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...
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...
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