitly mandates that females must wear this particular garment.  The countries that comprise the Maghreb in NW Africa are considered to generally be a little more liberal than, say, Saudi Arabia or Egypt, and within Morocco, Casablanca is regarded even more as a cosmopolitan place.  You see older women dressed much more traditionally/conservatively, but not often are you looking at someone and seeing just a pair of eyes peering back at you.  And younger women dress just as, um, uh, casually as in any American big city.
My colleagues, with whom I not only work, but live, are a nice group of people.  I can tell you a little more about them by now.  Most are fairly young, a good number of them married.  No small number have taught in other countries in Africa, Asia and elsewhere.  There is a very large percentage of people who are active in their faith.  There are a couple of churches in Casa for Protestants to attend.  Jewish people are not given a hard time here.  There is one Catholic church (and so far as I know, only one other Catholic here besides myself).  Whatever the denomination, you better not proselytize - this is an Islamic state - that will get you promptly thrown out of the country.
I'm still growing into my job.  It's interesting.  It's an American high school, but special education law does not apply here.  I am a special education teacher, doing exactly the same kind of job I did at a NJ public high school, but here I am a learning specialist, I offer learning support.  I greatly enjoy the job, but it is a little bit surreal.  You see, I am not just a special education teacher; I am the special education teacher.  In the Upper School we have a counselor, a guidance counselor, a Student Services Support person and an English Language Learner teacher who's been here a couple years(don't know what I'd do without her!)  My principal and vice-principal are great to work for, but all of these people have one thing in common: special education is not their stock in trade.  People actually have looked to me for advice.  I have, like, real responsibility.  (gulp)  I'm confident in my abilities and in what my experience has done for me, but I have not yet gotten used to being the one-stop shopping center for your (real but not officially) special ed needs...
We will end this evening with a first photo from my new Nikon camera purchased last night at the Marjane at the mall.  I have to apologize that the photo simply cannot do justice to what the sunset looks like in person every night.  Baraka allahu feek.  May God bless you.

 

Either way, it's the Zac Brown Band...

I arrived in North Africa on August 3rd, and from then every single day was 80-90 degrees Fahrenheit.  Many were humid, some were overcast, but all were clear - until yesterday.  I woke up to a light rain.  What was this strange thing water falling from sky?  I was like the lifelong California resident who moves to the Midwest and is bewildered when he encounters snow for the first time.  I'd forgotten all about rain.  Where the (bleep) is my jacket and umbrella?!  A little more precipitation today, too.  Not to mention, cold.  Hope this doesn't start a trend...

Speaking of early morning excitement, yesterday I was shaving when right in the middle of things the power goes out.  Really?  Now?  Perfect timing.  The only surprise was that it was out only briefly.  I bring this up because living in Casa has brought certain challenges.  The infrastructure here is NOT what it is back in the States.  My (much more religious) roommate marvels at the colorful language I can command at these times.  I have, unfortunately, gotten used to power outages, gremlins messing the phone, Internet connections failing.  And around here is as good as it gets in this country!  Reminds me...It's funny how the locals look at themselves and their city.  They believe to a person that Moroccans are a friendly people - and they are.  They also do not hesitate to say that Casablanca is an ugly city.  It is the center of commerce in Morocco; all agree that Marrakesh and Fes have much more to offer in terms of culture.  Someday soon, hopefully...

While we are on the topic of how things work around here...I signed out the car to do some grocery shopping yesterday afternoon.  I'm cruising down Route d' Azemmour toward the mall, had that Renault Kangoo doing over 80 when I saw the police.  Uh-oh.  Did you forget that I'm talking kilometers here?  (snicker)  Driving home I'm enjoying a nice meal (I'm all about multi-tasking, you know.  And food.) when I thought about what I was taught to do if the police ever did pull me over.  Supposeably, the standard bribe is 200 dirhams.  I can afford it because payday was today.  Whee - couscous for everyone!  Not that I have a bank account to put that money in - I can't get one until I get my residency papers.  Uh, I ain't exactly holding my breath while I wait.  I'm told 4 months is a safe bet.  I hear that they're world-beaters compared to the postal service...

Took a walk to the beach around sunset Tuesday.  Tide was low and it was getting a lil' dark when I got down to near the water and I saw two guys coming in with a plastic bag.  I approached and asked in French as to what they had in the bag while I pantomimed a clam with my hand.  What else could it be?  Dude reaches in and pulls out a small octopus!  Cool!  Never saw one live and THIS close!  After they walked away I went toward the water and it wasn't smooth sailing along the sand; it was a little craggly.  I guess at low tide they walk out into the water and yank 'em out of their hiding spots with the long, thin, hooked metal poles they were carrying...

Oh yeah, about the title of this week's post...I couldn't pick between 2 song titles that I thought were both appropriate given this week's topics, but both were by the country band Zac Brown Band -  Toes (in the water) or Colder Weather (feat. Little Big Town).  G'night, y'all!

"Holes In The Floor Of Heaven"

Some neat little things happened this week...An Arabic teacher asked me to observe her class. She had some questions and heard the new guy was happy to come in and make suggestions regarding instructional methods and strategies and behavior management. For 50 minutes I heard absolutely nothing but Arabic, not a single word in English. It was a fun challenge to work solely on the basis of non-verbal behavior...Our open house night was yesterday. I had to submit notes ahead of time so that the translators had time to rework problematic words and phrases from English to French. In one class, a mother asked a lengthy question to the translator. The co-teacher and I looked at each other, neither of us having a clue what was being said, but I did know it wasn't good. Unfortunately, I was right...The daily planner-type things finally arrived this week for the students. You can write down your assignments, etc., plus there are some resources in the back, like the periodic table, measurement conversions - stuff like that. After they went out to the homerooms, someone noticed a HUGE problem - there was a 2 page map in the back with Western Sahara depicted as a separate country immediately to the south of Morocco. Um, that is ILLEGAL in this country. I'll spare you the details of this disputed territory - let's just say people were hurriedly blacking out or tearing out that page... Last Saturday I took off my shoes and took a tour of the Hassan II Mosque. It is the largest mosque in the country and well within the top 10 in the world. Its minaret (tower from which the adhan, or call to prayer, is made) is the world's tallest at just under 700 feet. It stands on a promontory looking out to the Atlantic Ocean. A total of 105,000 worshippers can gather for prayer at the mosque simultaneously, 25,000 inside the mosque (20,000 men on the floor and 5,000 woman separated from the men in two hanging mezzanines) and another 80,000 on the mosque's plaza. The inside is 100 feet wide, 200 feet long, and 200 feet high at the highest point. The interior can house Notre Dame or Saint Peter's. Built on reclaimed land, almost half of the surface of the mosque lies above sea water of the Atlantic. This was inspired by the verse of the Qur'an that states "the throne of Allah was built on water." Part of the floor is glass and offers a view down at the sea. This feature was a result of King Hassan II declaring: "I want to build this mosque on the water, because God's throne is on the water. Therefore, the faithful who go there to pray, to praise the Creator on firm soil, can contemplate God's sky and ocean." A spotlight shines in the direction of Mecca at night from the top of the minaret. The building also includes a number of other modern touches. It was built to withstand earthquakes and has heated floors, electric doors, and a sliding roof. The mosque cost $600M US. Locals will grumble about that much money being spent on the mosque and not programs for the people, but they will grumble quietly... Beneath the main floor is the ablution room, where 41 fountains allow for the ritual cleaning before worship. Beneath that is an enormous hammam, or public bath - they are hugely popular here; many people will go a couple of times per week to mellow out. Work on the mosque began in 1986, and lasted until 1993. During the height of construction, 1400 men worked during the day and another 1100 during the night. 10,000 artists and craftsmen participated in building the mosque. Every inch of the place seemingly is covered in some sort of hand-carved/painted, etc., piece of work. All of the granite, plaster, marble, wood and other materials used in the construction, were taken from around Morocco, with the exception of some Italian white granite columns and glass chandeliers. Six thousand traditional Moroccan artisans worked for five years to create the mosaics, stone and marble floors and columns, sculpted plaster moldings, and carved and painted wood ceilings. All in all, it's an extraordinary structure. Enjoy the photos and see you next week!

 

"Burning Down The House"

Yup, fun times in the Middle East this week.  Most of you I'm certain have heard about the murder of the U.S. Ambassador to Libya, in addition to breaches of other embassies and other shenanigans throughout the region.  I didn't pay much mind to what was happening.  Soon after I got here, HR gave us info, including something from the U.S. Dept. of State that suggested we (basically) register with the Consulate here in Casa.  Could come in handy down the line.  If something is happening, they'll shoot me an email.  Whatever.  But I did do it.  Went online.  Didn't take long.  Completely forgot about it soonafter.  Open my GMail Wednesday - here is an excerpt (highlights mine):

Media sources have reported protests in the region. Due to the possibility of further protests, the Consulate is closed to the public this afternoon.

The Consulate urges U.S. citizens to avoid large gatherings and non-essential travel in and around the city center this afternoon and to be mindful of potential protest activity in this area in the near future.  Even demonstrations or events intended to be peaceful can turn confrontational and possibly escalate into violence.  U.S. citizens in Morocco are urged to monitor local news reports and to plan their activities accordingly.

The potential for terrorist violence against U.S. interests and citizens remains elevated in Morocco. It is important for U.S. citizens to be keenly aware of their surroundings and adhere to prudent security practices such as avoiding predictable travel patterns and maintaining a low profile.  Establishments that are readily identifiable with the United States or other Western countries are potential targets for attacks.  These may include facilities where U.S. citizens and other foreigners congregate, including clubs, restaurants, places of worship, schools, hotels, movie theaters and other public areas. 

The Consulate reminds U.S. citizens to review their personal security plans and remain alert to their surroundings at all times in Morocco.

 

Lovely.  Actually, there really wasn't much to worry about.  Arab Spring barely sprung here, or elsewhere in The Maghreb (roughly, NW Africa).  I wasn't afraid (much).

 

A local staff at the school sent me to his barber last Saturday for my first Moroccan haircut.  He said it might be a little more expensive but worth it.  I took a cab out there, found the place and walked inside.  3 guys, all young.  Hmmm.  I've gone to o-l-d school Italian barbers all my life.  While waiting I watch sports on the TV.  Soccer.  I'm shocked.  Never see that here.  As usual I have no clue what is being said.  I bring this up because it affects me on a DAILY basis.  Usually, I wind up getting by.  Anyway, I sit in the barber chair, and the barber says something I can't understand (yeah, yeah).  I realize he is asking how I want my hair cut.  Uh-oh.  I hadn't thought of this.  I don't know what to say.  I make a couple of simple gestures and pray.

Best.  Barber.  Ever.  Especially for a young guy, he was a wizard with his implements.  Did all the little extras.  Unbelievable.  So, I ask him (in French, by the way) "How much?"  He replies "50" (dirhams).  He said the number in English.  I figure I must've misunderstood.  Can't be 50 dirhams.  I asked again and he answered again the same.  That's less than $6US!  I gave him what I'll bet was the biggest tip off his young career (particularly because the tipping culture really sucks here for those in service industries.  That plus roundtrip cab fare was easily under 15 bucks total.  Nice.  I'm tired.  Tssbeh aala kheir.