"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...

"Knee Deep"

Gonna put the world away for a minute
Pretend I don't live in it
Sunshine gonna wash my blues away...
Now I'm lost in the world tryin to find me a better way...

  The Zac Brown Band makes a return appearance, with a little help from Jimmy Buffett.  Close my eyes.  This could be Margaritaville, couldn't it?  Warmth of the sun?  Check.  Crashing ocean waves?  Check.  Adhan?  Adhan?!  The Islamic call to prayer tells Toto and me we aren't in Kansas anymore.  Would you believe that sometimes I forget completely I live in a city of 4 million people, in a North African nation with a population that is 99% Muslim?  Well, while I may not be the sharpest tool in the shed, you have to cut me some slack.  Let me explain...

  Thanks to this aerial photo, you can see that I live j-u-s-t outside the city limits, surrounded by fields.  Between work and home, I spend upwards of 95% of my time within the campus walls.  The school is just like any other, really, except for the trilingual thing.  During the school day, when it's typically crazy, I get lost in what I'm doing and forget where I'm doing it.  It is when I hop in the kangaroo, er, the Kangoo that things get interesting.  What is a Kangoo?  It's a popular vehicle here that Renault makes.  It looks like this:

  I can sign it out and pay 3 dirhams per kilometer (approx. 40 cents per mile) to do my business.  I usually use it only to do a big grocery shopping trip.  Thankfully, that's only about 3 miles straight down the road to the mall.  I say that because the people here drive like maniacs.  What they're driving could be not only be cars, but scooters scooting all about.  Pedestrians - either they are absolutely fearless or stone cold crazy - add to the difficulty factor.  I rarely drive downtown; I do the taxi thing instead.  I walk to pick up an ancient, beat-up, white Mercedes "grand taxi" built for 4 but stuffed with 7.  It runs prescribed routes within cities and between cities.  I then connect to a POS red sub-compact "petit taxi" that only operates within a city and takes you anywhere you need to go.  Sometimes they don't even cheat you.  It's cheap, at least.

  Casa is like any other big American city - crowded, filthy, noisy, filthy, full of thieves - did I tell you it's filthy?  Sitting in a taxi, it's easy to imagine I'm in Philly - unless the radio is on, playing that infernal Arabic music!  I'm getting to where I can often have a (primitive) conversation in French with people I encounter when I am out and about.

 

  When I'm out and about at the mall, I usually make a trip to the Marjane, which is basically Morocco's version of a super Wal-Mart.  It is half-department store and half-grocery store.  At first glance, even second glance, you notice nothing unusual, until you look a little closer - at what is there, what isn't, and how much there is/not.  People here tend to cook from scratch, and that is reflected in the lack of processed foods on the shelves and the small freezer case.  Couscous has a big shelf.  Yogurt has an even bigger one.  My roomie is in luck - all the olives he could ever desire!  But, on the whole, it looks like, I'd say, a Pathmark in the Delaware Valley.

  Do you see a theme here?  When I let myself get caught up in the "day-to-day", it's easy to lose sight of the big picture.  Usually, it's when I get home and wind down that I then ponder life.  For every thing I think I've got figured out several questions appear.  I wish to God I had some answers.  It's frustrating.  Students have asked me if I'm returning next fall.  I say I hope so.  I don't wan't to make a promise and be made a liar by unforeseen circumstances.  I wish I knew what the future held for me.  When I have idle time and my mind wanders to what might be, short or long term, I get terribly angry and wish I had someone or something to hit.  I used to have it all figured out, I thought.  Now?  I snorted a laugh typing that.

  One day recently, something happened in school that was positive.  For the life of me I can't remember what it was, but I remember what a kid asked me: Why aren't you excited?  I replied that I try not to get to "up" or too "down" - I just try to keep an even keel.  I felt bad saying that.

Come on in
the waters nice...
When you lose yourself
you find a key to paradise

"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"