Malta Madness!

This past week was a 10 day long break called the Eid al-kabir to commemorate two things.  The first is to celebrate when Moses parted the Red Sea.  The second is to celebrate when Abraham was about to sacrifice his son but was stopped by the angel.  In honor of the latter, every family slaughters a sheep.  Even in towns.  Allegedly that bring a butcher in who slaughters the sheep over the storm drain in the street.  Everyone eats a lot of mutton during this break.  In fact, whenever I ask my friends how their break was, I recieve the same reply of " I ate a lot of meat." 
Instead of taking in the ceremony of sheep being slaughtered and the streets literally running red with blood, I decided to go to Malta with Caitlyn.  On Friday, I departed early in the morning in order to take into account any unexpected disasters that are wont to happen here.  First, however, I stopped at the library to grab some reading material for the plane rides and the layover that I had.  Unfortunately, the library was deserted apart from some of the cleaning ladies who told me that it wouldn't be a problem and gave me a piece of paper to write the book information down on.  I enthusiastically wrote it down as well as my information including my student email address and my student ID number.  After this, they picked the books and put them on the shelf behind the counter.  This is not what I wanted at all and decided to give up in defeat and went to look for a taxi. 
As luck would have it, I found a taxi at the university gate and I jumped in.  The driver told me that he had one more trip to make with students and then we would go to where I wanted.  I was fine with that and he drove about 200 m away from the gate before he was flagged down by some students who apparentely could not make the last stretch to the gate.  We drove back towards the taxi stand but turned off to pick up more students and then returning to the school.  After one more of these and taking a girl to a cafe, we finally made it to the grand taxi station.
I managed to jump into a taxi that had one spot left and was heading to Fez.  I sat in the front seat with a moroccan man who was very patient with my constant shifting and was practically sitting on the stick shift to provide me with some extra space.  Unfortunately, there was road work half way there and we were treated to a detour through a little town with very bumpy roads and potholes that the car almost disappeared in.  This would not have been a problem had I not been clinging to the handle above the door trying my best to not bounce into my seat companion's lap.

I took another taxi to the airport from the grand taxi station in Fez and managed to have a whole conversation with my driver who was asking me about my family and telling me about his wife and baby boy.  I had a little bit of time in the airport so I went to a cafe and ordered a coffee to go along with the chocolate croissants that I had brought with me from the school.  I later learned that ordering black coffee is a rather manly thing to do here which explains the rather surprised look from the man who took my order.
I made it to Marseilles without issue and shared some candy on the plane with a man from Meknes who had a lot of trouble understanding me which most of the people sitting around us found amusing since they were all listening as well.  Due to my lack of books, I played bejeweled on my phone for about four hours until both my batteries and patience gave out. 

Caitlyn and I met up and proceeded through security where I was stopped because I had forgotten about my bottle of water in my backpack which was mostly full (1.5 L).  I was not about to throw out water that I had paid for so I proceeded to chug the entire thing and was going to make it until a security man who had been watching us with intrest, asked Caitlyn if it was vodka which resulted with me laughing and spitting water all over myself.
We were met at the Malta airport by the propietor of the guesthouse where we were staying.  Caitlyn had a wild moment when I hopped into the passenger seat of his car when she thought that I was going to drive.  Everyone talks about how England and New Zealand drive on the other side of the road but no one ever mentions that they drive on the other side of the road in Malta as well.  The official language of Malta is Malteese whose closest language ancestor is Moroccan Arabic.  However, the British occupied Malta for quite a long time which resulted in the vast majority of the population speaking English fluently.  Many of the words in Malteese that aren't Arabic based are Italian, French, or Spanish. 


Once we arrived at the guesthouse and had settled into our apartment, we were given coupons to a new club that was just down the street in a place called Paceville (pacha ville).  Caitlyn and I decided we'd go down for just one drink and scope the place out for future dancing prospects in the area.  It was about 12:30 when we left the hotel room.  Three hours, 10 drinks, and a lot of very energetic dancing later, we unsteadily made it back to our apartment armed with the most delicious pizza that this world has yet seen.  The dancing was indeed energetic and I was even given the simmer down hand motions from some girl while we were dancing.  In my defense, this was my first time to go out and actually dance in about six months due to my broken leg and I was back with my boon companion and dancing partner Caitlyn!  Plus, there were a lot of free drinks due to a surplus of coupons that were passed out as well as scooped up by the two of us from off of the ground.
The next morning, or rather that morning, we had a leisurly breakfast of eggs and *gasp* bacon!  Our apartment had a stove, refridgerator, and sink which enabled us to cook which was really convenient since there was a little grocery store across the street.  We made our way to the ferry that took us to another island of Malta which was called Gozo.

 We took a little tour around the island and stopped at the highlights such as Calypso's cave( pictured above), the citadel, the Azure window, and the salt flats.  The cathedral at the citadel had a bunch of little drawings engraved into the side of it from sailors who were thanking the villagers for letting them stop there on their voyage.

We stopped in a little fishing village for some fresh fish.  Most of the fishing boats in Malta are painted very bright colors and have eyes painted on which are supposed to be protection from the evil eye.

We wanted some Maltese wine and were perusing a menu when a couple from Cyprus told us to get the fish.  The resturant owner was highly enthusiastic in his endorsement of his fish and even drug us into his kitchen and showed us the fish he was going to feed us. The fish was in fact delicious, as was the maltese wine.  A kitty who seemed to have the racket down to an art enjoyed the fish skin very much and even posed for a picture.

 We returned to the van and were taken to the salt flats which were really cool, especially the naturally occuring ones.  There are little caves in the side of the cliff that they store the salt in once they have "harvested" it. 

We made it down to the Azure window just in time to watch the sun go down.  You can see the Azure window in many things like screen savers and movies (Count of Monte Cristo is almost entirely filmed in Malta masquerading as Marseilles!). 

As we were getting out of the van, the tour guide was helping us out and gave Caitlyn his card and asked if she had any comments to add him on facebook.  I've never heard that pick up line before but it was a little misplaced since I don't think she listened to a word of the tour :)

 We made it back to the island of Malta after an absurd photo session where we tried to convey different emotions for the camera, they were all too absurd to even put up.  After a long bus ride back to our side of the island and a little bit of getting lost, we arrived back at our guest house and decided to take a little nap to get rested up for the big night we were planning.  Unfortunately, we did not wake back up for our big night which may have been a good thing since we were supposed to meet our dive master at 8:15.
 
We woke up and prepared for our dive by basically rolling out of bed and walking a mile to the dive shop.  Our dive master was named Stuart and he, like the guesthouse proprietor was from England and settled in Malta.  We got our full "kit," which is what he called the dive gear, and he drove us to another part of the island.  After some very lucky parking, we got suited up and took a giant stride into the Mediterannean. 

He had explained that we were going to use our first dive to mostly get a feel for the equipment and how much air we use.  We ended up going out to the wreck on the first dive since he saw that both of us were quite comfortable and as he described it "easy" in the water.  It was a little bit of a swim out towards the wreck as there was a light current that we were fighting against.  My bum ankle was still a little stiff  when it came to the flippers working correctly and had to compensate a bit with my arms in order to not spin in circles. 

The Umm Al-Faroud was amazing!  It was so much bigger than I thought that it would be, apparently there was an explosion while they were working on it in the dry docks and nine people were killed, they eventually got permission to sink her for the diving community.  As we came up to the bridge, there was a huge school of juvenile barracuda circling it and they kept flashing silver.  We didn't spend much time there on the first dive.  We returned back to the shore and had some sandwiches at a little shop next to the dock.  On our second dive, we headed straight out to the wreck and were able to enter and go up the stairs and through some of the rooms.  It was really cool to see our bubbles get stuck on the ceiling as we were going up the stairs, they looked like the opposite of water running down stairs.  This is movie of the wreck we dove taken last year, everything is the same except there were Barracudas, lots of them.
http://www.divemalta.com.mt/video.htm#Um_El_Faroud
  After a little more exploring, we headed back and had just gotten out of the water when what looked like a motorcyle gang on jet skis came and drove all over in the lagoon where there were many divers still down and beginning to surface, I was glad we got out when we did since the sound of boats, even at 20 ft scares me a bit.  All in all, it was a great dive!  We had about an hour of bottom time overall and made it down to about 76 ft.
 
Once we had left Stuart, we went to a shopping district to find Caitlyn a dress for dancing that night!  We had some ice cream in a sunny square that had a magnificent tree and fountains, and then found her a dress. 

We returned to our apartment and, after promising we wouldn't sleep through this time, we took the obligatory siesta that we mere mortals need if you want to party in the Mediterannean.  We woke up and got ready to go out at about midnight.  We looked slightly overdressed in the clubs since it was technically Monday morning and I guess that's more casual than Friday night, but it wasn't glaring and as the night progressed, we looked less out of place.  We stopped in a club to take advantage of  free drink cards that we were given and happily blew off several advances off by telling them that we came to Malta for the scuba diving. One man did come up to us and offered to take our picture then insisted on being in the picture with us.  When we made our feeble protests, he held up his arm which was in a cast and said, "come on, I have a broken arm."
 
The helpful bouncer who called me "love" told us about the salsa club so we went there.  While we were in the middle of trying to decide what to drink, two Maltese boys stood next to us at the bar.  One of them kept leaning on Caitlyn to look at the menu as well and she kept edging away.  I finally pushed the menu towards them so that they could have a better view and they promptly broke apart and counseled us on the best drinks to try and see where we were from.  Apparently, Americans are a bit of a novelty in Malta since not many go there, which I am grateful for because it results in the islands being very laid back and like a secret treasure.  After a bit of talking we got to do some salsa dancing!  It was so much fun!  They even said that we danced well for American girls, which I am going to take as a compliment even if it wasn't intended as one.  The DJ stood up on a box in front of everyone on one song and taught us a dance that involved a lot of hip thrusting but was hilariously fun. 

After that, he put on a Spanish song that had the same beat as Cottoneye Joe and Caitlyn and I embarrassed our dance partners by doing the Montana line dance to it.  Whenever we were on the part of the dance that involved turning towards them, they would beckon us to get off of the dance floor but I am proud to say that we finished the whole song.  I was very happy that we met such nice people to dance with since neither of them tried any sort of funny business and it made the salsa dancing so much fun!
We returned to our apartment with our delicious pizza once again and went to bed.  The next morning, I attempted to make pancakes in a pot since that is all we had.  It resulted in more of a scrambled mess but tasted alright with jelly.  We checked out and took a bus to the capital city of Valetta, it was beautiful!

  We walked through the streets for awhile and visited the port.  After that, we went to a cafe and had rabbit ravioli since rabbit seemed to be a staple in Maltese cooking. 

We caught one of the cute buses next to the statue of the scary fishmen to the airport and had to bid farewell to beautiful Malta.

  I hope I make it back there someday soon!

Morockin' out

Sorry about the absurd pun, I just had to use it at least once while I'm here.  Since the past couple of weeks haven't really consisted of anything culturally significant, I apologize for my silence on the blog.  I thought that I might dedicate this blog to the everyday life here in Morocco. I apologize for the lack of pictures, I couldn't figure out how to fit them into the narrative. First off, some of the most distinct differences between here and Montana:
The most noticeable difference that I have found is the lack of personal space that is allowed for.  Possibly because I am from Montana and we have a lot of space that we are allowed to take up, but more likely because that is the way that our culture generally operates.  I believe that my friend put it best when I, in paroxysms of claustrophobia demanded to know how they could stand constantly being touched by people.  She replied that that is the way you know you're not alone, that is the way that you can viscerally feel life around you.  Another friend put it more succinctly by saying it's like feeling up the world.
 Another thing that I discovered that originally annoyed me to no end was the method of walking here on campus.  Everyone seemed to be in my way.  I couldn't figure it out at first and was quite annoyed on my frequent commutes across campus.  I later heard from one of my friends who I was ranting to that they just walk on the other side.  This is perplexing since Moroccans drive on the same side of the road as Americans do, however, allegedly they walk on the other side.  Imagine my sheepishness to discover that rather than being the wronged one, I was causing the problem.  I later discovered that this is not really true or a rule and that I'm just greedy or impatient about my walking space.
Being a Muslim country, there is no pork here.  I did not think this would be something that I would even notice.  However, when you're eating scrambled eggs in the morning, you suddenly realize that the most wonderful thing that you could have at that moment in addition, would be a nice slice of bacon.  It was incredibly exciting when we were in Spain to have delicious pork!  I hope I don't offend anyone's sensibilities by being rather fond of the haram (forbidden) food.
Since I am here to study Arabic, I was a little bit distressed to find that the Arabic that is taught in schools is not actually spoken anywhere in the wide world!  The dialect that is spoken here in Morocco is called Dareja.  There are many words that are the same from Modern Standard Arabic (Fusa) but you just remove all of the vowels which makes pronunciation tricky.  However, many words are also different and if you try to speak in Fusa to many people, they look at you as if you have bananas instead of ears.  However, speaking Arabic is one of my favorite things to do here.
When you go up to greet someone, it is customary, depending on how well you know them, or at least people in their presence, to press your cheeks on each side and make kissing noises.  I have often made the mistake of impulsively hugging my friends when I see them and only realize my mistake when I feel them struggling to pull back and kiss my cheeks.  Often, when you haven't seen someone for awhile, the cheek touching continues up to six times.  This can certainly make for awkward situations if you don't know which direction is being initiated and I have learned to just hold onto the shoulders of the person I am greeting in order to anticipate their next move.
If you are to greet someone by shaking hands, it is not important to give a firm handshake, it is not a judge of character as it is in the US.  The first time I shook a man's hand here, it was so floppy that I just kind of held it like a dead fish and wondered what to do with it.  There was one wild moment when I wondered if I should kiss it.  You're also supposed to touch your heart after shaking hands with the same hand you shook with as a gesture of sincerity.
There are many many cats in this country.  Some find it gross but I love it!  There are so many colors and types that you're sure to see a new one around every street corner.  I especially like to see how so many of them are so healthy.  This may be largely to the fact that most cafes you walk into, you can find either the proprietor or a patron reaching down with a bit of cheese or chicken for the waiting kitty.  Many people I have met here tend to enjoy looking at them and even drop bits of food down for them from time to time but make disgusted noises when I scratch them behind the ears or pet them.
In general, Moroccans are the most hospitable people I have ever met.  I discovered that it's actually part of the culture, at least the Amazigh (Berber) culture.  The first time I saw the word Amazigh, I thought that it was just a groovy way to spell amazing, shows you how much I know!  There is a story about a boy who was supposed to take care of his father's camels.  However, visitors kept coming to the camp and he would slaughter one to honor them and feed them.  At the end of the story, there were no more camels left and he was left destitute but he was the most honored person in the village.
I look very foreign, which prompts Moroccans to speak to me in French which causes me to have to repeat and repeat myself until they realize that I am speaking Arabic.  Once they realize I'm speaking Arabic however, they delightedly shake my hand and tell me that I am welcome there.  I've also found that taking the time to exchange the standard pleasantries which are generally repeated for the first five minutes of a conversation, tends to make friends in the marketplace and get better deals.
Things that I will miss once I leave:
My Moroccan friends
Speaking Dareja and surprising the nice shop keepers with what little I know
The prices, you can get a hotel, albeit a slightly sketchy one, for under $5!
Ghilal yogurt, it's delicious and is wheat flavored
Traveling every weekend!
Possibly even the call to prayer which is very handy to mark the passage of time
Things I miss from Montana:
Friends and Family
Talking about science but that's just because I'm at a liberal arts school
My kitty
Mountains
Ice
Understanding what's going on!

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!

Explorers: Nothing stops us!

This weekend I went for a trip with the Explorers which is the hiking club here at school.  We went to a town up in the north called Chefchaouen.  Some of my groovier readers may know it better as the hash capital of Africa :)  No need to worry about me though, I was on a school trip and don't fancy spending six years in a Moroccan prison, that would really mess up alot of my plans.  Anyways, our trip started out at 1:30 in the morning on Saturday.  We gathered at the bus shelter on campus and were picked up by two buses.  I was looking forward to a nice sleep on the bus since we had about six hours until we reached Chefchaouen.  Unfortunately, the bus driver must have had appointment because the bus ride was crazy!  The only way I can describe the feeling of the bus drive is turbulence.  Moroccan rodes are necessarily the smoothest things and even less so when taken at high speeds.  There were several times when we would suddenly barrel into a construction zone and the driver would merely swerve to avoid the barricade and take the gravel detour with no change in speed.  These areas were generally marked with a giant thump and violent pitching of the bus as we barreled over the lip of the road, effectively obliterating any progress that anyone had made towards making their way to sleep.  We stopped once during the night at a very very odd place.  It looked as though it was from the set of "The Pianist" if anyone has seen that movie.  There was a huge crater in front of the cafe that we stopped at.  There were a couple of pallets set out in the bottom of the crater, presumably to aide in the crossing.  The tile in the front of the cafe ended abruptly and dropped about four feet into the crater.  Since I didn't have my contacts in, everyone was speaking in Dereje, and it was about three in the morning, I felt incredibly disoriented. 
Once we had made it to Chefchaouen, we set off to find some food.  We had a delicious breakfast of fresh crepes with goat cheese and apricot jam with tea (of course).

Chefchaouen used to be a Jewish settlement and they painted their houses blue.  Before it was occupied by the Spanish, Christians were not allowed to enter on pain of death.  The name Chefchaouen allegedly means "Look at the Peaks" although based on some of the smirks I saw, I think it may have an alternate meaning along the lines of the Tetons.  It was a really cool town, much more relaxed than the usual Moroccan towns where it seems like there is a frantic scramble to get every last penny out of the tourists while they're there.

                                             
 After breakfast, we got back on the buses and drove out to the trail head which was about 35 km away through some gravel pits, goat pastures, villages, and most of all beautiful valleys.

The hike was very fun, and relaxed.  It was only about 6km round trip but it was a really big deal to me since I just got my cast off five days previous.  Apart from a little bit of instability due to lack of strength in it, my ankle worked like a charm!  I was so happy, I couldn't stop smiling the entire way.  I finally got to be outside again!  We hiked up to a spring where they get water for a brand of bottled water and went swimming.  I just put my leg in the water because it was rather swollen and I didn't have a swimming suit. Swimming in your underwear isn't quite as kosher here as it is in Montana.

We continued up the trail for a little ways and found a waterfall and a fairly large camp complete with a Moroccan flag!  I don't know why I found this so funny, it was just so complete, almost like a base camp for a large expedition.
                                         
                                             
There was also this guy who was standing at the top of the waterfall who I thought was just joking around when he dove off.  You can't really see in the picture, but there was a very small area that he had to shoot for because most of the bottom was rocks.  Luckily, we didn't have to have a dramatic rescue operation.  We continued on and came across another camp complete with tea pot and Moroccan tea glasses.  There was also a pot of Tajine simmering on the campfire.  My very favorite part was the picture of the his majesty the king in a frame up on a tree.  This is where we stopped for lunch!

After lunch, we returned to the buses and made our way back to Chefchaouen for showers and dinner.  My roommate for the trip, Sarah, and I went out into the square in search of one of the delicious melons that I had seen all over the streets as we came into town.  Apparently the Chefchaouen region is where most of them are grown.  I had had one when I was in Azrou with Amal and was keen to try another.  We tracked one down for only 1$!  Then we got a knife at a drug store for about 42 cents and settled down in the square to eat in it's juicy wonder.  They're called But-ich (as in the German "I").

We spent a large portion of the evening wandering aimlessly through the medina looking for who knows what.  I did get to have my first street vendor snails.  For those who are concerned about diseases, nothing apart from extremeophiles could have survived in the amount of salt that these little guys were cooked in.  The accepted way to eat them is to get a little bowl of them then grab one of the pins out of a lemon and snag the meat out of the shell with it and try not to pierce your tongue as you eat them off of the pin.
We settled on a resturant that was about five minutes away from the hotel after we did a large circuit of the city.  This didn't impress me too much since my ankle looked a bit like a grapefruit at this time.  It was a beautiful evening and we sat outside facing the old fortress which is called a Kasbah.

As we were eating, one of the omnipresent street cats rubbed against Nabila's leg causing her to shriek in surprise which echoed off of the Kasbah walls and effectively silenced the whole square which is the center of town.  We straggled back to our hotel and fell asleep immediately.

The next morning it was cloudy and misty and we could see a procession of people heading up to the Mosque with their goats.  I don't know if they were taking the goats up there or if the goats just happened to be going in the same direction and decided to be sociable.

After another breakfast of goat cheese and tea, we got back on the buses and headed to the coastal town of Tetouan.  Small side note, I kept noticing resturants that said Cafe The on the front and always thought that was a little backwards for the translation.  I took me a surprising amount of time to see the little accent marker and realize that it was saying that it was a Tea Cafe, I felt a little silly about that.  Apparently Tetouan has a marche (market place) where you can get stuff from Spain for really cheap because it's contraband.  We went there and made a few purchases.  There were so many incredible shops there!  I especially liked the fabric shops where there were so many intricate patterns and jewel-bright colors.

Nabila and I found some fruit that look like cacti that were wonderful and juicy, like a cross between the inside of a grape and the inside of a kiwi.

We went to the pier for lunch where they brought us fish that had just been caught and tossed on the grill.  Very low preparation cost! 
Fishes!  They still even had their teeth!

Shrimp kisses!
The king standing on the bodies of the fallen.
After lunch, we headed to a town called Larache to catch the sunset.

Well worth the stop.

Part of the group

The bus ride home was pretty crazy.  I just know that this kind of behavior would never have been tolerated in the good old Absarokee school system.  We were playing several games where you sing a song and then whoever's name is yelled they have to dance around while we clap.  I didn't really know what I was doing and my friend took the camera to record my awkwardness.  The next game consisted of a very intense vocabulary game in which one person says a word and then we all sing a song and then another person's name is called and they have to say something to do with the word that was said before and if you say something wrong everyone yells and hits you.  I should add that almost the entire weekend was conducted in Arabic and Dereje (the Moroccan dialect) and I was the only exchange student on this trip.  So most of the time I had no idea what was going on.

On our way home, we stopped at a roadside cafe to have Mechouli, which is like ground up and barbecued lamb with onions, tomatoes, and spices intersperced.  There were cuts of meat hanging up around the grill and they still had their tails!  When we got back on the bus from dinner, we found that the bus driver had put a chocolate on everyone's seat to thank us for the tip that we had given him!  It was a very nice surprise.  We got back to the school at about 1:00 am and walked back to our dorms through the early morning fog.