Sun, Mon, Tues, Feb 7-9, 2010

Sunday

Jet. Lag. Yah, it’s starting to hit me. Being five hours ahead puts my sleep cycles way off. This was the day of naps, lots of them. I’d eat, take a nap. Read, take a nap. Eat, take a nap. You get the picture. I never woke feeling rested, just more out of it.

Me and Aunti did take a short hike through some of the Kings gardens to an old palace still under construction. There are ancient walls you must go through to get there, but some guy demanded we give him 5 dirham to pass. We knew he was just some guy, but he was insistent, even grabbing aunti’s arm. That’s a no-no. At the same time I took a BIG fast step towards him, anuti had smacked his hand and told him off in withering French. He got the hint and slithered away.

Typically, it seems that if a woman is with a man, the woman is well respected, not even gauked at. Single women are another story and have a more difficult time here. I love Morocco, but this aspect of the culture is difficult for me. The idea that it’s a woman’s fault if she is attacked because she is in the wrong place, or wearing the wrong thing is a bit infurating. I do believe each of us has to take responsibilit for our own safety and not put ourselves in compromising situations, but to actively blame the victim is barbaric.

Another nap brought me to me dinner time. Tonight we were to having dinner with Tariq’s family. They live down a series allies barely wide enough for two scooters to pass. Left, right, left, left, twist and turn. Crap, I’d never find my way out of here! We rolled up to an undescript door in a wall, and were greeted by the whole family.

His father, with a deeply weathered, angular face and welcoming smile greeted us with the family behind. Tariq’s sister is a lovely woman with two beautiful little girls, 8 and 3. Everyone is full of smiles; I’m sure partly because that is the only way to communicate with me. The 8 year old is learning english in school and we had such a wonderful time trying to speak. Tariq’s mother I had met before and his sister-in-law was there. Teriq’s father knows a very little bit of french and tells the same story about working as a mason with the American’s in Parris over and over. All details were lost on me and the family was amused at my attempts to understand and talk back.

It’s an interesting feeling beeing a guest, but not understanding and not being able to be understood. It is amazing how you can get the gist of a question through gestures, good humor and an open mind. It was a lovely time with a lovely traditional Moroccan meal capping the experience.

In bed, sleep never came. Again. Uggg.

Monday

I finally just got up. Earlier that normal too. I’ve got to break this sleep cycle. I haven’t slept for the last two nights and my days are full of zombie naps. Today I train myself. I got my coffee, grabbed my book and went into the park to sit with the sun. No naps, lots of exercise, lots of sun, go to bed exhausted. That was my plan.

I read and worked, mostly in the park till lunch. Another amazing experience. Every day I am astounded again by the food. Instead of my afternoon nap, I asked Tariq to drop me in the middle of Jemaa Elfna square, and to meet me at 9pm at my favorite spice tea vendor. Alone for the first time in old Morocco. Cool.

There seems to be more people than space. Like a morter which is always mixing to keep from taking a perminent set, the people here are always in motion, it seems for fear of perminent gridlock. It’s not just the people; mule carts push through the crowds, scooters with massive baskets full of bread thread into any empty space, the occasional two-horse carriage or honking car forces everyone flat agains the narrow alley. This place is not for the closterphobic.

Jemaa Elfna is a world herritage cultural site. It is a massive square full of performers, food and spice vendors, and everything else imaginable. There are countless alleys off this square, each with it’s own maze of shops, carts and delights. When I was hungry I’d try one of the delights, mainly snails, when I was thirsty, I’d have some tea or fresh juice.

I walked and I walked some more. Sometimes I would push myself against the clay wall and just watch, but mostly I walked. I walked out of the old city and into the new. I walked past mosqus, cafes, tour busses, and schools. Happily the fatique from little sleep was massivley overwhelmed by the purposeful energy of the city. I felt great.

When I finally sat to rest, people would approach me asking if I wanted to buy shoes, hashish, beer at a bar, or time with a woman. I like moving. Rapid motion always makes me feel secure from the chaos around me. It’s only when I stop that I feel vurnable. I didn’t stop long.

Night came, the crowds doubled and finally it was time to meet Teriq for my ride home. I savored my super spicy tea (out of the same glass everyone uses) and was glad for it and my warm coat while I waited.

He was hungry, so we walked for a while and found a vendor he liked. Super greasy stew was my meal, to be eaten with my fingers. Conversation with Tariq is always a delight, but once I locked eyes with the girl across from me, I heard nothing else. I can still feel my heartbeat in my ears as I write this. She made me dizzy just looking at her. She seemed to feel the same, or maybe I just have a helpful imagination. Whatever the case, our visual dance was all that was to be had, but it was better than many dates I’ve been on.

Once home, I walked straight to bed, laid down and didn’t stir till dawn the next day. My plan worked.

Tuesday.

The days here don’t really start till after a late lunch, so the mornings have become a routine of one cup of coffee, bread and jam to eat, some kind of cheese ,and tea. Lots of tea. I’m going to need a giant Colorado mountain-town breakfast after a month of this. Reading, chatting, napping follow breakfast. Lunch is a feast of delights, then the day begins.

Today the plan was for me and aunti to pull out the bicycles and explere. Explore we did. We peddled more miles than I’ve peddled in the last five years. Strangely I felt safer bicycling through the chaos here than bicycling on the roads at home. At least here there is no danger of some idiot fireman pulling out a gun and shooting you for not riding safely

Into the markets, down the streets, through the allies, onto the highways, out of the city and it seemed half way to Cassablanca we rode. We rode past palm forests, herds of cammels, trash filled rivers, walls new and antient, crumbling houses, and opulant villas. When we weren’t riding we enjoyed wonderful conversation.

This was really the first time aunti and I have spent a lot of time together alone. She is really something else, full of stories you can’t imagine. What a cool lady.

It was hours after sunset before we got home. I can’t guess how many miles we rode, but the blisters on my ass matched the blisters on my feet from the day before.

Another perfect day in Africa.