24 hours in Meknes

For those of us who live in Ifrane, Meknes too often is nothing more than a place we go to get things done – to buy groceries, to go to the doctor, to go to the train station, etc. T and I realized recently that, while we had been to Meknes dozens of times, we had never really "done" Meknes. This realization coincided with a rather lazy desire to get out of Ifrane without actually, you know, going anywhere.

The perfect solution, we realized, was to spend a night in Meknes, specifically in the medina.


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Breakfast at the marché

Maybe it means that we are simple people, but T and I don't need a lot of excitement to be happy. One of the simple things that makes us happy is having breakfast at Café Igloo in the marché. We like going with friends, but we are almost as content to go by ourselves.

And we always order the same thing: I get nuss nuss (half coffee, half milk) and T gets atay. We both get meloui bsla (meloui with onions and "fromage," i.e. la vache qui rit). T gets an omelette, which is cooked in a tagine and comes with an entire loaf of fluffy white khobz. If we're feeling decadent, we will each get a glass of fresh squeezed orange juice. This breakfast will cost us about five U.S. dollars.

It's cheap. It's simple. And we both already know it's one of the things we will miss when we leave Morocco.

A little math

Insomnia last night
+ Having to retake a midterm exam today designed by a crazy person
= One adult learner who's about to lose it!

Autumn in Ifrane

I have experienced autumn in a variety of climates. Because I grew up in Nebraska and went to college in Iowa, Midwest autumns will probably always represent "normal" for me--stretching out across October and into November, with a few warm, "sweaterless" days and a few days (one of which was almost always Halloween) of snow. New Orleans doesn't have an autumn as far as I can tell. Autumn in Wyoming is early, swift, spectacular, and tragically short.

Autumn in Ifrane is thick and slow and sweet, like honey. It came so slowly and so gently that it took me quite a while to even notice it was here.

I don't ALWAYS have to be relevant, do I?

Since T and I are living on an income here that might qualify us for food stamps in the United States, I have had the great pleasure of applying for student loans to help pay for my graduate program.

Here's a quote from the master promissory note:

To request a loan discharge based on one of the conditions described above (except for discharges due to death or bankruptcy), you must complete an application that you may obtain from your servicer.

I'm relieved that someone wrote this into the policy, because if they hadn't, I would probably find myself worrying about this if I died. How will I get my loan discharged? I would wonder.

One less thing to worry about. Phew.

Skypefest 2011

If you've ever lived far away from home, particularly in another country, you probably know how touching and important it can be to get the occasional unexpected letter, email, phone call, or Skype call from a friend or family member. For me, this past week has been marked by such unexpected communications, and it has helped me start my Monday morning feeling connected and grounded.

That's a good thing, because I think next week is midterm week, which means lots of grading for T and studying for me. I guess I'd better get to work...

On living in a negotiation culture

About three weeks ago, our friends/neighbors--we'll call them "Ryan" and "Tara"--decided they would get a pet cat. At the time, pets were not, in the strictest sense, allowed in the downtown apartments. But Ryan and Tara opted for the "better to ask for forgiveness later than to ask for permission now" philosophy. Ryan emailed the head of housing to say that they were getting a cat, they would take full responsibility for her and for cleaning of the apartment, etc.

Yesterday, those of us living in the downtown apartments received the following email. Before you read it, keep in mind these points: 1) Up until the day this email was sent out, the University policy was that no pets were allowed in downtown apartments, and 2) Ryan and Tara live in one of only four two bedroom apartments in the downtown building.

Residents living in Downtown Residence can keep cats as companion animals; yet they need to abide by AUI housing rules and regulations regarding this issue:
- Residents who want to have indoor cats need to be residing in a two bed room apartment. They are allowed to have 2 cats in maximum. No other pets are allowed in the Residence,
-Cats should be vaccinated in order to provide the safest protection for the pet and for the environment. The residents should provide a proof of medical history of vaccinations of the pet,
-A cat should not leave the apartment, please ensure that the cat is secured within the apartment,
-A cat should wear a collar, this will facilitate the identification of her owner in case of loss or accident.

Best Regards

Supervisor of Downtown Residence 

These are reasonable rules and regulations, but when I read this email, I laughed; I had a feeling that something quite Moroccan had happened. I don't want to overemphasize cultural differences, but in general, culturally speaking, we Americans expect and value equal treatment and equal application of policies, rules, and regulations. Consideration of individual circumstances may be seen as favoritism and as unfair. Moroccan culture, on the other hand, is a negotiation culture. There is more of a sense that each individual case should be considered separately, in light of individual circumstance, personal connections, and the quality of the argument made on one's behalf (by one's self or by a representative). 

The above downtown residence pet policy was clearly created retroactively just for Ryan and Tara, and I found it to be a clever and delightful (and face-saving) solution to the (potential) problem Ryan and Tara created by getting a cat without permission.

On watching TV

During our nearly 10 years of marriage, T and I have very rarely had "TV." (By this I mean that we have always had a television, but we have rarely had reception of any television channels. This is because we are too cheap to pay for TV, so we have only had it when it has been provided to us for free). Our time in Morocco is one of those rare times. And I have to say that it can be quite interesting watching television in a foreign country.

Our TV channels come in a variety of languages – standard Arabic, Darija, French, and English. A somewhat surprising amount of the television programming is American. Even the programming that is 100% French (languagewise) seems to consist largely of American TV programs dubbed in French. (I really don't understand French, but I enjoyed watching a portion of a dubbed Simpsons episode. I was very impressed by how similar the French voice actors sounded to the American voice actors. If you ever get an opportunity to watch the Simpsons in French, I highly recommend that you do so.)

The commercials are interesting, too, whether or not they are in English. When we first moved here, we frequently saw intriguing and emotionally powerful antiterrorism videos similar to this one:



But I have to say – with the caveat that this conclusion is based entirely on casual and unscientific observation – that a large percentage of commercials are for soaps and other cleaning products: hand soap, body soap, clothing soap, shampoo, etc. Paranoia-inducing commercials for Dettol seem especially prevalent.

I also enjoy the commercials for nonalcoholic beverages that are explicitly advertised like beer.



We now have fewer English language TV channels than we did when we moved into this apartment; for some reason, we keep losing channels. At any given time, though, there will be one or two English language (usually American) movies on TV. I am often amused by the choice of movies, which can range from well-known films like Black Hawk Down to weird movies you've probably never heard of like May to movies with totally culturally inappropriate content like Girl 6.

I'm especially surprised to see these channels showing movies like that last one because virtually all sexual content, including kisses, is edited out of everything shown on these Arabic-subtitled TV channels. (T and I knew we had gotten used to these new television decency standards when, one day, we found ourselves staring slack-jawed at a vigorous kissing and groping scene that, for some reason, had not been edited out of a movie on the Action channel. We were shocked the way you might be shocked if the 10 o'clock news suddenly got interrupted by full frontal nudity.)

Watching TV in a foreign country is so much more interesting than it was to watch it in my own country. Every commercial and every program feels like a cultural clue (or, sometimes, a cultural puzzle). It's also interesting to see what television programming gets exported from the United States and to reflect on how that affects the image people in the Arab world have of Americans.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go watch the latest installment of Arabs Got Talent.

Weekend in Asilah

Asilah is a small, quiet, beautiful but unpretentious town along the Atlantic coast of Morocco. T and I went there once about a year ago for just a couple of hours and were wanting to return ever since.


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This weekend, we got our chance. I went on the trip with three goals, all of which I accomplished. First, eat a vegetable tagine at Al Kasabah. Second, drink wine under the stars on the rooftop terrace of our guesthouse. Third (and most importantly), go to the beach.

I had read a lot about Paradise Beach and intended to go there, but our hostess suggested we go to a less-well-known but even more beautiful part of the beach, which involved driving on unmarked, winding, rutted, and rocky one-lane roads.

She told us to walk two kilometers south once we arrived at the beach, which we did. This brought us to Mounir's place, a clean and simple bamboo structure overlooking the water. We ate lunch there, sat in the shade, sat in the sun, got in the water, and enjoyed having a gorgeous, clean beach practically all to ourselves.