Team Semi-competent strikes again!

This weekend began with a very wonderful party in an apartment in Ifrane.  I had forgotten how much I enjoy wine since I hadn't had it since leaving the U.S.  Due to our lack of bottle opener, knives were used to push the cork all the way through the neck of the bottle where it would float like a ship in a bottle until the contents were gone.  The best game of the night was what is known as the Ha ha game.  I was recently informed by one of my friends that they used to play it in junior high P.E, but I prefer this setting.  Everyone lays in a circle and puts their head on the previous person's belly.  The first person starts with a single "Ha" and then second person gives a "ha ha."  So it continues until someone breaks down and starts giggling which means they lose and the game starts over.  We would generally make it to about four "ha's" until someone would lose composure.  The next event of the evening was the apartment key got lost which resulted in a general scramble and much turning over of furniture because someone was standing outside the door knocking.  For some reason, we couldn't open the door from the inside without using the key.  I decided that an alternate escape route was called for and went to the window to inspect the options.  Misunderstanding my intent, several people let off the search in order to coax me away from the window.  The key was eventually found under the teapot.
The next morning was the epitamy of a beautiful fall morning so after a leisurly breakfast at the cafe next to the apartment called Cafe Beethoven, we cleaned the apartment and set off for the town of Taza which is generally thought to be about three hours away from Ifrane.  Nine and a half hours, a ride in the police car, and one bottle of wine down the toilet, we finally were in our hotel room and able to relax. 
When we first arrived in Taza, we wandered around in search of a cab but couldn't seem to find any and while we were stopped at a little shop next to the road to ask directions, the man in front of us in line offered us a ride in his car.  He took us right to the hostel we had asked about and flatly refused any payment we tried to give him, merely saying Welcome to Taza.  The hostel did not have any rooms left and feeling rather biblical, we retired to the stables (not really). We caught two taxis back down the hill to another hotel.

The ride in the police car came as a result of Mike and Sam not bringing the proper documentation to the hotel.  Anywhere you stay in Morocco, they require your passport or residency card in order to document when you entered the country.  Since they didn't have these, the hotel owner told them to go to the police station.  I was instructed to hold down the fort and stay in the room since I already had booked it and the petit taxis only hold 2-3 people.  I locked the room and fell asleep and was awoken by the other three who were very excited having just returned from the police station,which was full of kittens, having recieved made up numbers from the police for their passport numbers and gotten to ride back to the hotel in a police car.  Needless to say I was jealous.  The son of the hotel owner drove us up to a restaurant that was owned by his brother.  The food was delicious and the waitress even brought us two free flans to share for dessert with yet another "Welcome to Taza."  When we left the restaurant to head back to the hotel, we found a car parked on the sidewalk and the original brother waiting to give us a ride back down to the hotel!  On Mike's instructions, In a fit of ingenuity, Sam opened the bottle of wine that we had brought along with us with his toothbrush.  Unfortunately, after it was open and the cork irreplacably floating in the liquid inside, we realized that none of us were remotely interested in drinking wine.  This resulted in the wine being unceremoniously dumped down the toilet to avoid awkward questions from the hotel owner or maids.

The next morning we caught a grand taxi to the caves.  We commisioned a guide and descended 500 slippery rock steps into the largest cave system in North Africa.
                                                      Notice the steps behind us in the gloom
 There were no lights inside the cave apart from our headlamps which I did not have since we were being thrifty and they were $10 each to rent.  Instead, I used a tiny flashlight that says Association for the Blind that my mom slipped into my suitcase saying that it would probably come in handy.  It did! Thanks Mom.  Unfortunately, halfway through our descent into the depths, it did indeed become a flashlight for the blind. 
                                 

Now, the next pictures may be a little bit upsetting to those of you who have been indoctrinated on cave etiquette in Lewis and Clark Caverns. It certainly took me awhile to participate in such sacrilege.  I grabbed onto a stalagmite as I was slipping down ledge and I suddenly became ok with it. Our guide, Jumbo, had us climbing all over the "delicate cave formations" and generally behaving in a way that would make any respectable speleologist cry.  We played songs by tapping on the hollow stalactites of different sizes, and made little clay figures from the omnipresent clay that we were covered in.
                                        
In fact, speaking of being covered in clay, Jumbo persuaded us to put war paint on from this clay and then took a picture of us making war-like faces.  We were discussing the possibility that he and the rest of the guides make bets with each other once they see us as to whether or not they can convince their group to put mud on their faces.  I feel like no one would have taken that bet though, we were a given.
  Team semi-competent: Sam, Rae, Me, and Mike (left to right)
There was absolutely no one else in the caves and we came out blinking in the sun after being down for about two hours.  Once we made our way back to the Taza train station, we discovered that our train wouldn't leave for another four hours so we decided to make our way back to the resturant from last night. 
As we passed the hotel we had stayed at, one of the maids came running out and gave me the shirt that I had accidentally left in the room.  Now that's what I call service!  We lingered over lunch and were once again presented with complimentary flan, this time chocolate!  The train ride was uneventful back to Fez.  After we secured a grand taxi, we got in and prepared to nap all the way back to Ifrane since it is a one hour ride.  However, our driver put in a CD and giving us a sly grin, he turned up Enrique Inglesis.  This resulted in us having a fantastic drive up to Ifrane and down memory lane of junior high having a sing along with our Moroccan taxi driver.  All in all, it was a great weekend!

In the Merry Old Land of Fez

This weekend my friend Nabila invited me to come with her and two other friends to her family's house in Fez.  It was so exciting!  We met in Nabila and Fatima's room and then tried to get a grand taxi to Fez.  We tried to call a grand taxi to the gates of the university and were just about to get into the one that had pulled up when a policeman ran over waving his arms and the taxi took off in the other direction.  Grand taxis are technically only supposed to go from one grand taxi station to another. They are not allowed to take people places within a town.  They often make exceptions for groups that are large enough to fill a whole taxi up but the exceptions don't hold up when there are policemen around.  We caught a petit taxi to the grand taxi station and finally convinced a driver to take us to Fez.  This was a little difficult since the sun was already setting.  This means that if he took us to Fez, he would have to return to Ifrane with an empty car.  Pointing this out, he proceeded to give us the worst price for a taxi in the history of Morocco (excluding gullible tourists).  Since we really wanted to get to Fez that night and Nabila's mom was expecting us for dinner, we finally agreed.  After he had recieved our money and we were situated inside, he went to downtown Fez and parked the car.  He left us there for about 10 minutes while he did who knows what, ran some errands and found some friends to catch up with.  We were hungry and slightly grumpy from being ripped off and waited impatiently in the car.  We punished him for the delay in the car ride to Fez by giggling and teasing each other as only girls 17-21 years old can do.  We were picked up at the station by Nabila's dad and taken to the house. 
                                           
They had a very beautiful and cozy house with two really big areas for recieving guests.  We talked for awhile and drank freshly squeezed apple juice that her mom had made for us then had a delicious dinner of tuna fish pizza.  After we talked for a little longer, her grandmother brought out a bowl full of freshly made treats that were basically triangles of philo dough wrapped around marzipan and then soaked in honey.  After we had eaten these, we went to bed. 

The next day we got up late and had a magnificent breakfast, very characteristic of Moroccan hospitality, Nabila's mother had gone to a Patisserie while we were still asleep and brough back a sample plate of beautiful treats!
                                   
We got ready to go to the Hammam that morning which is like a traditional bath house in Morocco.  The one that we went to was very nice with a sauna and a jacuzzi and lots of marble and intricate tile work.  We went into the dressing room, were given towels that had velcro, and instructed to remove everything except our underwear bottoms.  Holding onto the towel like a life-line, we went downstairs to the steamy, marble room.  We were met at the entrance by a large matronly Moroccan woman who reached up and yanked off my towel.  This surprised me to say the least, I made a small noise of protest but then noticed that everyone else in the room had the same (lack of) attire as I did.  Trying to firmly put modesty on hold, we were instructed to grab handfuls of goo from a large bowl and use it as soap inside the sauna.  I promptly got it in my eyes, not being used to goo soap and spent the entire time in the sauna trying to wash it out.  Once we left the sauna, I was seized by one of the official worker women there and made to lie down on a large marble sacrifical alter with a large metal bar on the top.  The alter as I will call it was very slippery due to the fact that it had a layer of soap and water on its polished surface.  The lady motioned me to lay down which I did, hoping that I could stay on my belly and possibly get a massage.  I quickly realized that the metal bar was there to keep my self from slipping right off of the marble plinth.  The woman had begun rubbing my back and legs and arms with what felt like a sandpaper glove.  I had just started thinking that I was glad they at least let me keep my underwear on when I felt those tugged down in what I assume was an attempt to scrape yet more of me off with the sandpaper gloves.  Once they were replaced, I felt the woman reach under one of my legs, grab the far one from her and flip me onto my back with no warning.  I now know what a calf at branding feels like when it's manhandled to the ground.  She continued peeling me like a carrot and finally had me sit up so she could spray me with a hose to get all of my exfoliate off.  After this, my friend Nabila gave me some mud to wash my hair with.  It was really cool clay like bits that you add hot water to then apply to your head.  Just as I had washed the last bit of mud out by sitting on a little marble stool in front of a marble sink and dumping buckets of water over myself, my tormentor came back and motioned me to follow her again.  I followed in some trepidation this time and was put back onto the marble alter for a good soaping.  Why they did this when I am completely capable of doing it myself, I'll never know.  Unfortunately, I don't really know enough dereje to protest or point this fact out.  I decided to just accept it as a cultural experience.  Many Moroccans I know seem to look forward to Hammam day and go about once a week.  I guess that's just how they wash the day away in the merry old land of Fez.

After the Hammam, we went back to Nabila's house and I watched the kitten and her mother for awhile which I found far more cathartic than the scrub scrub scrub I'd just undergone.  The kitten was a little pill and did not want the bath that it's mother was trying to give it.
Notice the ear in the kitten's mouth.  I like the look that the mom is giving me, I translate it as "Motherhood, take it or leave it."
She did not want a bath!
After yet another delicious meal, we went downtown to the old medina which is the largest and most extensive medina in Morocco.  Nabila's cousin, who knows the medina really well, took us around.  It was really nice to be with Moroccans in the medina because there were far less offers from "guides" and fewer catcalls.  We got to the big main square just as the sun was setting and all of the birds were flying around.  The walls that surround the medina are very big and look like castle fortifications.

We walked through the entrance door, there are about six of them at various places around the medina.


We saw a water clock that allegedly stopped running when it made a noise as a young pregnant woman was walking by and caused her to miscarry.   No one has been able to figure out how it worked.  Allegedly it was developed to keep track of prayer times.

We made several purchases as we wandered through the streets and then met up with another AUI student and had smoothies at a really cool resturaunt called clock cafe and drank them on the roof in the shadow of the minaret from the mosque.  After we had dropped Nabila's cousin off at his house, we were thinking we were going home when we changed directions and headed to the carnival.  I don't think I've ever been more sure that I was going to get hurt since I've been to Morocco.  This ride spun you around and lifted you up really high in the equivalent of park benches with bars that didn't lock down.

We went back to the house thoroughly exhausted from a big day.  The next morning we went to a hair stylist for Nabila and Fatima to get their hair straightened and styled.  While I was sitting waiting for them, I came across this in a magazine.  Maybe things are just more amusing when you don't understand them, I'll let you judge.

We went to the Moroccan equivalent of Walmart which is called Marjane and stocked up on supplies for the coming weeks.  Then we went back to the house for yet another delicious meal.  This time of couscous with sweet onions on top and chicken.  Then Nabila's mom took us all the way back to school. I was very surprised when I woke up after what I had thought was about a two minute drive towards the grand taxi station to find that we were halfway to Ifrane!  It was such a fun weekend.  I loved getting to spend time with another Moroccan family.  The dynamic in the household is very interesting.  It seems like everytime you walk into the house you're greeted with a kiss on the cheek from a new person such as an aunt, a great aunt, a cousin, or a neighbor. 
From right to left: Me, Nabila, Fatima, Rachel, Nabila's youngest sister, and in back Nabila's sister who speaks excellent English for only studying it for two years!