First trip to Fez, or How I Came to be Eating Lunch in the Ladies' Restroom in Marjane

And it was a pretty lame lunch, too--half a Clif bar. But I'm getting ahead of myself here.

Because we are living in a small resort town where it can be difficult to find household items, the University takes all new faculty members on one free trip to two stores, Metro and Marjane, in Fes (about an hour away from Ifrane). We went today. I wasn't quite sure what to expect. I was told that Metro was "like Costco" and that Marjane was a supermarket and was "like Target." I had no idea what that would mean, though. "Like," as we know from William Lutz, is a "weasel word." "Like magic," for example, means "not actually magic." So I didn't get my hopes up. I tried not to guess what either store would be like.

Besides, before I could evaluate the stores, I had to get to there alive. Have I said anything yet about Moroccan driving? Surely, it must play a significant role in keeping the Moroccan life span fairly low. Americans know nothing about tailgating. A Moroccan driver will drive with literally no space (and I use "literally" literally here) between the front of his car and the back of the car in front of him. Moroccan drivers will pass in the most insane conditions, such as on a two-way curving mountain road with no shoulder and with at least four lanes of traffic going along it already (you have to remember that besides cars going in both directions, all roads also have people on foot, donkey, bicycle, and motorbike). *

Moroccan drivers are also much more liberal in their use of car horns than Americans are. Horns are used for the same purpose I have seen them used in the U.S., basically to say, "Hey! You did something stupid and I almost hit you!" But the horns are also used to say, "Hello, everyone walking, biking, or driving more slowly than I want to be driving. I am coming up behind you and you had best move out of my way because I am not moving or slowing down. I don't care if there's nowhere for you to go in order to get out of my way. Just do it!" 

Needless to say, since I am now at home writing this blog entry, we did make it to Fes and back. And it's a trip I would like to do again, but I'd like to be able to stop along the way--because we drove by some amazing scenery. (Much of the landscape is very similar to that along the drive from Powell to Clark, Wyoming.)  All along the road are men sitting next to piles of rocks, with large jars of honey (or sugar water posing as honey) for sale. There are also produce vendors selling melons and apples and vegetables on the road side. We passed by Berbers tending their sheep herds alongside the road, and Berber tents with handmade rugs hanging outside for sale. There were also small stands selling pottery along the way.

Once in Fes, we drove straight to Metro, and from there to Marjane. Some of you asked me to take pictures of the stores, but I didn't need to. If you want to see Metro, go to Costco. If you want to see Marjane, go to a Super Wal-Mart--the biggest one you can find. Wal-Mart was the one American institution that I was categorically relieved to get away from, and then I found it again in Morocco. But this was the Wal-Mart of nightmares, packed full of weary Ramadan shoppers, the organization of the store completely unfamiliar, the contents of packages mysterious. I nearly broke down. Maybe I did break down, a little. But we came home somewhat victorious. I got a low-end blender/food processor, a clothes iron, soy sauce. I found SOY MILK and nearly bought Marjane's entire supply. I had intended to come home with a few other things (like a room fan, tahini) but can return after Ramadan ends.

So how did I come to be eating lunch in the Marjane restroom? Well, that came shortly after the miniature breakdown. It was about 2:30 in the afternoon, I had just been rather snappy with my husband, and I told myself to take a timeout in one of the (luckily rather private) bathroom stalls and have a little food.

What did I learn today? I learned not to go to Marjane during Ramadan. I also learned, again, that people (i.e. me) do crazy things while experiencing culture shock. For example, I came home with 24 jars of tomato paste. Don't ask me why. I will not be able to provide a logical answer.



*Sorry, Mom S. I'm sure this is completely freaking you out. But it's the truth!