"It Just Comes Natural"

Sun shines, clouds rain
Train whistles blow and guitars play
Preachers preach, farmers plow
Wishes go up and the world goes round...

Folks - give it up for George Strait!  What 'just comes natural' for The King?  Loving his woman, of course.  I'm not sure what, if anything, comes naturally to me.  If nothing else, it makes for a life that is rarely dull...

Sun shines, clouds rain..
  On Friday it hit 20 degrees here - that would be 68 in Fahrenheit to you in the States.  Not so bad for January, huh?  Went out that evening downtown to help celebrate a colleague's birthday.  Bunch of us went to an Indian restaurant and enjoyed a real good meal.  We gnawed on naan and survived the onslaught of curry.  These social situations here never fail to fascinate me.  My dinner companions were all nice, bright, hard-working, very well-traveled people - and I had them all beat by about 15 years.  Listening to them talk at one point, I tuned out and tried - and failed - to remember my first life when I was their age.  Maybe a good thing.
  Yesterday saw the first hard rain since who knows when.  Of course, that day I had volunteered to help a colleague move to her new pad in the bustling beach town of Dar Bouazza just south of Casa.  Lots of co-workers live there, and with good reason.  A little more expensive, but quiet, and did I mention it's a beach town?  If you're a kid, you can go to Crazy Park.  Yes, that's the name of an amusement park there.  Ok.  Then there is Natty Natty.  That's the name of a tiny, hole-in-the-wall grocery/eatery about the size of your patio.  You can buy some goodies that any supermarket in America has aplenty on their shelves, but are hard to find here.  I've been meaning to go, and I finally got there this week.  The highlight?  BACON!  Remember where I live.  The dreadlocked Frenchman who runs this joint had to go through all kinds of trouble to get permission to sell it at his establishment.  And I am grateful.

Preachers preach, farmers plow...
  As you might guess, religion can be a very touchy topic here.  Oh, you thought I was talking about Muslims and non-Muslims?  My native co-workers tell me Casa for sure has its contingent of hardcore types, but that by and large it is a very tolerant city.  I wholeheartedly agree.  I was actually talking about those who are what I'll call believers and non-believers.  What actually makes for a 'religious' person?  Is it calling yourself a Christian and going to church on Sunday morning or is it treating people right all 168 hours of the week?  I hope it is both, but more importantly, the latter.  As I continue to try to figure out my place in this world, these are the kinds of subjects of conversations I have with people all the time.
  This has to be the easiest place in the world to get your hands on an amply supply of inexpensive fresh fruits and vegetables.  There isn't an excuse in the world not to eat healthy here.  I've lived near farms all my life. Worked on one the summer before 12th grade.  Learned that wasn't how I wanted to make a living for the rest of my life.  Have always had the greatest respect for those who plow the good Earth.  Appreciate them even more now watching them bust their tails every day.  I chose my life's path, to a degree - did they ever have a choice?

Fire burns, waves crash...
  I can often see both at the same time from my 3rd-floor apartment.  The fire - let's just say the people here would get an 'F' rating from the Sierra Club or one of them other eco-wacko outfits.  Litter is a sport.  Dumps?  Side of the road will do.  Trash builds-up?  Just burn it.  I freaked out a little when I first saw from my hilltop pad fires scattered throughout the area, until I learned that recycling is the real r-word.  Apparently, the mindset is starting to change, though, e-x-t-r-e-m-e-l-y  s-l-o-w-l-y.
  The waves - the Atlantic Ocean laps at the coast just across the road from where I live.  As a New Jersey native, I've lived not far from the shore all my life.  Never cared for going there.  Except for Atlantic City and its poker tables.  Speaking of AC, I've never been one for the urban life.  I have to admit, after almost 6 months here, I've gotten used to my surroundings, thrived even.

Seeds grow and good things last
Ships sail, dreams fly...
  That brings us around back to the title of this week's post.  I'm not sure what, if anything, comes naturally to me.  I know - everyone has their God-given gifts.  I'm talking about when you are put in situations in life, how easily you can navigate them.  In August I moved into an apartment with a very good guy with whom I very little in common - tolerance ain't my strong suit.  I had a medical situation which forced me to place my trust in the hands of someone I didn't really know at all, when I am someone who can scarcely trust anyone.  I am trying to restart my career - my life - in terribly different surroundings, having to be someone I've never been.  Some days I don't care if that seed is watered, the hole in the ship plugged.  Other days, I hope to God this lasts here.  I can't dream yet...

Seasons change, rivers wind
Tumbleweeds roll and the stars shine
Wind howls, dawn breaks
Cowboys riding' time slips away...

"American Saturday Night"

"There's a big toga party tonight down at Delta Chi
they've got Canadian bacon on their pizza pie
they've got a cooler for cold Coronas and Amstel Lights
It's like were all livin' in a big ol' cup
just fire up the blender, mix it all up"

It was actually a get-together at a joint downtown that put the NFL playoffs on big-screen TVs for us fans of American football.  There was no Canadian bacon but there were Canadian colleagues (and a local friend).  The beer was flowing, though it was bottles of San Miguel and Budweiser.  Coca-Cola Light (Diet Coke) for yours truly.  Mojitos for the Moroccan lass.

The location for all this is a place I've mentioned before called Jackrabbit Slims, modeled after the fictional one in the movie Pulp Fiction.  They do some things to cater to us English-speaking ex-pats, bless their hearts.  The burgers are good and I enjoyed Mia's $5 milkshake (at today's exchange rates it's really only about $4.18!)  Pigskin!  Burgers!  Milkshakes!    Nice company, and Baltimore and Denver put on an entertaining game for us.  There was talk of the impending late start of the NHL season.  Morocco has been a gracious host, but it was nice to escape to the U.S. for an evening.  For 1 night I wasn't 5 hours ahead and 4500 miles away. 

I've learned when you stand 1 m 90 cm and weigh 115 kg you can't go clothes shopping at the mall.  If you have a problem with brown eggs, tough luck.  If you don't, get used to the fact that they won't be sorted by size but will have feathers and other stuff still stuck to them.  The USDA wouldn't approve, now would they how meat is handled.  Sides of beef just hanging out there without a care in the world.  I look at the chicken and just can't bear to buy it.  At least I have my pasta, though the jarred sauce is barely tolerable.  Plenty of cheap, fresh produce.  Fresh-baked bread is delicious.  People here cook from scratch, which is nice.

The people here are very friendly, even the taxi drivers, though they try to rip you off at every opportunity.  People mostly are patient with me as I try to comminicate my wants and needs in fledgling French and barely there Darija (Moroccan Arabic).  Getting better every week with my private French tutor.  Not easy getting around the big city (almost 4M people) where upwards of 95% of the streets aren't marked.  Try driving, especially with all the lunatics around you, when you're trying to get somewhere you've never been.  Nevel dull.  Work, neither,  Every day, if you look and listen and ask questions, you can learn something really interesting from these children and staff with a radically different perspective and life experience, who have been everywhere, and have themselves been influenced by being from a region that has had countless different types of people come through here over the centuries.

Think I'm going to walk on down to the King's Market and get some odd-looking veggies before I play basketball later on the court with the international-standard trapezoid-shaped lane...

"It's a French kiss, Italian ice
Spanish moss in the moonlight
just another American Saturday night"

"Every Mile A Memory"

"Every day, a page turned down; every night, a lonesome sound,
Like a freight train rollin' through my dreams:
Every mile, a memory."

 

A big thank you to Dierks Bentley for this week's title.  "Grazie" might be more appropriate, as I spent last week in Italy.  Long had it been a dream for me to be able to travel to the country shaped like a boot.  Casablanca is a very convenient spot from which to fly throughout Africa, the Middle East and Europe, and it can very often be done cheaply.  A colleague turned me onto a direct, roundtrip fare to Milan for just $133.  So, off I went via EasyJet.  Speaking of low cost transportation, the Italian rail system is a winner.  It can be (and was) maddening to navigate the website and/or contact reps on the phone, but I eventually bought all my tix and fortunately was not held hostage by the not-infequent worker strikes at any point.

 

The first leg of my journey took me to Venice.  If you're like me, the first (only?) thing you think of is gondolas paddling along the canals.  My colleagues are a very well-traveled bunch; I was able to ask several who had been to Venice what there is to do, and to a person they all said the same thing: you will get a lot of enjoyment just wandering around and getting lost in all the winding streets and alleys and nooks and crannies with loads of shops and restaurants - and they were absolutely right.  That is pretty much all I did the entire day I was there.

Of course, meandering around this city will bring you to a bridge at some point.  The oldest and most famous of the four crossing the Grand Canal is the Ponte di Rialto.  The crossing began as a 12th century pontoon bridge, was wood for a time, and eventually wound up in its present, stone form in the 16th century.   There is a portico in the center of the bridge with covered shops lining both sides of the ramps.  Here are some pix; note the grafitti on this architectural icon...

 

 

My Italian debut...

(A pause while I admire myself...)

Ok, back to work - as you might guess, there is no shortage of beautiful churches, especially in Venezia, which has such a luxurious history.  There is no greater example than the one at Piazza San Marco, which includes the Doge's Palace, belltower and eponymous Saint Mark's Basilica.  It has a lengthy history, beginning in the early 9th century, to the basic foundation of the present structure some 250 years later.  In the almost 1000 years since, it has grown significantly and houses countless, priceless treasures brought home by wealthy Venetian mechants.  The exterior architecture contains Byzantine, Romanesque and Gothic style elements, and the interior is best known for its extraordinary, gilded mosaics.

 

Between the weeklong grey weather, the inexpensive camera, the expansive subjects, and the amateur shooting them, the photos cannot do justice to the stunning sights I saw around every corner.  If I were you, I would go to Google to see Venice's Basilica San Marco and Florence's Il Duomo in order to see properly what I cannot give you.  Seriously, do it.  Now.  I'll wait.  Which, takes us to...

...Florence.  I spent an extremely pleasant day window shopping and noshing in pedestrian-friendly downtown Firenze.  Its landmark sight at the Piazza del Duomo, with St. John's Baptistery and the belltower, is the Basilica di Santa Maria del Fiore, more commonly called the Duomo (its dome was the largest in the world for a very long time, and was unsupported, even).  Work began in the late 13th century and lasted for about a century and a half.  The size of this place is staggering - it had to be a city block.

Darn, just missed a cardinal - who cares - I'm going to the Vatican soon...

But, first...





You know what?  It's not easy taking your own photo!  This was my first attempt at snapping one of me and Il Porcellino (the piglet), a bronze (copy) of a 500 year-old statue that is a favorite tourist attraction in Florence.  Legend has it that if you put a coin in its gaping jaws and let it fall into the grating beneath, it is good luck; if you rub his snout, it ensures a return to Florence.

 

 

Another boar in a nearby shop.

 

 

In the bookshop of one of Florence's fine galleries.  Extra credit if you recognize the character...

 

Well, it's off to Rome and the Vatican city!

 

The train rolled into Roma on Christmas night, and I met up with colleagues for dinner and drinks.  Just walking around the city was a blast.  I had to pinch myself; I'm in Rome on Christmas!  The night did end on an interesting note: seeing a pair of homeless people rolling around on top of one another in the throes of passion.  At least, that was the opinion of a colleague and me.  You can't make up these things...

 

The day after Christmas.  St. Peter's Square.  High noon.  A papal blessing, called an Angelus.  Me and Bennie, Pope Benedict XVI to you.

 

I just can't get me enough me...

Now, pan right...

 

Mindblowing.  The guy may not be too popular in some quarters, but he is the spritual leader of the billion-member, two-millenia old, worldwide enterprise that is the Catholic church.  And I got to attend a blessing by him.  Wow.  I was raised in a home where both sides are Catholic, but neither side overly religious.  One side a little more than the other, and I did attend a Catholic high school, and we did go to Mass for a while when I was a teen, but all in all, religion wasn't a huge thing, and my parents never spoke to us in a religious context.  I married a minister's daughter, of all people, but we never darkened the doorway of a church, except for special occasions.  I only have one friend with whom I discuss religion.  Since I've been here, and I really don't know if it has anything to do at all with having many colleagues who are people of faith, but I've found myself more and more lately pushed/pulled in the direction of church.  We'll see, I guess.

 

I couldn't resist...

Finally, a castle along the Tiber that long ago protected the Holy See...

 

 

It is called the Castel Sant'Angelo, and was constructed in the 2nd century to be the tomb of the Roman emperor Hadrian.  The 5th and 6th centuries weren't so good to the place.  In the 14th century it became a fortified castle, then a residence and even a prison at the hands of various pontiffs.  Yes, a prison.  Remember, the papacy wasn't what it is today.  Not that Ben doesn't dabble in politics - he is a ruling head of state, don't forget - and social issues are very much in the front of his mind, but he isn't what his predecesors were.

 

Oops, I almost forgot the Vatican Museum and Sistine Chapel.  The highlight, of course, was entering the Sistine Chapel (sorry, no cameras allowed - we have to go to Google), walking to the center, looking up, and seeing the centerpiece of Michelangelo's signature work, the Creation of Adam:

 

 

 

I was flabbergasted standing there and looking up and seeing the entirety of this work.

 

Now, let us walk back across the bridge to...

 

...Rome!

 

I was ready and waiting for this!  The Colosseum was at the top of my list, but that tour wasn't til later..  First, was the Trevi fountain, the most famous of Rome's many beautiful fountains.  It has roots dating to the 1st century, but construction of the Baroque-style fountain as it is today began in the 17th century.  Took 3 good pics, like this one the best:

 

 

Not too far away were the Spanish Steps.  It is the widest staircase in Europe, totals 138 steps, and was built in the 18th century.  The Romantic poet John Keats lived in the yellow-cream home to the right.  It linked several notable structures; today, if go straight from the bottom, you will enter a high-end shopping district.

 

 

from the bottom...

 

 

 

 

huff, puff - getting there...

 

 

A view from the top!

 

Shortly after, I'm walking along, when all of a sudden...

 

...it's the Roman Pantheon, a remarkable structure in continuous use since the 2nd century!  Are you kidding me?!  Today it is a church.

 

 

I continue walking...

Yes, it is THE Roman Colosseum!

I took a massive amount of photos inside and out.  I'll go with a couple of the best interior shots.  Remember what happened in this place 2000 years ago...

Me!  Me!  It's all about ME!

My attempt to be artsy.

Next door is the Roman Forum and Palatine Hill...

The Roman Forum was the absolute epicenter of ancient Rome.

 

I could've used at least another day in Rome :(

Last, but not least, is Pisa.  Let us start with the Leaning Tower, actually, a bell tower for the next-door cathedral.  I took a ton of pix from every angle and distance I could.  Let's go with these for the exterior (of course, I am featured ;)

Lemme see which one I like best from outside...

I thought I was going to collapse walking the almost 300 steps inside to the top, then I got dizzy descending the same steps in that tight circular pattern.  Another chuckle...I don't speak Italian, but, like French (which I am learning) is similar to Spanish, a fellow Romance language that I happen to understand pretty well.  Anyway, I walk into a tiny little men's store, where the older lady proprietor was chatting with an older couple.  Me and my gym bag didn't fit in too well in small space, I admit.  I tried not to be too much of a bull in a china shop while I tried on hats.  I was going to buy a very nice one, in fact.  However, I got a little ticked off when I heard the lady badmouth me.  I heard a word that, while Italian, could only be a Spanish cognate.  I listened closer and figured out they were talking bad about the 'foreigner'.  Sorry, lady, you blew that sale... 

While doing some research beforehand, everyone said that is nothing else to do or see, that Pisa is otherwise not worth seeing. Well, after spending an afternoon there, I'd have to disagree. It's lacking in other landmarks, yes; however, the city of Pisa is 1000 years old, yet it looks to me as a shining example of what larger American cities are trying to do with their downtowns today.  The whole place is well-planned, well-preserved, walkable...and a whole host of other 'w' words :)  If I were a young urban professional or entrepreneur, I would come here to live and work in an instant.  It was so beautiful along the river as the sun began to set.  But, I had to catch a train back to Milan; I had a date to see The Last Supper before I said arrivederci to Italy.

But, first, a fashion review - after all, Milan is a leading fashion center in the world.  Thumbs up: leggings as pants.  Thumbs down: man purses - sorry, they ain't 'satchels'...

Our final stop is at the Convent of Santa Maria della Grazie in Milano.  Sorry to say, but no photos were allowed in the room where Da Vinci's masterpiece is featured on an end wall of the monastery's refectory.

I will provide, however, a photograph of the very lovely cloister.  You see, Leo didn't want to paint TLS as a fresco, as fresh plaster required fast work.  He instead used a newer technique he was playing with that was not to fare well with the passage of time.  As such, it has to be extremely carefully maintained and protected.  Wait, what is this?!

Relax, it's just a copy in a room next door.  (The real deal is something like 15'x20' or so)  I just wanted one more photo of ME!

Alas, my whirlwind tour of Italy had to come to an end.  Ciao!  I promptly flew home and slept for 18 hours!  Ready to get back to it now.  There are a pair of one-week breaks in February and April.  Hmmm...

"Funny how no matter where I run,
Round every bend I only see,
Just how far I haven't come."

"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...