Fes part 2

I left the riad around 5pm and caught the first taxi I could find. I had no idea where I wanted to go, so I started naming random tourist attractions but the cabbie said it was impossible to get to any of those by taxi. They are all in the old city and only pedestrians and motorcycles are allowed into the medina. I told him to just take me to the opposite end of the old city, outside the gates. I started off exploring the southwest end and wandered around for hours until reaching the northeast corner, somewhat close to my riad. I have no idea where I went within the medina. The alleys are intricate and nearly impossible to navigate even for native Fassis, or so said Abderrazzak, the owner of the riad.

While wandering around I was hoping to come across the Fes tanneries-- where they dye the leather that Fes is so famous for. While stuck in a crowded alley, a young man approached me saying he would lead me to the tanneries for free. Of course, if the first thing someone says is that something is free, it's probably not. I told him I'll give him only 5dh. He almost lost me a few times along the way but finally we reached a nondescript building and walked up a few flights of stairs to a terrace.

Not surprisingly, all of those steaming dyes smell really bad. Most tourists are provided a spring of mint to hold in front of their noses. All kinds of gross stuff are used for the dying process, the least bothersome of which is cow manure.

I explored the maze of alleys and stairways until I got dizzy and found a taxi to take me to my riad. The driver had no idea where it was and it seemed miraculous to me that I finally recognized an area as being close to the riad... just in time, too. The driver had started to talk about how much his wife hates him and if me and him got married, he would be able to move to the U.S.

When I got back to the riad, I found Abderrazzak sitting on the stoop, looking intently at a notepad. He told me that I was welcome to eat futoor with him and his family if I wanted. It was the typical Moroccan Ramadan meal: Harira, shbekia, dates. The only difference was that they served all of this with delicious chocolate cake that their daughter made. Most of the meal we spent watching hidden camera shows, which are wildly popular in Morocco. Aberrazzak started talking about his previous jobs. He taught Arabic all over Morocco but gave it up to be the caretaker at the riad. He also works for an organization that advocates for the rights of the elderly. His wife is an expert of Arabic literature, especially Iraqi poetry. A short while later he mentioned that he had been writing a poem earlier that day about the crisis in Egypt. I asked him to read it to me and he did. Not that I am any judge, but it sounded amazing. The underlying message in the poem is that Egypt does not have a clear enemy. Or if it does, no one knows who it is... the Muslim Brotherhood? Morsi? The military? Is the enemy inside or outside the country? While Egyptians try to figure this out they are killing each other, creating deeper divisions and it was clear from Abderrazzak's poem that the lack of unity among Arabs is deeply disturbing to him. I was hesitant to ask him at first, but I got him to write down the rough draft of the poem in my notebook so that I have my own copy. I'm excited to go back and translate the parts I didn't understand.

He had mentioned to me during dinner that I should see the view from the roof of the riad at night. We climbed a few flights of stairs and walked outside. There was a cool breeze and it was the perfect summer night. After looking over the old city and the tanneries, we turned to go back inside when we both noticed a pigeon sitting on the wall only about a foot away from us. Abderrazzak's arm shot out and he grabbed the bird before it had a chance to get away. We stood there looking at it and petting it for a little while. Then he headed to the door, bird in hand. I asked him what he was doing. 

"What do you mean?"

"What are you doing with the pigeon?"

"I'm going to cook it!" He said.

"No..."

He said he was just kidding so we headed downstairs. I figured he probably wanted to show the pigeon to his daughters, especially since he managed to catch it with his bare hands.  In the stairway, he said something else about putting it in a tagine and I stopped him on the stairs.

"You're not actually going to eat it, right?" I asked.

"No, no." He said.

"Do you swear by Allah?"

"By Allah." He said.

That satisfied me. Swearing for devout Muslims is normally taken seriously. When we got to the living room the family was clearly unimpressed with what we brought back. The older daughter didn't want anything to do with the pigeon. We then noticed that the bird was banded... it clearly belonged to someone and that's probably why it was comfortable being close to us on the roof. Moroccans often keep pigeons, as far as I understand, as pets or may sell them in the souq. They are semi-domesticated. From the limited knowledge I have about domestic pigeons, I think they are allowed to fly free but usually return home to roost.

Abderrazak's wife looked at the pigeon and said it was a good size. They could keep it and eat it later.

Of course, I objected and said it was too small to eat. I said we should go back to the roof and let him go. Abderrazzak could see how upset I was getting so he asked me, "Don't you eat chicken?" I told him yes, I do.

"Then what's the difference?" He said.

"There is no difference. I just feel bad for this pigeon."

"We eat pigeon's all the time."

"I know. I know. But I'm not talking about pigeons in general, I'm talking about this pigeon." I said.

"But this is natural."

"I don't know if this is natural. You can't kill it. It's someone else's pigeon!"

"So what?" He said.

It went on like this for a while. I said he shouldn't steal someone else's pigeon. I then asked him how much a pigeon costs in the souq. He didn't understand why I wanted to know. He teased me by saying they cost $1,000 each. I offered him 30dh (a few dollars) for the pigeon if he would let it go. Of course he and his wife cracked up laughing.

"Why do you care so much??" She asked. Now I had to try to explain.

"I feel guilty because I'm the one who wanted to go up on the roof just now. We found the pigeon sitting there, enjoying the nice weather when you grabbed him and now he's obviously really scared."

Abderrazzak said he just wanted to keep it for the night because the pigeon would get lost trying to find its way home. He said they can't see well in the dark. I responded by saying that pigeons have a very good sense of direction and don't depend on their eyesight as much as whatever mysterious thing is in their brain that allows them to find home. It was interesting trying to explain homing instincts and magnetite in Arabic. 

The frustrating thing is that I couldn't tell if they were teasing me or if they were seriously considering keeping the bird to slaughter. They found a wicker basket and put the pigeon inside. He said we would release it in the morning when I woke up. At this point I was really suspicious of what they were going to do with it. I reminded him that he swore to God that he would not kill it... I was really playing every card I had. I may have even implied that since I was their guest they should do what I want (especially since I was offering compensation!). I told Abderrazzak that I thought he was lying to me about releasing the pigeon. Again, like promises, the term liar carries a lot more weight in the Arab world. But he just laughed it off. I told him to not release it until I woke up so I could go with him. I was worried the basket would be empty in the morning with the excuse that the bird had been released when it had actually been killed or sold.

"I could tell from the moment we saw the pigeon that you were scared for it. Now we know a little bit more about who Hannah is."

I went to bed and woke up in the late morning. I went into the living room and saw the wicker basket in the same spot. I asked them if the pigeon was still in it. It was. I wanted to release it immediately but they insisted I finish my tea first. Halfway through my glass I insisted that Abderrazzak and I go to the roof and let the bird go. He obliged.

He let the pigeon go and it promptly flew right back to where he had caught it the night before.

After returning to Meknes, I got a message from Abderrazzak saying he was really impressed with my Arabic and he was touched by my love of birds. He said he's planning on writing a poem about the pigeon whose life I saved and he'll be sure to mention me by name in it.

Oh, and here are some pictures of the view, my room, and the train:

Fes part 1

I left my home in Meknes around 10am, heading towards the Abdelkader train station. I didn't know when the next train to Fes was leaving, but I ended up only having to wait one hour. The train ride to Fes was beautiful and I had a whole compartment to myself. I was free to eat my nutella and peanut butter sandwich without any judgement from the passengers fasting. We reached Fes after only 40 minutes. It's easy to sense how massive this city is as soon as you pull into the train station. While riding in the red taxis, I was able to look across much of the old city. The density and complexity of the buildings is overwhelming and navigating the tiny alleys seems impossible. I gathered this just from looking out over the city. I can't imagine how complicated it will be from within the medina.
My driver was unfamiliar with the hotel (or riad) that I wanted to go to. I asked a man at a teleboutique and he kindly walked me to the riad. I was standing at the foot of a giant wooden and iron door, ringing the bell until finally a pudgy, red-eyed man opened it. I had obviously woken him up from his all-day Ramadan nap that's so typical of Moroccans trying to avoid the pains of fasting. He said they were full and he pointed me in the direction of another riad. I blindly wandered through the alleys, planning on asking someone for help when I happened to look down the alley and see a sign with 'riad' on it. Again, it was a massive, fortified wooden door with a bell that I repeatedly rang until another sleepy Moroccan man answered. They had a room available. I followed him inside a beautiful riad that turned out to be his home. Before I saw the room I asked him how much it costs. "It's no problem." He said.
"No problem?" I said. "You mean it's free?"
He laughed and showed me the room. My heart sunk because I knew I wouldn't be able to afford anything like it. Twenty-some foot ceilings, gorgeous tile mosaics, in room bathroom and a king-size bed. I inquired again about the price.
"About 700 dirhams."
Now I was the one laughing. I told him about the riad down the street with a price of 135 and I offered him 150. He said 500. I told him I didn't see any other guests looking for a room. I was his only hope. I pushed for 200 and told him I really didnt want to go back out in the heat looking for yet another riad. He said 350. After another minute or so we settled on 250.
One of the most popular rules about haggling in the Middle East is that you should take whatever price is offered to you and cut it in half, then offer that. This situation is proof as to why that's a bad tactic. If I had offered 350 there would have been no hope of getting anything cheaper than that and we would've likely, after going back and forth, settled on a price somewhere around 500, or twice what I paid. It's also not about paying a price that you think is fair, it's about paying significantly less than whatever they're demanding because nine times out of ten their price is way more than what the product/service is worth.
I'll post pictures of the room tomorrow and write more about Fes. Hopefully I can get around to leaving my precious riad and actually exploring the city.

http://www.booking.com/hotel/ma/riad-terre-de-fes.html?label=social_footershare

Boom Boom Feliz Ramadan

These are the theme songs for my weekend: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JNfwInxcqoo
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qGJ9S3Is6lY

I just returned by train from Tangiers to Meknes. Three friends and I spent an incredible and exhausting weekend in Tetouan exploring northern Morocco and swimming in the Mediterranean. The region of Tetouan and Tangiers is remarkably different in some ways. Mainly, the Spanish influence is much more pronounced. Here in Meknes, everyone tries to speak to me in French. In Tetouan, there were more attempts at Spanish. Even when speaking to people in Arabic, they would respond with "Si, si." The architecture looks very Spanish, but I was reminded a number of times that what we consider to be Spanish design is in fact Islamic and Arab in origin.

We arrived in Tangiers around 10pm on Friday and took an hour long cab ride to Tetouan. The cabbie was young and reckless and sped through the mountain roads at an unnerving speed. When we finally found our hotel on the third floor of a bank it was close to midnight. Here are some of the views from our $10 hotel room:

The brownish building in the second picture is a nice church located right on the circle. It is the third or fourth church I have seen in Morocco. They are all well-maintained but I don't know how populated they are. 

Tetouan is easily my favorite Moroccan city so far. It is beautiful, has yet to be discovered by tourists, and it is surrounded by crooked mountains and farmland. It has wide streets and fountains every few blocks along with the narrow, white passageways typical of Arab old cities. It is set back from the sea by about thirty minutes, but it was easy to get a cab to take us there and we spent most of Saturday laying on the beach.

If you look closely as the second picture, you can see a man shooting up out of the water on a type of jet ski that I've never seen before. He would get 20+ feet up in the air on a small, water-propelled platform before diving back into the sea. The water was the perfect temperature and when the sun started to set we had the beach to ourselves. Other than hearing the call to prayer off in the distance, everything was silent. 

The next day we walked around Tetouan and found one of the few restaurants that stays open during Ramadan, El Reducto. It is an old riad repurposed as a hotel by a Spanish family. 

After enjoying fried eggplant and potatoes, fresh-squeezed orange juice and some of the best mint tea I've had yet, we headed upstairs to explore and relax on the roof until we had to head back to Tangiers to catch our train. Here are some more pictures of the trip:

عاصمة المغرب

My roommate and two other girls took a train from Meknes to Rabat yesterday morning. The ride was only two hours and it was a great opportunity to see the Moroccan countryside. There were shepherds, huts made out of bales of hay, and rolling hills with rocky creeks. The train ride was so enjoyable I almost did not want it to end and I am planning more of them (to Fes, Assilah, etc.).

When we arrived in Rabat we hailed a cab that took us to the beach town of Temara. We drove along the water's edge looking for a beach that wasn't too crowded or too rocky.

We finally settled on one situated next to a theme park complete with a merry-go-round and carnival rides next to a gaudy hotel. We went into the hotel looking for a place to change. It looked completely abandoned on the inside.

After changing we returned to the beach and I started to haggle with some guy over an umbrella that I wanted to rent. He was trying to charge me 50dh. After settling on 20, he sets it up for me. So far, during Ramadan, I've tried to be really discreet about any eating or drinking I do during the day, including in the classroom. But yesterday I felt that the beach would have to be an exception. I was starving and thirsty, and there was no way I was spending the day on the hot beach without drinking water in front of people. There were other foreigners there, so I figured it would not be a problem. How Moroccans get by laying on the beach all day and swimming without eating or drinking anything is beyond me. I am constantly shocked by the things they are able to do while fasting from 4am until 8pm. Anyways, I was holding a bottle of water and after the guy set up the umbrella the questioning began:

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Why aren't you fasting?"

"Because I'm not a Muslim."

"You're not a Muslim?"

"No."

"What religion are you?"

"I'm a Christian."

"Oh..."

It's disappointing that even when I try to be blunt with people I still have to lie. My normal response to "What religion are you?" is "My family is Christian." At least that's not as much of a lie. But here is what they say when I mention that during Ramadan:

"You know, Christians fast, too. And for longer than Muslims." 

"Maybe Coptic Christians..." I say.

"No, real Christians fast."

"Then I'm not a real Christian."

I need to mention here that I think Ramadan is amazing and one of the more respectable religious traditions. It is meant to remind the wealthy, and everyone else, that there are people in the world that experience severe hunger and thirst and don't have the luxury of breaking fast when the sun goes down. It's a time of generosity and self-control. It teaches patience and compassion. Again, I am in awe of what most Muslims are capable of doing this time of year, especially in a place like central Morocco. That being said, I do not feel like abstaining from all food and drink for 16 hours a day in 105+ degree heat is something that one just jumps into as a non-Muslim American. In addition to that, I have been so irritated by the American students that have decided to "fast" that I do not want to be a part of it. By 10am they are complaining of hunger pains. If you eat anything in front of them, they see it as an opportunity to remind everyone of their suffering. You then see them drinking water and realize they are only abstaining from food. Upon further questioning they say they are only fasting half a day. Not eating anything until after noon sounds like a pretty normal day for me, but for them it is a life-changing cultural experience.

 It is hard to determine the boundaries on cultural respect and cultural immersion. I try to be aware of the fact that the Moroccans around me are facing a real challenge every day and it is rude to blatantly eat and drink in front of them but I also know that it can take a lifetime of observation, training, and faith that I do not have to be able to fast for a month every year. I do not want to pretend that I can do what they are doing, because I probably cannot. Because of my mixed feelings about what should be deemed respectful, I just do not know how to react when my professor walks into our classroom during our break, sees me eating a pretzel in the far corner of the room and says, "Look at Hannah, eating during Ramadan in broad daylight!"

Anyways, back to Rabat. We swam and laid on the beach for hours. The water was surprisingly chilly and the breeze was cool. It was the first time I have felt cold in weeks so it was nice.

We drove around Rabat for a while, looking for any restaurant that would be open before iftar. We finally found one and ate crepes and paninis while trying to decide what to do with the rest of the evening. I ended up taking the train back by myself around 9:30 while the others stayed to check out Rabat's nightlife. I shared a compartment with Abdou, a Moroccan-born French pianist who was returning to Fes to visit his mother after his father passed away. We talked about religion, marriage, and politics (a rare subject of conversation in Morocco, at least for me). 

When I arrived back in Meknes around midnight I did not have to look far for a cab since the drivers were standing in the station searching for customers. I went with one cabbie who told me the ride would be at least 25dh. I am used to just going by the meter and that seemed a little steep. I reluctantly agreed on 20 and got into the backseat of his cab after he tried to get me to sit up front. I am still trying to determine what precautions I need to take while riding in a cab. This is what I have come up with so far: Always sit in the back seat. Pay attention to where he is taking you and get out and find another cab if he is clearly taking the wrong route. Don't get into a cab with only male passengers in it. The last one I have not followed strictly but after three more men piled into this cab with me, I got out and walked down the street to find a different one. I am sure it would not have been a problem, but since the cabbie was bothering me to begin with, I decided to bail. I found an empty cab half a block away and got in. The driver seemed nice and as we started to drive off, someone was yelling into my back seat window and opened the door. Apparently it was the man in charge of the taxis around the train station. He was insisting I get out of the cab and go back to the one I was in before. I suppose they have a system there that he wanted to abide by, but I was sick of getting in and out of taxis and told him repeatedly that I did not want that other taxi. He started screaming at the driver and the driver was screaming back and was trying to drive off but the guy would not let him. At this point I really wasn't going to get out of the cab and explained that I did not want to be in a cab alone with four men (if there's one thing Moroccans will understand, it's a woman trying to be safe/virtuous). The guy kept screaming and I could not believe how insistent he was being. Finally we just started to drive off and the guy slammed the door in my face. My cabbie was obviously flustered and seemed just as confused as me. I was happy he stuck up for me, even if it was just for the cab fare. We had a good conversation about Amazighi culture and language before he dropped me off.

Ramadan Kareem

My first Moroccan iftar was delicious... harira, shbekia, bastila, dates, flower-scented milk, Moroccan pizza, eggs, and juice. Great company and a beautiful tradition.

Misc pics

The first picture is of my friend Rachel and our two language partners. We were getting gelato and crepes at a swanky cafe in the new city. There are also two pictures of the shbekia baking process. Shbekia is a crunchy, sticky pastry that tastes like solidified molasses with some spices and sesame seeds. It's delicious and is eaten along with harira, a savory meat and garbanzo bean stew. It's a weird combination, but it works. Supposedly it is eaten every night for Ramadan in Morocco so I probably won't think it's so delicious a month from now. The last three pictures are me experimenting with the miniature setting on my camera. The view is from the roof of my apartment building and the blurred edges of the photos are supposed to make everything look small...