"No Shoes, No Shirt, No Problems"

I've been up to my neck workin' 6 days a week.
Wearin' holes in the soles of the shoes on my feet
Been dreamin' of gettin' away since I don't know.
Ain't no better time than now...
Want to soak up life for a while
in laid back mode.
No boss, no clock, no stress, no dress code...

Kenny Chesney probably didn't have me in mind when he wrote this song, but more on that later...
Actually, I haven't worked at all this week - I've been on recess!  Just did a bunch of little things close to home.
I visited the Museum of Moroccan Judaism.  Yes, you read that correctly.  I don't want to get this wrong, so I'm going to use Google's own description:

     Better known as simply the Jewish Museum, this is the only of its kind to be found in the
     Islamic world, and is often highlighted as an example of Morocco's historic tolerance between the
     two faiths. Set in a modern villa, the museum's exhibits follow the 2,000-year-old history of
     Morocco's Jews. A number of rooms display various aspects of their traditions and daily life such
     as torahs, Hanukkah lamps, ketubofs (marriage contracts), and traditional clothing. There are also
     life-size replicas of the interior of a synagogue and a jeweler's workshop, referring to the Jews'
     historical dealings in silver. A photo library displays many of Morocco's ancient synagogues,
     cemeteries, holy sites, and various Mellahs and other Jewish landmarks within Morocco.

I finally found the place in a tucked away on a quiet street in a nice section of the city.  Two security guards sat out in front of the property.  If they weren't there, no one one ever even begin to guess what was behind the gate.  All the descriptions were in French!  I could figure out a lot of things, though English translations would've really helped!  I read ahead of time that a English-speaking guide could be had for 10 dirhams.  There was no one there when I entered, so I wandered around for a bit, then a woman appeared.  The way she was dressed told me that she was a cleaning lady first and foremost, which told me that very most likely wouldn't be an English-speaker.  She gave me a ticket and I gave her my 20 dirhams (about $2.35 USD) and continued on my way.  She pointed me toward a couple of rooms that were darkened in the other wing of the villa and turned on the lights to the rooms for me.  When I was done soon after she held out her hand - my "guide" expected 10 dirhams for her trouble.  Sigh...

     The other highlight of the week was a visit to a hammam, or a public steam bath.  Yup.  I did my homework and went to the local "hanout" buy for 10 dhs a "kiis" (pronounced with a long E sound), which is an exfoliating glove.  I got a travel size soap and shampoo, not opting to invest in the traditional "savon noir" (black soap, w/ black olive base) or "ghassoul" clay w/ Argan oil (remember the tree-climbing goats?)  I had remarkably found by chance the day before a pair of inexpensive plastic flip-flops that actually fit me!  This is no small achievement in this country.  Anyway, off to the bain turc...
     I went for the whole deal - "gommage", massage, "savonnage" (scrub, you know what, bath).
This wasn't your typical public bathhouse, cheaper but crowded.  Mine cost, w/ tip after, about $25 USD.  I locked up my gym bag and went into a stall to strip down to bathing trunks then into a shower stall to rinse myself.
     I was directed to the HOT room, which took my breath away when I stepped through the curtain.  OK, this is what a tropical forest with max humidity in summer is like.  After a few minutes in there I went into the (small letters) hot room and laid on a marble slab for the scrubbing.  WHOA!  I was told to expect a very vigorous treatment, but it still was an eye-opener, though by my definition, not painful.  I glowed red like a lobster afterward every single inch of my body gave up multiple layers of skin.  (And I paid for this).  In a public hammam, I would have returned the favor to whoever scrubbed me.  I rinsed and saw the remarkable amount of dead skin removed from my carcass.  Back to the HOT room.  Then to a massage room.  Then HOT room.  Then to hot room for soaping and rinse.  Back to HOT room for 5 minutes then shower stall then dressing stall.  I must say - I was way relaxed when all was said and done.  My colleague steered me right.
  Will I go again.  Perhaps.  Having a perfect (male) stranger with whom I couldn't even converse spend what had to be way over an hour working over every square centimeter of my person took a bit to get used to initially, but wasn't really a bother for me.  Spending my youth in locker rooms probably helped here.  A lot of my female colleagues aren't ecstatic about the idea of being topless (for certain) and bottomless (maybe) and having either a complete stranger, or worse, a friend give them the business.  Whatever.  I wanted the experience and I'm glad I did it.

  Now to plan for my trip to the Sahara Desert in April... 

No shoes, no shirt, no problems
Blues what blues? Hey, I forgot 'em
The sun and the sand and a drink in my hand with no bottom
No shoes, no shirt, no problems
Babe, lets get packed - tank tops and flip flops if u got 'em,
No shoes, no shirt, no problems
No problems...

"Forever And Ever, Amen"

You may think that I’m talking foolish
You've heard that I’m wild and I’m free...

  You know it, Randy Travis!  A week's vacation is here!  I know of a bunch of colleagues who are going about Spain, a couple that is going to Thailand, some buddies who are bouncing around Morocco and the list goes on.  Me?  (sheepish look)  I have no big plans this coming week, maybe a couple of day trips.  Casa has the only Jewish museum in the Arab world, and it's only open during business hours.  My roomie and I want to go to that.  A round of golf, perhaps.  Probably play things by ear, get some rest.  Last month has been crazy busy.  I'm getting old.

I'm no longer one of those guys...
They say time takes its toll on a body...
  Kid says to me about 1 pm today while I am doing lunch duty outside: "Race me".  I beg off, pointing out I'm not dressed appropriately.  Then I take off when he's not paying attention for a split second.  The mind is willing.  Another kid says to me in class about 2 pm: "Mister, are you crying"?  I raise my head, and say, no, it's just my back.  The body isn't willing. 
  At least I managed to get to, and through, a dentist appointment on Monday.  I'd kill for our school nurse and her assistant.  They get me drugs, make appointments for me, point me toward people and places.  I'd be in a world of trouble if it weren't for them.  Made it to, and through, a dentist appointment on Monday that was set up for me.  Wasn't easy to find.  Google maps didn't acknowledge the existance of the street and cabbies were no better.  I improvised a successful plan to get there, and got there early even.  Score one for the good guys.
  The dentist was a nice lady, and fortunately spoke pretty good English.  Would you believe she did the cleaning, and not a hygienist?  I later learned that in Morocco there is no such thing as a hygienist.  Only a dentist is permitted to handle instruments of the trade.  Next up is a trip to the lab to get a phlebotomy and some blood testing done.  Love the convenience of having a school doctor around who can write you a scrip when you need one.

They say time can play tricks on a memory
Make people forget things they knew
Well it's easy to see it's happenin to me...

  I've said it before, I'll say it again - when did I get old?  The first 3 years I worked at a NJ public high, in my late 20s, I was the youngest member of the 80-odd teachers.  I talk to some of these "kids" I work with and often make the mistake of looking back to when I was in their shoes and the world was my oyster and wishing to God that I could turn back the clock.  Where in the hell did the last decade go, and where do I go to get it back?!
  When I met with my boss earlier this week to discuss my thoughts on returning in the fall, my role, and the like, I found myself flashing back to some points in the last 6 months, when I didn't think I was going to make it, when I thought I was going to fall again.  I've felt a lot more comfortable of late.  I can look and envision a successful end to this year, and a better one next year.  I was asked to make a 2-year commitment when I was offered a job year, and I intend to honor that commitment.
  There is one thing that bothers me, though.  There is a nagging part of me that says I don't have another year to waste here, because I don't have that many years left.   There is a part of me that constantly haunts me that is convinced that I have far too many years behind of me than in front of me.  I wish I knew what is normal in terms of looking at your mortality.  I'm 44 now, well ahead of my statistical halfway point.  But 44 can't be old?  But 7-1/2 years ago I got way-too-close to death.  Am I living on borrowed time?  I don't want to even think about what lies ahead, or doesn't.

Just listen to how this song ends...
Forever and ever, amen

"Born To Fly"

I've been tellin' my dreams to the scarecrow
'Bout the places that I'd like to see
I said, friend do you think I'll ever get there
Ah, but he just stands there smilin' back at me

So I confessed my sins to the preacher
He says...you've got nothin' but time...
But how do you wait for heaven
And who has that much time

Thank you, Sara Evans!  Well, I had intended to give myself a birthday gift of skydiving for the first time.  A "sorry" goes out to Mom for when she asked me what I was going to do, and I replied "my plans were still up in the air".  You gotta admit, that is pretty funny, though?

I went to a lot of trouble to make this happen.  I asked "Karim" many things via numerous emails.  You would think the topic of max. weight for a safety tandem canopy might come up.  For you wiseacres out there, I was ok, albeit barely, for an individual, but, oh, about 50 lbs to heavy for the tandem equipment.  I was very proud of myself; no one got hurt.  Karim was very fortunate not to be on the premises.  I should've known I was in trouble when I walk up to a young woman at a desk, whose English was about as good as my French, and explain I'm there to do a tandem jump, and she laughs and says "that's impossible".  I figure, what does she know?  She gets one of the main guys, whose English is quite good, and he explains my dilemna.  Not surprisingly, he didn't even entertain the notion of hauling my carcass up with him.

I did get to see some nice places.  I drove by myself halfway across the country without a clue other than with what (little) I could gather online, and managed not to get lost.

Here is the first of 2 pics I took today.  The first is of my medical certificate:

Yes, I fibbed a couple of times.  The second photo is a little more interesting:

You can't figure it out?  It's my first international speeding ticket.  Yup.  Speed trap.  Good thing that 300 is dirhams, not dollars.  At least I didn't get a ticket when I got stopped on my way back!  Thanfully, Moroccans do the flash-the-headlights thing like in the States.  I'm very certain that saved me 2 more citations...

My daddy, he's grounded like the oak tree
My momma, she is steady as the sun
Oh you know I love my folks
But I keep starin' down the road
Just lookin' for my one chance to run

Yeah, 'cause I will soar away like the blackbird
I will blow in the wind like a sea
I will plant my heart in the garden of my dreams
And I will grow up where I'll wander wild and free

Oh, how do you wait for heaven
And who has that much time
And how do you keep your feet on the ground
When you know...
You were born to fly!

"Chicken Fried"

You know I like my chicken fried
Cold beer on a Friday night
A pair of jeans that fit just right
And the radio up...

  Actually, my chicken was stir-fried for Friday's lunch, and there's no booze up in here (because my roomie drank all of the wine).  I'm wearing jeans, but they a bit loose.  At least the radio is up!  That is, I'm listening to my music through the computer; I'm not much for the Arabic tunes I'm subjected to on taxi rides.  Though, you can hear American popular music here.  That's what the kids listen to on their IPhones.  They find it amusing I don't have a cell phone here.  But I generally don't need one.  Except for watching some live sporting events (when the +5 hour time difference isn't too much of a factor) I don't at all miss not having a TV.  My laptop is my lifeline.  As long as I can read up on what's going on in the world and keep in touch with everyone back home, it's all good...

  I had just started this post last night when the Internet conked out.  Unfortunately, this is not uncommon here.  I'm having a little problem with my camera, but that will soon be fixed.  Today's post won't be the longest one.  One chock-full of pics will be coming in a couple of weeks.  And next Sunday's post will be a very special one, I can promise.  On this sunny Saturday morning in Casa ( temp to hit mid-60s :) I just wanna ramble on a little...

  I always keep a little notepad and pen with me.  At work it helps me to not forget any one of a million things that are constantly popping up, like that Whack-a-Mole game on the Boardwalk down the shore.  I also jot things down when something catches my attention that I think may be of interest when I write posts and week's end.

  Being from New Jersey, I know all about traffic circles!  Of course, in recent years the State has been re-engineering or eliminating them.  I just read an article this past week that now the idea is to put in roundabouts.  Apparently, they are far more safe than circles.  6 months ago I wouldn't have had a clue exactly what a roundabout was.  I sure do now.  They are all over Casablanca.  It took a little getting used to; I have to drive them the opposite of how I was taught to drive a circle, even though they don't look at all appreciably different from one another.  Makes driving in this metropolis even more entertaining, heaven help me.

  Next year, I may not even be driving at all.  I'm strongly considering living in the city.  Anyone who knows me well just fell out of their chair.  I like my work commute (about 250 feet), being surrounded by fields of cows and sheep and looking from my balcony at the ocean.  I would also like everything I need and want to do in the city to be within walking distance or a short cab ride away.  After hours, getting a taxi ride from the city to my place just outside the city's edge isn't possible.  One of these days, accepting a ride from a stranger isn't going to work out well.

  If you can't believe I'd choose to live in an urban area, you may not to read on.  I'm actually getting into soccer.  I haven't accepted an invite to play pickup (sorry, David) but as a huge fan of sports in general and seeing people play it around me ALL THE TIME, I'm coming to be able to see and appreciate certain things.  I knew when Morocco was playing Angola, Cape Verde and South Africa in the African Cup the last 2 weeks, and even saw a little of the big Barcelona-Real Madrid semifinal of the Copa del Rey the other day.

  Scholastic basketball and soccer games were played here last week.  GO MUSTANGS!  It shouldn't have caught my eye by now, but I still took notice of the young woman hoopster from another school wearing a hijab (headscarf), longsleeve tee and leggings with her b-ball uniform.  An interesting mix of conservative Islam meets 21st century athletic garb.  She played guard.  She didn't have to concern herself, as a big man would, with the wider, trapezoidal lane characteristic of the "international" game, as an American would say.  I hate it!

  A final sports note: I was invited with other expats to the U.S. Consulate for a Super Bowl party.  Why am I going when the game kicks off at 11:30 and runs til 4?  How often do I get to go to a U.S. Consulate?  Especially when the party is at Villa Mirador, the building on the property where Winston Churchill stayed when he met with with FDR during the wartime Casablanca Conference in January of'43.  I'm going!  Go Eagles!  Oh...

  Well, it's 5 am for you all back home, so I'll let you catch a few more Zs.  Bonne journee! 

Its funny how it`s the little things in life that mean the most
Not where you live, what you drive / or the price tag on your clothes
There`s no dollar sign on a piece of mind / this I`ve come to know...