"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...