"Redneck Yacht Club"

I'm meeting my buddies out on the lake
We're headin' out to a special place
We love that just a few folks know
there's no signing up, no monthly dues...

Um, with apologies to Chris Morgan, that's not entirely accurate.  The Churchill Club is not on the lake, and members would have to pay dues.  Why don't I just let you read from their Facebook page:

The Churchill Club - serving the English speaking community since 1923

The Churchill Club is a meeting place for English speakers in the Ain Diab suburb of Casablanca. With a bar, restaurant and garden, the Club provides a relaxing place to meet other English speakers, Moroccan and expats alike.

 

 

The club is nestled quietly, almost hidden, within the Corniche, a neighborhood that lines the ocean, with the Ain Diab beach, and many hotels, restaurants and nightclubs.  When I was looking up info for this post I came across this wonderful article written by a woman about her evening there:

 

http://www.justluxe.com/community/casablancas-exclusive-churchill-club_a_1777706.php

 

I was among numerous colleagues who attended a trivia night.  6 of us younger folk (actually, 5 much younger colleagues and me :( teamed up to take on co-workers and other English-speakers from other places in Casa.  We all dined on fish & chips; I treated myself to the very rare Grey Goose & tonic (for 50 dirhams, why the heck not?)  Our team just missed making the money, but at least we topped our colleagues (hee hee).

I was also down along the Corniche very recently and finally walked out to Marabout de Sidi Abderrahmane.  First a pic:

 

Before this year, it could be accessed only by boat or walking out at low tide.  Now a structure allows you to walk to it from the beach.  I am going to pilfer from Morocco.com for a description:

"The first thing a visitor should know about the Marabout de Sidi Abderrahmane in Morocco is that it is not a normal religious building or place of worship – it is a burial ground. The Marabout de Sidi Abderrahmane is located just off the coast of Casablanca on a large, rocky outcrop of land. As if that wasn’t odd enough, the actual tombs on the outcrop take the shape of a series of little white domes. The tomb belongs to Sidi Abderrhamane Thaalibi, the founder of the Thaalibiya (now Algiers). He is generally considered to be a Saint by most Moroccans, and so his burial grounds are seen as being holy ground. Because of this, many people make informal pilgrimages to the Marabout de Sidi Abderrhmane in Morocco to reflect on life or to seek spiritual enlightenment. The custom of visiting venerated tombs for such purposes dates back to ancient times and has a special place in the lives of many Moroccans. A large number of people also visit the Marabout de Sidi Abderrhmane because it is believed that Saint Abderrahmane has miraculous healing powers which might help people suffering from some sort of physical ailment. Thus, they go in search of a cure.
Whether you’re visiting the Marabout de Sidi Abderrahmane in search of physical healing, spiritual vision or great sightseeing, you will enjoy a trip to this somewhat different tourist attraction and religious site. Visitors do well to remember, however, that it is a venerated site and that it must be treated with the utmost respect. They might also want to be prepared to witness some rather unusual practices, such as the offering of animal sacrifices which is rare but which might happen as it is part of the ancient customs of some Moroccans."

I've heard some say it's nothing but a crock of poo.  It was an interesting sight to see the remains of animals and wonder what I (fortunately) missed.

Anyway, I'm outta here.  Hope to break in the lab coat next Saturday.  You'll just have to wait and see what for...

Bermudas, flip-flops and a tank top tan
popped his first top at ten a.m., that's Bob
he's our president
we're checking out the girls on the upper deck rubbin' in 15 SPF, it's hot
everybody's jumpin' in
later on when the sun goes down
we'll pull out the jar and the old guitar
and pass 'em around

Basstrackers, Bayliners and a party barge,
strung together like a floating trailer park anchored out and getting' loud
all summer long side by side there's five houseboat front porches AstroTurf,
lawn chairs and tiki torches
regular Joes rocking the boat that's us
the redneck yacht club

"If You're Going Through Hell"

Well you know those times
When you feel like there's a sign there on your back
Says I don't mind if ya kick me
Seems like everybody has
Things go from bad to worse
You'd think they can't get worse than that
And then they do

You step off the straight and narrow
And you don't know where you are
Use the needle of your compass
To sew up your broken heart
Ask directions from a genie
In a bottle of Jim Beam
And she lies to you
That's when you learn the truth

Rodney Atkins, everyone!  Read nothing into this week's title; it was actually a good week.  I'll get to the reason for the title shortly...

I spend an exorbitant amount of time reading news online.  Saw an article about Morocco a couple days ago, thought I'd pass it along, to give a glimpse into the land in which I live...

http://www.foxnews.com/world/2013/09/13/morocco-unveils-long-awaited-judicial-reforms

Wednesday of course was the 12th anniversary of 9-11.  I don't recall seeing or hearing much of anything last year.  I know some colleagues dealt with some stuff.  This year a student said something to try to provoke me; I pretended to not hear and kept walking away.  I got a little aroused at the thought of strangling him with his own tongue.  Only the thought of Moroccan prison kept me at bay...

Friday night went downtown with a handful of friends for some yummy pizza.  I love going downtown; if you keep your gaze at eye level, the city looks like any other urban sewer.  If you look around, and if you're like me, you enjoy the endless parade of tall white buildings with French Colonial and Art Deco architecture lining the wide boulevards.  Dinner was followed by drinks on an apartment rooftop.  Good stuff...

Saturday night brought game time!  My beloved Alabama Crimson Tide visited College Station to get revenge on Texas A&M.  Our financial poobah and his wife are Aggies; they were wonderful hosts as we watched the contest projected on the wall of their apartment.  My department head was there; she is an Aggie, too, as were the hostess' parents.  I was severely outnumbered.  Fortunately, the good guys prevailed, in a wild affair.  It was r-e-a-l-l-y hard to control myself at times...

This afternoon, I went downtown to the Ancienne Medina.  If I may borrow from Lonely Planet (and even if I can't, I'm going to anyway):

Casablanca's modest medina gives an idea of just how small the city was before the French embarked on their massive building program. Even though it's the oldest part of the city, most of the buildings date from the 19th century and it lacks the medieval character of other city medinas.
Enter the medina from the northeast corner of the Place des Nations Unies near the restored clock tower. The narrow lanes to the east are piled high with cheap shoes, high-sheen synthetic underwear and household goods, while the rest of the medina remains largely residential. On the north side of the medina, facing the port, you'll see the last remains of Casablanca's 18th-century fortifications. Known as the sqala, the bastion offers panoramic views over the sea.


From the outside...


From the inside...


With apologies to Dante, this is what gave inspiration for the title of today's post.  Talk about a den of thieves!  Oh, the myriad ways the merchants try to separate you from your hard-earned dirhams.  I don't even know where to start.  I walked out of there with a white lab coat.  Why, you ask?  Perhaps, another day...

Well I been deep down in that darkness
I been down to my last match
Felt a hundred different demons
Breathing fire down my back
And I knew that if I stumbled
I'd fall right into the trap that they were laying, yeah

But the good news
Is there's angels everywhere out on the street
Holding out a hand to pull you back up on your feet
The one's that you've been dragging for so long
You're on your knees
You might as well be praying
Guess what I'm saying

If your going through hell
Keep on going, don't slow down
If you're scared don't show it
You might get out
Before the devil even knows you're there

"My Kinda Party"

Worked all week.
Cleaned up, clean cut, and clean shaved.
Got the cover off a ’68.
I fired it up, and let them horses sing...
Baby, what you got goin’ on Saturday?
You know, words got it, there’s gonna be a party,
Out of town about half a mile.
Four wheel drives and big mud tires.
Muscadine wine
Well, with apologies to Jason Aldean,  maybe it didn't quite go down like that, but it was an interesting first week of school.  There was the armed robbery, but we'll get back to that...

On Monday I joined a nearby gym.  I had better equipment in my high school weight room in the mid '80s, but the price is pretty right, and it's within walking distance.  The only inconvenience is that it's open to me on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays.  Why is that?  Bueller?  Bueller?  Men and women cannot work out in there at the same time.  The ladies can use it on Tues/Thurs/Sat, and its closed on Sunday.  Shockingly (snicker) the guy at the desk tried to cheat me on the sign-up fee, and he succeeded.  Short version, I didn't catch him til Wednesday, but I did get him!  Anyway, It was H-O-T in there, but I liked that, though I got thru alright (I didn't puke until Friday, but that's another story).

Since it's me we're talking about, food has to fit into the equation (food squared + Jack = Yum).  I put in an order for a kilo (yes, a kilo) of homemade flour tortillas made by a local staff member.  Oh my are they good - I can't wait!  Went out for chow on Friday with some friends to a Chinese place.  I'm not sure it has an official name.  Some call it Chinese Villa, creatively named since it's a Chinese joint built into a villa.  Some just call it the Chinese place.  Whatever.  It's great; they treat us real nice.

On the flip side, we went to brunch on Saturday.  One guy and I ordered a Hawaiian pizza.  It was a white pie, and it had pineapple, but guess what else?  Chicken, mushrooms and...kernels of corn?  Odd, but it worked.  Then we went to a nice little souk tucked in behind some buildings across the street from the French Market.  The nut guy is the man!  I saw some broccoli and went to check it out.  I give thanks to Mom here because she taught me things to look for when buying veggies, and I knew this stuff looked fine, but wasn't really.  The guy stopped me when I went to walk away and brought out the good stuff from underneath the stand.  Now we're talking...

When do we get to the armed robbery?  Patience...
I'll warm up with the illness and near-violence on Friday.  Something struck me midday Friday which in short led to my praying to the porcelain god in the cafeteria staff bathroom.  The day had begun with my roomie, 3 female staff and I standing on the corner waiting for the school bus (for you wiseacres, it is a short bus).  A man approaches the women, I'm half-paying attention.  I know enough to know he wants money.  When I hear the one woman who is a local talking back to him, I don't know what they're saying to each other, but I figure it's time for him to leave.  I look at him and he's yapping to me.  Whatever.  I just put down the bags I 'm holding, stagger my feet and wait to see if he is stupid enough to do anything.  He soon walks away down the street, running his mouth along the way.  The woman who had been talking to him told me that what he was saying in Arabic was that he knows me and is going to get me.  Whatever.  Now, we get to the armed robbery...

I use the term armed robbery a bit loosely; I just wanted to pique your interest.  I was robbed, in a sense, and the man had gun, though I'm sure he had no plans to use it.  The uniform was more than enough.  You see where this is going?  Allow me to fill in the blanks...
Certain details will be withheld to protect the not-so-innocent.  On Saturday, a Moroccan staff member was driving his car, with me in the back and another expat staff in the front.  We were on the AutoRoute (turnpike), driving safely and legally when we were pulled over.  We knew what was coming.  The driver got out, and approached the officer behind the vehicle.  When he got back in, he simply said: "cent" which is French for hundred.  It's a shame that we were just pleased it wasn't more, given what usually happens.  My expat colleague was aghast at how blatant a scene it was.  I replied that I appreciated that it occurred in a routine, upfront manner as opposed to the shady and/or hypocritical dealings you might encounter elsewhere...

Oh baby, you can find me.
On the back of a jacked up tailgate...
And I’ll find peace.
At the bottom of a real tall cold drink.
I'm chillin' with some Skynyrd and some old Hank.
Lets get this thing started.
It’s my kind of party...

"Another Day In Paradise"

The kids screaming, phone ringing
Dog barking at the mailman bringing
That stack of bills - overdue
Good morning...how are you?
Got a half hour, quick shower
Take a drink of milk but the milk's gone sour...
There goes the washing machine...
Don't kick it...
I'll fix it
Long about a million other things...
Well, it's ok. It's so nice
It's just another day in paradise

Ok, I'll confess there is a lot of sarcasm in this week's title, courtesy of Phil Vassar.  I caught some grief this past week for my nothing-but-negative review of my early days of apartment living in the big city.  I knew there'd be a trade-off, yet I was still a bit surprised.  Things are getting settled and I'm getting my bearings.

There are some positives.  I can go anywhere, anytime, to do anything; it's just a cheap tram or petit taxi ride away.  I have a lot of colleagues who live within walking distance.  My friends who lived in the city last year have been taking me to all kinds of awesome places.  There is a place about 2 blocks away owned by a Moroccan man who had lived in my home area and came back here to open a little joint...that sells Philly cheesesteaks!  I'm one of the very few Delaware Valley natives who doesn't eat them; I eat brochettes (kabobs) instead, and the price is so right!
Went to a Spanish tapas bar downtown called La Bodega; that was great, stood up well to what I've had in Madrid.  Had sushi at the cliché-named Wok-n-Roll.  All you can eat, and really good.  We've been going to brunch on the weekends in the attractive Cil (see-L) district; the "French market" next door is pricey but carries hard-to-find goodies, and the souk hidden behind shops across the street is an excellent place to get quality produce.  Boys Café Wednesday off the bus after work is a tradition I'm really liking.  I'm probably forgetting some places.  I also probably should cook more, though I have been a very good boy and (somehow) have stayed away from the justifiably famous cinnamon rolls at snack time!
There is a nearby gym that was closed for August due to Ramadan that I'm going to check out tomorrow with my friend who joined it last year.  People have been asking for pics, so this is a good time to show some of my place, its views, and the neighborhood.

First, the building, Residence Lalla Meriem:

Turn around, and you get:

Unfortunately, that is more representative of the area, though no different than any large urban area in the U.S.  I am a block away from a big road, Boulevard Ghandi.  It is the heart of this gritty but up-and-coming commercial area.  Here is a quick look:



That shot includes 2 American places, KFC and Radio Shack.  There are many very nice shops, but I am going to give a little free advertising to one maybe 200 feet away:

It's closed today and tomorrow or I'd show you a beautiful chocolate shop.  As you might glean from the sign, it sells imported Lebanese chocolate.  It is managed by a very lovely woman who is the mother of a student I work closely with.
Within 100 feet of my pad are 3 places that resemble this:

A hanoot (ha-NEWT) is a place maybe the size of your kitchen that is like an American convenience store that I is stocked to the gills with foodstuffs and sundries.  There must be thousands of them in Casa.
Wanna come up to my place?
Here is the view from my living room and bedroom, respectively:

The roof affords a 360 degree of the city:  The first one presented shows the Grand Mosque in the distance, the second shows the Twin Center in the fashionable area of downtown:

 

Finally, an artsy shot that shows off this vast city:

 



Alright then, that's it for this week; the first full week with children begins tomorrow.  Til next weekend...
 
Well, there's no place that
I'd rather be...
I wouldn't trade it for anything
And I ask the Lord every night
For just another day in paradise...
Well, it's the kids screaming. The phone ringing
Just another day
Well, it's Friday. You're late
Oh yeah, it's just another day in paradise...

"Roll With It"

We get so caught up in catching up
Trying to pay the rent trying to make a buck
That don't leave much time for time for us
And ain't life too short for that

This song from Easton Corbin's 2009 debut album hit #1 on the charts.  Not exactly earth-shattering stuff, but always good to remember.  Still getting adjusted to apartment living in the big city.  I got used to being out and about Casa last year, but now I'm actually living within the city limits.  The ol' bachelor pad is on the 4th floor of a 6-story building.  I've got a roomie, a fellow 2nd-year teacher.  The building is in a gritty commercial area filled with similar dwellings.  Many colleagues live in the area, and it is very convenient to anything I need.

I know I'll never have a problem finding my way home.  Heck, I can do it with my eyes closed.  Literally.  Oh, you scoff?  Well, I have a secret weapon - my nose!  You see, if I go to the Carrefour grocery store and then go straight down the street to find my corner to turn at, my corner differs from the handful of others along the way.  I start at Rue Ben Habbous, where a couple of friends live, then pass a few more corners that look like any in any other big city.  Then, I get to my corner at my street, Rue Al Kadi Bakar...

It's not as much a corner but a place to be used as a public toilet during broad daylight, as I've already seen, and smell, or as a place to catch some Zs, as I saw earlier today in the above photo.  If you look closely, you can see the graffiti image of the Monopoly dude.  Ok...

We took over the lease from a couple of ladies we work with who moved elsewhere in the city.  My roommate was familiar with this place, and when I asked him what it was like, he gave a very detailed description.  I didn't give it much thought; I knew it wouldn't be fancy, but that wasn't important.  The price was right.  Hmmm, maybe I should've given it more of a look.  I'm extremely low maintenance, but I was very unpleasantly surprised by a few things.

My apartment on campus last year was spacious and airy; I didn't expect that this time around, but it never crossed my mind that the appliances and the like would be so different.  The elevator, and I'm deadly serious, is about 3x4 feet, plus has the remarkably strong odor of mold.  The sign in the car rates it for 4 people or 300 kg.  4 skinny Moroccans would have to suck in their bellies to fit in this thing, not that I would advise that.  I weigh about 115 kg; my roomie would have to be in the same range.  We almost have to grease up to get in at the same time.  I just know we are courting disaster when we go up together.

Off the kitchen is the washer.  Note I didn't include the word dryer.  And this washer ain't exactly heavy-duty - it doesn't come up to my waist...

I should be more positive.  At least I still have that ocean view - oh, wait...
At least I go to sleep to the lovely sounds of animals and the waves - oh, wait...

But you never know who you will run into at the KFC...

                           One of the greatest soccer players on Earth, and Cristiano Ronaldo...

Yup, just another week in the White City.  The kiddies invade this week.  Living the dream...

And we'll roll with it
Won't think about it too much
Baby let's just go with it
And get out of this ordinary everyday rut 

"Wagon Wheel"

Heading down south to the land of the pines
I'm thumbing my way into North Carolina
Staring up the road and pray to God I see headlights
I made it down the coast in seventeen hours
Picking me a bouquet of dogwood flowers
And I'm a-hopin' for Raleigh, I can see my baby tonight

 

Hootie Darius Rucker gives us our first new post title of the new school year.  Here for 48 hours and it's like I never left.  Mike H. will be happy to know that I made it out of Newark airport alright, but then things went awry.  I had a 4-hour layover at CDG Paris airport and was a lil' tired, so I crawled behind some chairs in a corner at the gate for a snooze.  I woke up on my own to see boarding almost finished for my flight! 

 

I got into Casa just fine early Friday afternoon, and when I finally got my luggage, I went to get a train ticket into the city.  The lone ticket seller was mobbed and time was a-wastin', so I went to the kiosk, where a young woman was failing, miserably, to buy a ticket.  I've got mere minutes and this dumb !#$%&%$#! girl rapidly kept hitting the same button on the screen what must've been at least a few dozen times.  Don't think that's gonna work, sweetheart.  My first tantrum of the year ensues.  I wasn't even my usual snarky self - I went straight to a full-blown fit.  She didn't seem to understand English but she certainly knew I was peeved.  I saw I wasn't going to get a ticket in time to get to meet up with my roomie to go to our new place.

 

I don't have a cell phone here, and I didn't know where our place was, but we'd made plans online to meet at a major intersection.  I snared a (way more expensive than a train) cab and got into the city to the street corner in question...or at least I thought I did.  Of course, I inadvertently made a small error in my memory of which street to meet at.  Where is he?!?!  I beg/borrow a cell to call, and get a recording.  Where exactly am I going to sleep tonight?!?!  I take the tram to the grand taxi station and pay quite a bit of a fee to get to school, getting to the hilltop around 8pm.  The guards let me through the gates and I ask myself: Who do I want to bother to crash at their place?  Ah, I could just crash on a sofa in the faculty lounge, if it's open...and it is!  The price is right, and it comes with Internet - woohoo!

 

In the a.m. I awoke and tried to call the roomie and got a recording again.  I walked down to the ocean to kill some time and killed some skin cells instead as I fell asleep on the beach.  Not too bad a sunburn, fortunately.  Back at school I borrowed a cell phone from a guard and finally got ahold of my roommate.  Plans were made and we eventually got all of our stuff into our new pad...almost.

 

I am going to pre-emptively blame fatigue for this next mishap...We get all of our stuff into the apartment and go to get some stuff and a bite to eat before we unpack.  When we return, I ask: where is my other suitcase?  During the time we got all the stuff out of the truck, into the building, up the elevator and into the apartment, my roomie had only left the bags alone inside the building for the briefest time; there was no bleeping way someone had stolen one, but they had.  I'm freaking out, to put it mildly.  Eventually, I got to the police station, with a matching suitcase, and tried to explain what happened.  I cannot do justice to accurately describe what transpired.  My French isn't that good, and their English was worse.  The second bag confused them.  I said I spoke Spanish and they grabbed a man who did also.  Finally, things are straight and I borrow a cell phone (yeah, a recurring theme) and call the roomie to get him to bring my passport which I need for them to do the report, when he informs me that I left my stuff on another floor :(

 

The apartment set-up isn't quite up to snuff, so we set out today to get some stuff.  A nasty odor pervades the elevator.  Remember the famous quote by Robert Duvall in Apocalypse Now? 

 

                                          "I love the smell of mold in the morning.  It smells

                                           like...allergy."

 

We decide to go to the mall.  The very first cabbie of the year is hailed...and he tries to rip us off.  Shocking.  I tell the guy to go f...um, we got out and hailed another petit taxi.  The song on the radio: Wagon Wheel, the current country hit by Darius Rucker.  I'm happy again, even more so when I get my chicken McNuggets soon after.  I suspect it's going to be another very interesting year... 

So rock me momma like a wagon wheel
Rock me momma any way you feel
Hey momma rock me
Rock me momma like the wind and the rain
Rock me momma like a south bound train
Hey momma rock me

"If You're Reading This"

...I'm already gone.

  The title tune is sung by Tim McGraw.  He narrates a letter from a soldier to his wife, giving her instructions about his burial should he meet his fate; that she is reading this letter means he is dead.
   
  Fear not, I'm alive and well.  Those of you who have followed this blog since I began writing weekly last August might have thought I must have met my maker since I stopped posting entries 2 months ago.  I simply wasn't doing any traveling or anything else I thought was especially interesting.  I was just focused on ending the year here in good fashion, looking forward to a summer at home, as well as beginning a new year here in the fall, moving into an apartment in the city.

  A year and a half ago, the only thing I knew about Casablanca was that some 70 years after its release is that it is regarded as perhaps the finest American film ever produced.  Oh, you meant the real-life city in Morocco?  Ummm...

  My gut told me that moving by myself to an Islamic state 4,000 miles away somehow was the way I could begin to rebuild my life.  It turned out to be very easy to fall into the culture.  However, the job didn't go so well at first; as the holiday season approached I v-e-r-y seriously considered not returning.  No, not next fall, but for January.

  All hell was breaking loose in the 6-inch space between my ears.  I was not only trying to rebuild my life, but rebuild me, too, on the fly.  It ain't easy trying to teach a dog new tricks.  I was going to cut bait, but finally I said F*** it, and doubled down my bet.  I took faith that I was doing the right things and that I would win in the end, and I did.

  How did I make this year a successful one?  Not without a lot of help.  I'm not sure how I could thank some people in this space without embarrassing them.  Let's just say I owe some people BIG time.  I'll gamble on absolutely anything, but opening myself up to these total strangers here was a risk I was not keen on taking.  I spend, literally, 98% of my time on this walled campus, at school or in my apartment.  And a lot of people around this place are straight up weird.  I kid.  A little.

  I probably should explain.  A huge majority of the staff here are, in my words, very religious.  I don't know a whole of people like that back in the States.  I didn't know I was walking into this kind of environment.  It's cool, to each their own; as long you push your beliefs on me, we'll be alright.  They welcomed me with open arms.  Couldn't wrap my head around it at first.  People aren't this nice, they must be up to something.  It's just been a never-ending source of bemusement.  Many of colleagues talk in a way that makes my head spin.  I don't even know how people think like that, speaking with such a certainty of things that I can't fathom.  Must be nice.  Wish I could.  Tried.  Lotta nice people, though.

  Of course, on this campus, and anywhere else in Morocco, the official religion is Islam.  99% of the people are Muslim, and the 1% who aren't hassled as long as they keep their activities private.  If I preached my Catholicism publicly, I'd be put promptly on a plane outta here.  Not a problem for me.  In my adult life, religion has usually been very far from my mind.  Have gone to confession a few times.  Otherwise haven't darkened the doorway of a church very often.  Having a lot of time on my hands these days to think about things, faith has often been on my mind.  I don't think since I attended Holy Cross High School over a quarter-century ago has being Catholic been in the front of mind, and I like it.  Who in the hell would've guessed that?!

  In a 7-month stretch during this school year I found time to eat a lot of tajine and couscous, enter one of the largest mosques on the planet, go to "the blue city" of Chefchaouen in the Rif Mountains, the ancient imperial capitals of Rabat, Meknes and Marrakech, Roman ruins at Volubilis, Beni Mellal, Mazagan, the Atlas Mountains and the Sahara Desert.  Oh yeah, I flew to Italy to see Florence, The Last Supper in Milan, the canals of Venice, the Tower of Pisa, the Roman Colosseum, The Sistine Chapel at the Vatican City, and I attended a papal blessing by Pope Benedict XVI.

  What is in store next year?  Wish I knew.  For now, just tying everything up here for the summer, flying Thursday to stay in Lisbon overnight to get home to NJ on Friday for 8 weeks.

If you're reading this, I'm (almost) gone...