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.



Yea Marrakechi!

This past week has been a vacation for us to celebrate the end of Ramadan.  The holiday is called Eid Al-Fitur and it is usually marked with families traveling to be together.  We had five days off and several of my friends, nine to be exact set off to spend it in Marrakech.  We piled into two grand taxis and drove to the town of Meknes where we caught a train to Marrakech.  The trip took about six hours on the train but we wiled it away by playing alot of cards and sneeking bites of food.  We had to sneak them due to the close proximity of people observing the fast of Ramadan.  Due to the fact that we had very little food and were approaching a commercial place there was alot of happy anticipation for the McDonalds that was presumably waiting for us at the train station.  Before you judge, there is something incredibly comforting about familiar food in unfamiliar places.  I should also note that McDonalds here are quite nice resturants. They even had fancy metal ornaments that said Eid Malbuk (happy holiday) in Arabic.  As we disembarked from the train, we were met by a wave of warm, humid air as well as columns that looked like lily flowers holding up the awning over the platform.  We were delighted to find a McDonalds waiting for us inside the station.

We set off in the direction that seemed to be right.  We had arranged to stay in someone's apartment but we had no idea how to contact them so we started towards the main square called the djemma el fnaa.  They used to have public executions in that square which is why it is named the place of the dead.  We ended up going the wrong direction and finally gave up and called a cab since my boot was getting tired.  This picture is compliments of Emily, one of our number.  It is basically the scene we were greeted with as we walked into the square.

Food carts are wheeled out into the middle everynight.  They have picnic tables covered in butcher paper.  They toss rounds of pita bread onto the table in front of you to dip into the bowls of chili and tomato sauce.  We had a delicious meal of chicken tajine (a stew-like dish that is very flavorful and delicious and comes in funny dishes with conical lids). 

We had spent quite a bit of time searching for a suitable hotel that had running water and didn't cost too much.  Unfortunately, we attracted an undue amount of attention trouping through the narrow streets of the medina (the old city, imagine the chase scene at the beginning of Aladin) in the dark dodging cats, mopeds, and little children asking if we needed help.  We finally decided on a hotel quite close to the square that offered us two rooms with four beds each for 50 dirhams each per night (roughly $6).  As we were settling in, a yellow cat strolled in and jumped up onto the bed purring. 

 Since there is such an excess of fairly nice looking cats in the medina that live off the fat of the streets, we weren't sure if this was yet another.  That thought caused a small amount of anxiety over it rubbing itself on our pillows.  We later found out that this cat was in fact named Mina and she was the mistress of the hotel.  Mina has a very charmed life for a Moroccan cat.  She gets the run of the hotel to herself with lots of open windows and ledges from which she may observe her subjects in the street below, open cans of sardines placed in strategic spots throughout the hotel, and lots of young backpackers who are only too happy to rub her incredibly soft belly and tell her about their cats back home.

That same night, we decided to explore the souks, which are huge narrow labyrinthine streets lined with shops that sold everything from scarves to spices to shoes to swords.  They were a riot of color and smells.  There were thousands of people in these alleys which made it difficult to maneuver and especially difficult to stay with your group.  We fractured into smaller groups which facilitated much better maneuverability.  There was a street vendor who had large slabs of various nuts stuck together with honey as well as an incredibly tempting looking slab of lime green which turned out to be coconut.  He gave us samples of each variety and my friends settled on some peanut and coconut blocks. I, having no small change, declined and he gallantly cut a little square of the almond (his best one) and gave it to me with a smile!

 

The next day, we went on a site seeing expedition.  First and foremost however, we went to take advantage of the magnificent freshly squeezed orange juice which only costs 3 dirham (35 cents).  There were communal glasses that were all sticky and of questionable sanitation but it was worth it.  I believe that I drank 10 glasses (roughly 80 oz) of it during our time in Marrakech and found those little carts to be the things I had the hardest time bidding farewell to upon leaving. Our next task was to argue with the Marrakechi taxi drivers who seem to have been created for the sole purpose of robbing white tourists.  We had several vigorous arguments with many of them.  The sneaky buggers would try to give us a flat rate for each person, usually 10-20 dirhams to a certain part of the city.  When we would demand that they turn their meter on, they would insist that it was broken.  At which point we would begin to leave the cab which would usually result in the miraculous recovery of the meter from whatever had ailed it.  The fare would generally be about 10 dirham for the entire car as opposed to one person with the aide of the meter.  Let that be a lesson to anyone who is hoping to visit Marrakech.

Hard core hagglers!

We made it to the other side of the old medina and visited a fantastic monument that used to be a medrasa (Arabic for school), which was basically an Islamic monostary.  Young men would go and live there and study the Qu'ran.  Although the rooms were rather small, the view would have made it worth it!

The entire building was covered in Zellij, which is intricate tile work depicting geometric patterns and plant life.  There was also Epigraphy, which is like calligraphy that is carved into walls, usually Qu'ranic verses (I bet you can tell I'm taking a class on this). 

After we had exhausted all of the picture taking possibilites that this magnificent place offered, we moved on to the Musee de Marrakech.  It used to be a palace but was taken over by the British in a nasty trick when they invited the owner to come and get an award in England and moved in while he was gone.  It became the first girls school for awhile but shut down due to difficulties with bathroom facilities which I found perplexing.  It is now a curiosly empty museum with a few displays of Berber jewelry and some pictures.  The tile and the engravings are, however, incredibly intricate and beautiful.  There was a fountain in the middle of the large, main room and several incredibly detailed and lovely light fixtures with the largest suspended above the fountain.

Our last stop on our site seeing extravaganza was to see the oldest monument in Marrakech which, though no one seemed to be particularly certain on the point, was presumably used for ritual cleansing called ablutions. 

By this time, the weather had become so incredibly heavy and hot that we all felt like wet cats in a sauna so we slunk wetly back to our shady rooms and played games like "never have I ever" and sleep.  I now completely understand why there is a special name for naps in the middle of the day in hot countries.  Unfortunately, our hotel had rather sketchy bathroom facilities with a hole in the bottom of a porcelin slab with places for your feet.  This was a little frightening to use in my rather unsteady boot cast.  The shower situation was even more problematic for me since it was not the cleanest looking thing and it was basically a closet that rained.  Since I cannot stand on two feet without my boot and I was unwilling to get my boot wet, I would have had to crawl into the shower.  This was something that I was unwilling to do which resulted in me not showering for five days in the hot stickiness of Marrakech.

Since it was still Ramadan, everything was pretty quiet during the day, but at night, it seemed as though the entire population of Marrakech was out and about.  The last two nights of Ramadan, families generally go out and get new clothes for the celebration.  This means that the narrow streets were filled with shoppers and the square was filled with street performers.  When we went to the square which was recommended by all of our guide books to see the snakes be charmed and the acrobats flip, they were ready for us.  This is because guide books are sold in alot of places and lots of other tourists had read them as well.  Anytime you would stop just to watch something because it was interesting, they would stop doing whatever it was that was interesting and demand money.  We stopped by a particularly large circle of people who seemed to be absorbed in something fabulous.  They all however, seemed to be affiliated with the old, dirty, and shirtless man they were watching. Once they saw us craning our necks curiously, they immediately pushed us forward to the front of the circle. The street man was holding glass of tea and briefly balancing it on his head.  He saw that I had a camera with me and shouted for a picture.  I shook my head and the whole crowd took up the chant.  I finally gave in to avoid the constant yells and looks I was getting.  Unfortunately, the dirty street man didn't have any more tricks so he downed the tea and came over and demanded 10 dirham from me which I did not want to give him.  He seemed to think that I was in possession of a priceless photo of him which I immediately offered to delete so that he would leave me alone.  In the end, due to the pressure of the crowd, I gave him 1 dirham and what I believe may have been 1 pence leftover from England.

Not something I wanted to pay to see.

As we were walking back to the hotel, a lady grabbed my hand and started drawing henna on it.  I told her that I didn't want it and that I wasn't going to pay her because I didn't have any money.  She continued drawing remarking that I spoke very good Arabic.  I tried to pull my hand away and again remarked on the futility of her actions.  She shook her head and told me that it was a Ramadan gift that she was giving me.  The whole process took less than a minute and then she told me that this particular swirl meant blessings for a lucky marriage, this swirl meant luck to find a boy, and these dots meant that my parents would never forget me.  I thought, this lady is a nutter.  Unfortunately, two of her cronies swooped in at this moment and she held out her hand and asked for 250 dirham!  I explained again that I did not want her stupid scribbles and did not have money so she could take a flying leap.  Her cronies said that the drawing was a very expensive one.  I explained that they were full of it because I had heard them offering henna for 10 dirhams last night.  Finally her friend said that she would give me change so I decided (very very foolishly) to take her up on that since we needed smaller bills for the cab fare the next day.  Once she had her claws on my 100 dirham note, she demanded 50 more.  I demanded 90 back and they started yelling at us.  I don't like confrontation so we cut our losses and left.  This is a cautionary tale.  Never trust the people in touristy places because they are foul.  Luckily, it has hardened my heart against any sort of supplications for money.  I went off to drink an orange juice and a sticky little boy stared up at me with bambi eyes trying to get it from me.  I gave him the universal symbol to shove off and he did so, giggling.

Semi-permanent mark of my shame and gullibility.

I later heard that, in general, parents really don't like it when people give their children handouts because it promotes a society of begging.

There was a very odd moment when a man offered 17 camels in exchange for one of the girls.  Luckily, the boy they were with wisely just told him that she couldn't cook and he immediately lost interest. 

The next day, we went to the palace Al-Bahia which means the place of the storks.  It used to be a fantastic palace in the 15th century but is now in ruins and the storks hold court.

However, it was like a big kids playground with lots of underground tunnels and things to climb on.

The heat was once again too much to be out in so we retired back to our hotel and played a very sweaty game of cards but had to stop once the cards started sticking together.  I had decided at the very beginning that I wanted to spend a night on a mattress on a roof.  There is a very fantastic image that I get in my mind when I say "spent the night on a mattress on a roof in Marrakech."  We found a beautiful hotel called the Hotel Medina which was the same price as ours but had toilets.  There were quite a few German and French student backpackers that were staying there.

Looking down into the hotel from the roof.

I thought that the idea was brilliant to stay on the roof because it would be nice and cool.  Unfortunately, it was that night that chose to be the only cool one while we were in Marrakech.  I was on some cushions with two other girls from our group and we had one blanket.  The night became cold in the middle of the night which means there was nothing I could necessarily do about it.  I therefore decided that it would be a good decision to take the tablecloth off of the nearest table and subsequently got a lovely sleep.

View from our roof.

The morning after the roof, the four of us who had been designated as the hobbits of the trip took a train to Rubat.  Since there were nine of us, we had decided that we were the fellowship of the boot and I was Frodo since I had "the burden."  We got to Rubat and went out to eat and then fell asleep, it had been a couple of crazy days.  The next morning, we got up early after two of our number had been sick in the night due to bad water.  We made our way to the beach 17 km outside of town called Temara Plage.  It was beautiful but, due to the early hour, the only inhabitants were shirtless young Moroccans playing soccer.  This was slightly problematic for Rae(the other girl) and I.  We had been hoping to frolick in the sand, (well, I was going to wallow in the sand since I am not yet able to frolick, doctor's orders) and play in the water but the stares were incredibly unabashed.  It was like one of those movie moments when people are staring and they either run into a pole on their bike or get hit in the side of the head with a soccer ball.  Unfortunately, nothing bad befell them, they just stared.  Alot.  There was even one man who walked by us and continued staring as he walked going so far as to look over his shoulder once he was by us.  Morocco is really not incredibly conservative.  I have seen many girls wearing tanktops and shorts.  I definitely try to dress very conservatively in cities but we were on a beach so we had our swimming suits on.  Finally, some large, pasty white Germans came and sat near us and completely beat us in the inappropiate game and we were able to play without as much scrutiny.  Although, near the end of the day, two little boys ran past us and yelled jameela which means pretty (f) in Arabic.  We looked up and they jumped up and down in the sand looking at us, giggling, and throwing sand at each other.  They gasped and ran away when one of the boys stood up.

Once we had had enough sun, we emptied the sand out of our clothes and caught a train back to Meknes and a grand taxi back to Ifrane.  On our taxi ride back to campus, we went by a hill that said "God is Great" written in white rocks and I was reminded of the "A" hill back in Absarokee.

As we walked back up the road from the main gate of the university, we started talking about how good it was to be home.  I realized I just called this home, decided not to think about it, and crawled into the shower.