Ways of looking at things

There are two ways to tell the story of our weekend trip to the desert (Erg Chebbi sand dunes) near Merzouga with our friends Brian and Sara.


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The first goes something like this:

It was a rough week leading up to the trip, and I wasn't feeling very enthusiastic about much of anything. People told us it was going to be horribly hot in the desert, and I wasn't looking forward to the eight (or more) hours in the black, non-air conditioned interior of Brian and Sara's Dacia. The trip got off to a bad start on Friday when we drove at least 20 kilometers in the wrong direction. When we got to Erfoud, where we had planned to spend our first night before heading for the desert, the hotel we had reserved was unacceptable, and we had to wander around town to find another hotel. After checking in to our new hotel, when we hoped to get showered and freshened up, the power went out.

The next day (Saturday), our guide was over two hours late in coming to get us for lunch, and we then discovered that we had to drive back toward Ifrane several kilometers. After lunch, we headed for the desert, which was hardly visible because of the strong windstorm blowing through the area. We were supposed to go spend Saturday night in the desert, but we cancelled that because of the winds.

Only camels could tolerate being out in that wind!

Instead, we went to the hotel where we had planned to spend Sunday night--Auberge du Sud. We had a delicious dinner there. Unfortunately, though, the next morning, two members of our group had mild food poisoning (either from lunch or dinner on Saturday, we weren't sure). We tried to cancel our trip to the desert, but the hotel manager had already arranged one for us and had no rooms available for that night.

Things I forgot to say in my previous post

I was in such a rush last night to get pictures of our trip to the Cascades d'Ouzoud up on my blog that only later did I realize I hadn't written about half of the things I had intended to. So here are some of those things, in no particular order:


- Even in places in Morocco where the landscape looks familiar (T and I have, on multiple occasions, been reminded of Wyoming and Montana), there are frequent reminders that I am in a foreign country. No matter how remote a road seems to be, there will always be pedestrians, hitchhikers, and people on donkeys traveling along that road. I often wonder where they're coming from and where they're going.

In remote locations, one is also likely to encounter people trying to sell things. When we got onto the mountain roads not far from Ouzoud, we started seeing people along the road holding up little bundles of fresh herbs and making a variety of mysterious gestures which we assume meant something like, "Please buy these herbs! I really need money. Don't you feel sorry for me?" And we did; we felt sorry for them.

Many of these people – many more than I would have guessed – were children, often very, very young children. As we drove, we discussed the pros and cons of stopping to buy some of the herb. (I think it was some kind of mountain thyme, but I'm not sure.) I imagine they couldn't have been selling the little bundles for more than one or two dirhams each, and I wonder what could possibly have been the maximum amount of money someone might bring home at the end of a long day of standing by the roadside. Seeing these people was a reminder both of how difficult the job situation is here (it's unimaginably worse than in the U.S., I guarantee) and of how hard people try to come up with ways of having even a tiny income.


- I should have taken the opportunity yesterday to spend a little more time explaining exactly what a riad is. Basically, a riad is a large, multilevel house with a central area that is open to the sky. Most of the riads I have stayed at (many have been converted into somewhat upscale bed and breakfasts) have had some form of covering on the rooftop terrace to provide some protection from the elements to the central patio/garden, but this is not always the case.

In the United States, indoor and outdoor spaces are usually carefully separated from each other; "indoor" and "outdoor" are mutually exclusive categories. This is not true in Morocco, and riads illustrate well the lack of a clear distinction between the two. As I mentioned in my previous post, the riad we stayed at has a full-sized orange tree growing in the middle of it. Above the orange tree, at the level of the rooftop terrace (another characteristic of a riad), a clear plastic tarp has been stretched to provide some protection from the rain (although there are a few inches on all sides that are not protected by the tarp, which means that one can get rained on while standing in certain places on the ground floor). At the center of the tarp is a large plastic tube that goes down to the base of the orange tree, so that when it rains the water follows the tube and waters the orange tree!

This lack of separation between indoor and outdoor means that, when the weather is nice, a riad is a lovely place for hanging out and relaxing. But when the weather is cold, the riad is also cold; many owners go to great lengths (and, I'm sure, expenses) to try to bring their riads up to Western standards of comfort regarding winter temperatures.

The cruelest month

I think April forgot to take her medications. One day it is warm and sunny outside, and we are all sitting in the sun drinking tea, and the next day it is raining or sleeting and cold enough to kill a kitten.

This morning, I woke up to a good one or two inches of real snow on the ground. It wasn't a surprise, since yesterday evening it became very, very cold, and there was a howling wind blowing snow around when I went to bed. But it still seems unfair to be living in Africa and to wake up to snow in mid-April.

What the birds know

At lower altitudes, blooming cherry trees and bright green fields are obvious signs that spring has arrived. In Ifrane, temperatures haven't noticeably changed since February, and the ground and trees remain an expectant brown.

a patient stork

But the birds know that spring has come. In the last week or so, their songs have changed to something more boisterous. The storks--some of whom chose to remain in Ifrane for the comparatively long, cold winter, standing stoically on windy rooftops--are busy repairing and expanding their nests. They spend a remarkable amount of time selecting the right sticks, presenting them to their mates, and positioning them just so in their nests.

The egrets have returned, and in the evenings they huddle, carefully spaced apart from each other, in the leafless trees by the little lake in the center of town. The lesser kestrels have arrived after a winter away, too, and their unexpectedly doll-like peeping calls can be heard throughout town. Starlings flit about in groups, singing in a way that I can't help but think of as playful.

And even though I know it's anthropomorphizing, I also read hopefulness into all of it. This, the birds remind me, is the time of opening, of awakening, of tender growth and fast change. On a cool morning when the bright sun shines warm on my face, and I see the patient storks putting their lives back together slowly, one thin stick at a time, my heart feels full with possibility. Like their nests, my home, my life, is repeatedly undone. But what can I do? That is the nature of life. I can only, after a winter of undoing, awaken in the spring, pick up a stick, and place it carefully. Then do it again. And again. Admire the work, but don't get attached. Keep building. This must be what the storks do. This is what I will try to do. This is what we all must do.

The most popular souvenir

Earlier this week, we had our first snow of the season. I predicted the snow would be melted by the following day, and I was essentially correct. A day after the snow fell, warm sunshine melted much of it, leaving unattractive clumps of dirty ice or snow in a few places.

One of my friends told me that snowfall in Ifrane is reported on the national news. So I also predicted that, this weekend, Ifrane would be packed with Moroccan tourists coming to see the unusual sight of snow. And yesterday, when T and I were going for a walk along the road to Fez, we saw many cars coming into town. We also saw a number of cars heading out of town, toward Fez. Every third car or so leaving town had one or two large clumps of snow carefully placed on its hood. I imagined a caravan of slow-moving cars from Ifrane to Fez, the drivers smiling, happily displaying evidence that they had visited the beautiful, cold town of Ifrane, and hoping the snow will somehow remain on their hoods until they arrive home so they can show the exotic substance to their family members, friends, and neighbors.

The thought made me smile.

This is Africa, too

Ifrane early yesterday afternoon...

The Chellah in Rabat

T, Terry, and Sarah outside the entrance

Our trip to Rabat earlier this week was mostly a repeat of previous visits to the city (plus a visit to a Moroccan dentist that was much more comfortable and successful than my last visit to one). However, we did have time for one new sight –  the Chellah. According to my near-constant companion The Rough Guide to Morocco, the Chellah is "the most beautiful of Moroccan ruins." It is an ancient walled necropolis, or burial ground, containing Roman ruins, Islamic ruins, and koubbas (tombs of marabouts, or saints). It was abandoned by inhabitants back in 1154 and is now visited by tourists from other countries and Muslim Moroccans alike.

It was a gloriously beautiful day, warm and sunny, and inside the walls of the Chellah, it was quiet, peaceful, and surprisingly beautiful. Much of the space that is not taken up by ruins or tombs hosts lush, well-maintained gardens.

Melilla, Spain

Monday was Eid al Adha, or Eid Kbir, a big Muslim celebration which I wrote a little about last year (here and here). T had a few days off from teaching, and we decided weeks ago that we wanted to go somewhere that wasn't Morocco when the Eid break came. When I told my friend Michael this, he wrote (whether sarcastically or not, I don't know) that he was surprised I didn't want to stay and experience the Eid. The truth is, when called upon, I can drum up a great deal of respect, or at the very least tolerance, for a wide variety of cultural practices. But that doesn't mean I am interested in participating in or observing them. For goodness' sake, there are aspects of my own culture that I'm not interested in – like keeping track of celebrity marriages, divorces, and international adoptions, or watching American Idol. So if you're interested in reading more about Eid al Adha, you'll have to look somewhere else, like here.

Because I went to Spain.

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.

Spring in Ifrane

Cherry trees in full bloom

Chaffinch

Ain Vittel

 More pictures behind the cut...

Gotta love spring

Snow

This is what I woke up to this morning: my first real snow in Ifrane, along with real winter temperatures!

Moulay Yacoub thermal springs

When I am in a new situation, I have a tendency to get very insecure and very nervous. So when I'm in a new situation that is supposed to be relaxing, I'm lucky if I can become 50% relaxed. I would say that's the state I was able to achieve yesterday when T and I went to the Moulay Yacoub thermal springs and spa with a group of other faculty and staff from the University.

The spa is located in a low spot amongst brown, dusty hills 20 kilometers outside of Fez. Outside the building were palm trees and citrus trees covered with cheerful looking oranges. Inside were glass display cases with fluffy towels and expensive, organic body and hair care products. There are all kinds of services one can get at this spa--massage, facial, pedicure and manicure…or one can just pay 100 dirhams to sit in the hot, sulfurous pool.

Sounds great, right? Overall, it was. While I didn't appreciate the smell that was imparted to my hair and clothes, the warm water was relaxing and seemed therapeutic. I also splurged and paid for a massage, which was nice. The stress just came from being in a different country, where the protocol for everything is just a little bit different, and I can only communicate with the staff using one-word phrases and childish gestures.

Besides providing me with an opportunity for relaxation, the spa got me thinking about gender differences and attitudes towards the body in Morocco. The place was not nearly as gender segregated as one might expect it to be. All customers go to a coed dressing room location. The staff at the desk give you a big robe (with a hood, which is useful for the ladies who like to keep their heads covered) and some slippers. You go into a little dressing cubicle, change into your swimsuit, cover up with the rope, and then check in all of your belongings at the desk. There are individual dressing rooms, but there are no separate ones for men and women. There are two pools – one for women only, which has glazed glass doors so that no one can see into it, and a coed pool. I actually like that. I used the coed pool so that I could talk to T, but I think it would be fun to go with a group of (female) friends and use the "women only" pool. For those getting massages and other services, there are not separate sections for men and women. Showers are also individual but in coed locations.

I was also reminded that Americans can be total prudes. For my massage, the massage therapist brought me into a little room, closed the door (but not all the way), and indicated that I should take off my top. I think she was confused about why I waited for her to leave the room (and completely close the door) before I did so, especially since there was no blanket for me to cover up with during the massage.While a Moroccan woman might be expected to keep more of her body covered up around men than an American woman might be, a woman keeping herself covered up around other women probably doesn't make much sense to Moroccan. and there are some places, like a hot springs pool, where it's okay for everybody to be just about naked. (I saw several Moroccan women in bikinis and men in Speedos.)

Also: if you get a massage at Moulay Yacoub thermal springs and spa, expect by the end to be completely covered–from the ends of your hair to the tips of your toes–with olive oil. Thus the showers.

In other news: This past week we had glorious, warm, sunny, springlike weather. The clouds returned just today.

Day Six

And on the sixth day God said, "Let there be light...a little bit of light for, like, an hour." And there was, and it was good, but it would have been better if it hadn't gotten cloudy and started raining again right away.


Or something like that.

(Seriously, though, people, the country of Morocco got deluged this week. And tomorrow's forecast calls for more rain. But Saturday should be "partly sunny and warmer." Yippee! Maybe the leak in our roof will get fixed this month after all.)

Day four (morning)

Drip...drip...drip...drip...drip...drip...

Patterpatterpatterpatterpatterpatterpatterpatterpatter

Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh, whoosh...
 
Aaaaaarrrrrrgggggghhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Day three

This is day three of rain in Ifrane, and the forecast calls for more of the same for the rest of the week.

Those of you who live in rainy parts of the world might be thinking, "So what?" Maybe I should explain what it means to rain in Ifrane. Once the rain starts, there will be no hint of the sun or of blue sky for days. The rain never stops. The lake between the University and Centre Ville floods. And the rain is accompanied by wind that would put to shame that in Cheyenne, Wyoming. And, of course, it is cold. Think about the fact that many residents of Ifrane are pedestrians (being unable to afford their own cars) and that they live in unheated homes. We do much of our shopping in outdoor spaces. Add to all of that the fact that many ceilings and windows leak (including ours)*, and you might begin to understand why the rain is so miserable here.

I find weather like this to be extremely unmotivating. Somehow, T and I managed to make ourselves go down to the taxi station yesterday, take a taxi to Azrou, and walk around Azrou to go Christmas shopping. But now that I'm back in my apartment, I may not leave until the rain does. Especially now that… I have someone else to do my laundry for me! That's right; the only (non-literal) ray of sunshine on this gloomy, rainy day is that I have finally managed to hire a "maid" (an entry on my feelings about that word, and about the experience of hiring someone to do my laundry for me when I am perfectly capable of doing it myself, will come later). Today, I didn't have to drag my laundry through the cold rain.



*I have had leaky ceilings before, when I lived in the States. In the past, that sort of thing drove me nuts. But when I got up this morning and found the peeling paint on our ceiling and the wet spot on the carpet below it, I just calmly grabbed a towel and a bucket and called T to ask him to submit a work order. Living in a foreign country really is changing me. :-)