"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...

 

 

"Horse With No Name"

On the first part of the journey
I was looking at all the life
There were plants and birds and rocks and things
There was sand and hills and rings
The first thing I met was a fly with a buzz
And the sky with no clouds
The heat was hot and the ground was dry
But the air was full of sound...

After two days in the desert sun
My skin began to turn red
After three days in the desert fun
I was looking at a river bed
And the story it told of a river that flowed
Made me sad to think it was dead...

     This week we reach all the way back to 1972 for our musical muse.  I was a very adorable 3 yr-old (I am going to assume) and the American folk-rock group named, um, America released our classic title.  In the interest of accuracy I should say that I am not in America at present but Morocco, and that I while I was in the desert, I was not on a horse but a camel, and his name was Tag #2825 (Yes, it was a "he" - I am nothing if not thorough).  I even have a picture!

                                         SO cute!  And the camel ain't none too shabby, either...

     Back to the beginning...school let out last Friday and I immediately bolted for the ironically named L'Oasis train station.  I purchased a 90 dirham 2nd-class ticket and hopped aboard the 5pm train to Marrakech.  Some info: a first class ticket guarantees you a seat, a second class ticket gets you aboard, but is no guarantee of a seat.  Yep, they overbook; it's part of the charm riding the rails here.  I'm too cheap to pay for first-class, so I take my chances; I've been lucky thus far this year.  Friday 5pm Casa to Marrackech?  I assumed my luck would end that day, and it did.  I stood in a narrow aisle near the rear for the first half of the 3-hour trip.

     My journey ended without further drama as I rolled into the train station at Marrakech at 8pm.  Someone from the tour company was supposed to meet me there.  I stayed inside the station; people there said that was where I should meet a tour person.  I wandered some while thinking I was in trouble, but after about a half-hour Omar found me, indicating he'd been outside.  Anyway, to the hotel we went.  The fun continued when I approached the desk and realized I didn't have my passport, which I have to have to take a room for the night.  Uh-oh.  For better or worse, I knew from experience this meant a trip to the big police station.  A taxi drops me off, and...it's the old station; I need to go to the new one.  Once there, I managed to turn on the charm (though not until after I had corrected the English vocabulary of one of the "suits" to the amusement of his colleague) and I get my authorization to bed down for the night.  I understand enough to figure out that the guy at the hotel desk was a jerk on the phone.  Apparently the police gave the guy a hard time; when I got back to the hotel I was checked into the rooftop terrace suite.  Nice!

     Early next morning I'm picked up along with others throughout the area and day 1 of our adventure begins!  I am the only American on a minibus with 5 Moroccan architecture students, plus an assortment of Australians, Austrians, Italians, Spainards and an Englishman, all of whom I believe are in their 20s.  Could be interesting.  All very nice people, and all spoke English well.  The people you meet...the 2 Aussie lasses had quit their jobs and were halfway through what should turn out to be an 8-month trek throughout the Middle East, Africa and Asia.  The Spanish guy worked for a time in a PA town at the same time I did.

     I get motion sickness the same way deserts have sand, and we were going to have to go through the High Atlas Monutains.  This trip was NOT going to be easy.  We, excruciatingly slowly, wound our way over the 14000-ft peaks.  Fun.  The first important place to see along the way was the kasbah at Ait Ben Haddou, a UNESCO World Heritage site.   Many movies have shot there, including The Last Temptation of Christ, The Mummy and Gladiator; Game of Thrones just wrapped 2 months ago.  Here are some photos from the site:


 
Oh, I'm sorry - wrong ones - here you go...

     We toured the area and learned a lot about the lenghty history of the Berber Jews.  Then we were off to the town of Ouarzazate for lunch, which had places where you could see movie props and the like.  Next was the Valley of Roses; here's a pic:



Oops - wrong again - the roses aren't in bloom til next month.  Here's a real pic:

     Anyway, we made it to a guest house at the base of the gorge.  It looked from the outside that it was going to be a real cheap place.  I was wrong.  It was real cute and cozy.  Funny, it resembled my image of a lodge at the top of the Austrian Alps, not at the base of a Moroccan gorge.  With what I had to work, good images weren't possible; however, some photographs (real, this time ;)

     We had tajine for dinner.  I was sitting at the head of a long table with the Moroccan students around me.  Everyone else filled out the other side of the table.  I would dare say we had more fun.  The others actually used utensils and didn't eat directly from the tajine pot.  We were mingled in with another group or two, and my bunkmate was a young Chinese guy from Germany who spoke better English than I did.  Poor guy - he had no idea of the snore-fest he was in for.  I was elbowed at a hostel in Florence, and I'm surprised I wasn't suffocated in my sleep over 3 nights in Rome.  But, everything turned out ok on this night.  Or at least my bunkie was too polite to say anything.

     In the a.m. we headed out for the town of Merzouga.  Along the way we saw a geological formation called "monkey fingers".

     We stopped to take a walk through an oasis.  I was only a little surprised our guide spoke English, French, Spanish and Berber.  The Italian and German was really impressive.  Everyone spoke English, but not perfectly, and most spoke some Spanish.  I was often able to serve as a go-between during the trip for people speaking Spanish and English and looking for just the right missing word.  It was fun. 
     It would've been rude to photo the women working, so no pics of them.  I'm amazed how some people make a life in this country under some really difficult circumstances.  Below, in the oasis...

On our way afterwards to lunch...

THIS is a place to enjoy lunch...

     Finally, we met up with our camels to make our way to the dunes at Erg Chebbi an hour and a half ride away...

                                          Here we come!  I think I heard one of them say:
                                                   "Who's carrying the Big American?"

                                                              From my perspective...

                                                       Lawrence of Arabia can kiss my...

     Considering I am a lousy photographer and I have a cheap camera and I was riding atop a camel up and down dunes, I would say the following photos ain't half bad...

     As the sun was going down and we reached our campsite, we climbed a dune that was about 100  meters high.  Well, I tried, anyway.  Got about 200 feet up, that was it for me.  That is the camp below...

     More tajine!  Dinner cooked in the desert was simple yet delicious.  I'm still wondering how this kitty cat made it's way out here into the tent...

     We sat outside in the crisp desert air, marveling at the sky above.  I saw numerous shooting stars and easily tracked a couple of satellites, that's how clear and brillant the sky was.  Beyond that, all I will say is: What happens in the Sahara, stays in the Sahara...

     Morning came too early, though I should be happy my tentmates apparently weren't tortured by any snoring on my part.  Next, some early morning photos:

     The camel ride was just the start of a v-e-r-y long day that also included a bus ride halfway through mountains halfway across the country, a 3-hour train ride, by far the most expensive taxi ride I've had here, finished by a 3 mile hike home to end my 20-hour day.  And I wouldn't trade it for anything.

After nine days I let the horse run free
'Cause the desert had turned to sea
There were plants and birds and rocks and things
there was sand and hills and rings
The ocean is a desert with it's life underground
And a perfect disguise above
Under the cities lies a heart made of ground
But the humans will give no love...

You see I've been through the desert on a horse with no name
It felt good to be out of the rain
In the desert you can remember your name
'Cause there ain't no one for to give you no pain
La, la ...

"Suds In The Bucket"

...left the suds in the bucket
and the clothes hangin' out on the line...

     I'm initially selected this Sara Evans song because I happened to be doing laundry right then.  Then I thought of the lyrics and saw more than a little bit of irony.  The tune is about a girl who at 18 up and leaves her parents to run off with a guy.  In my case, add a quarter-century (and subtract the guy).

     A good friend of mine once upon a time didn't know I was within earshot just around a corner when he remarked that "It takes Jack a while warm up to people, but once he takes you in, he'll treat you like a brother".  I have to concede the first part is true; I hope the second part is, too.  Anyway, coming here to start life anew, alone, was is a challenge.  Accepting the graciousness and hospitality of others doesn't come easy; just last week I declined an impromptu dinner invitation by a family here on campus for no good reason other than...well, when I think of one, I'll let you know.

     It's been said by those who have been here for a while that here in Morocco "It's all about relationships."  Whatever.  Yet, for some reason, recently I was really struck when a young colleague said he appreciates the relationship he has built with the man who owns the hanout (ha-NEWT) by his apartment.  It made me think.  There is a hanoot, think a 7-11 the size of a deluxe walk-in closet, about 100 yds outside the gate here.  I almost never went there.  I now go there to get some of the little things I would otherwise pick up on my big shopping trips.  The 2 men who run the place speak Arabic first, then French.  English, no.  But, I'm trying - and I noticed something one day last week.

     I have a weakness for Swedish fish, gummy bears and the like.  I went to the hanoot the other day and placed a coin on the counter and pointed to one of the plastic jugs holding candies and asked for what the amount that coin would purchase.  I'm barely paying attention when I just happened to see the older man addressing the younger one.  My Arabic is next-to-nothing, but I could tell what was happening.  The old man was telling the other one to not get the older, more stale candy from the jug right there on the counter, but to get it instead from a newer one in the back.  That was nice.

     I took some photos this week of other people who live here that I have regular contact with, but they are atrocious I can't fathom the thought of posting them.  Sorry, I'm exerting executive privilege here.  If I had posted photos...

     I've been taking weekly private French lessons since the fall.  My tutor's name is Pascale.  She's crazy.  I love her.  My main man Soufiane works in the kitchen and hooks me up with a perfect cafe au lait and cinnamon roll that he knows I'l order when he sees me enter the cafeteria at break time.  The security guards are all nice guys, but there are two who are particularly good men that I've become very friendly with.  Actually, their picture wasn't half-bad.

     Update - just got home from Easter Sunday Mass at a Catholic church way downtown.  It is called Eglise du Christ Roi - Church of Christ the King.  On Sundays at 6pm they have the only English-language services of the small handful of Catholic churches in Casa.  It was a tiny, non-descript building that was SRO this evening with about 175 people, a very large percentage of them Filipino.  There was a good bit of singing, some of it in Tagalog.  Interesting experience.

     Anyway, I'm getting tired, so it's time to roll on out of here.  Gotta get ready for the desert next week - see ya in two weeks!!

"No Hurry"

Yogi Berra said "You can observe a lot by watching".  And every day brings me something that makes me shake my head (as I don't know whether to laugh or cry!)  Work has been crazy busy.  I haven't breathed since I can't remember.  Hasn't been bad, just nuts.  I haven't taken the time lately to collect my thoughts.  The next 2-3 weeks I promise will be chock-full-o'-photos.  Til then...

Ain't in no hurry
Be a fool now to worry
About all those things I can't change
And the time that I borrow
Can wait till tomorrow
Cause I ain't in no hurry
Ain't in no hurry today

"Comin' To Your City"

Well we flew through Cincinnati and we all got really happy
Grabbed a bowl of that skyline chili along the way
Then we rolled on into Canton scared the hell out of Marilyn Manson
And the party started happenin', hey hey hey...
Then in the middle of a Charleston night, we ran into Jessica White
And a little moonshine got us right plumb smack insane...

Well we broke down in Greenville in the middle of a hayfield
But a Bud Light truck pulled up and helped us out
So we Deadheaded up to Philly, partied down like real hillbillies
Brought the Music Mafia and rocked it out...
And Chippewa's where we go when we're up in Buffalo
Don't you know those Yankees drink enough to drown?...

Give it up for Big & Rich!
It seems appropriate that the GWA International Festival was yesterday; lately, I've been particularly struck by the remarkable diversity of cultures that exist here.  This is neither new nor surprising.  If you look high up on the wall of the MultiPurpose Room at the school, you will see the flags of nations represented here by a student body of less than 800.  Get out your almanacs...

Two very recent topics in 6th grade social studies have been ancient Egypt and Hinduism.  It so happens that a pair of wonderful girls in one classroom have Egyptian and Indian heritage and have given tremendous insight into those topics.  I can't remember how a recent conversation with a high school boy turned to Syria, but I'll never forget how he offered his opinion on Assad and grabbed his buddy walking by who happened to be a native of Syria, asked him the same question and got a very different response, let's just say.  The kids around these parts look to the U.S. for pop culture but are certainly aware of what's going on in the Middle East and Africa.

Anyway, back to the International Festival.  Elementary students did art and social studies projects on what had to be a couple dozen or so countries and put on cultural performances under sunny skies.  I took some crappy pics of all the tents where you could look at the projects and didn't get any of the dancing.  That's why I'm glad I noticed that a very nice young woman who is an elementary teacher here had posted some fine photos.  Major props to Ruthie...

Who is that stud standing to the right in the last photo?  He shows up in another pic, too:

Representing Jersey for the Red, White and Blue! 

Hit 82 yesterday.  It's that time of year - March Madness and Spring Training!  I love it!!!
USA!  USA!  USA!

Well we're comin' to your city
Gonna play our guitars and sing you a country song
We'll all be flyin' higher than a jet airliner
And if you want a little bang in your ying yang come along...