Strolling the street the other day Ali remarked, "If you want to buy a Moroccan a present buy him a horn." He was referring to a car horn and he was dead on. In a city where motorbikes, cars, pedestrians and even donkeys and mules share the streets, the "toot, toot" of car horns is a constant. It seems a green light is simply not sufficient notice for a driver to get going after sitting at a red light, at least not according to the driver behind him. As soon as the traffic light turns green, (and quite possibly the second before) any number of cars are honking their horns, and not because the driver in the lead is lingering (God forbid!) but for the sole reason that the light turned green and "you need to go."
Which makes me wonder, where are these people in such a hurry to go? Or are they simply annoying? I wager they're just impatient, as evidenced by their blatant disregard for lanes. They move in and out of lanes at random, passing people on a two-lane, two-way road and nonchalantly going through red lights! Needless to say I've had some scary moments in cabs!
But I have to say all of this craziness makes for lively street life, which I enjoy immensely. Marrakesh is a walking city, and as such I go many places on foot and can freely observe the Moroccans and all their stroke-inducing driving habits. Just don't put me in a car with any of them.
Me at Jardin Majorelle
Friday, December 30, 2011
Sunday, December 25, 2011
Quirks
I'm going to spend a wee bit of time talking about some of the funny little things I've noticed about Moroccans, at least the ones of those I've observed.
First off, these people are forever cold and they dress as if they're about to be relocated to the Arctic Circle at any moment. I kid you not, these people wear multiple shirts, and by mulitple I mean like three or four, and they all have some sort of tights under their pants. They will even wear them under jeans. Even when we go out in the street, under the blazing sun in 70-degree weather, they are all in pea coats, sweaters and some are even wearing gloves. This is all going on while my children are complaining of the heat and asking for their undershirts to be taken off. You should have seen my mother-in-law's face when I took off both my children's undershirts in the middle of the street during a recent walk. She was stunned, and of course sure we'd sprout ice cickles at any moment. But, for all their worries about my children and how I dress them, they don't pressure me to mimic them and we just laugh at each other's differences... and then they put on another shirt.
Second, these people want you to eat...a lot. And don't get me wrong, I'm happy to oblige as they produce delicious and super healthy dishes at least twice a day, every day. But in between the two major meals there are at least two tea times, where we have the yummy mint tea Morocco is known for, and then we have coffee and bread as well. So I'm eating about every three hours or so. I figure this is keeping my metabolism going strong so I won't complain about the timing, but I'm telling you if I ate as much as they wanted me to- which is a mistake I made the first time I visited Morocco-then I would have a permanent case of stomach ache, which does not make for a happy girl. So, as a result, I learned very quickly how to say "Enough" and therefore I spend a lot of my time at the dinner table saying "Safi, safi. Shukran." Which translates to "Enough, enough, thank you." But again, they don't pressure me too much and I take their generosity and desire to feed me way more than they feed themselves as a sign of their wonderful hospitality, which of course they have in abundance.
Third, they are crazy when it comes to footwear and socks. By that I mean they wear their shoes in the house but take them off when they walk on the rugs, which are in all of the rooms for eating and TV watching. As a result, you are in and out of your shoes all day and each doorway is littered with that room's inhabitants' shoes. They also freak if you run around the uncarpeted floors in your socks in case you, gasp, get your socks dirty or, double gasp, take off your socks to preserve their cleanliness and then you have cold feet. I think if I pulled that last stunt it would send my mother-in-law over the edge.
Finally, these Moroccans-who want to feed you all they have and who would give you the shirt off your back if you were only wearing two of your own-they lock everything. Any time you want to go in your room you have to unlock the door, and then you further have to unlock the armoire or wardrobe where you keep all of your stuff. It's exasperating. I mean, they'd rather die than touch your stuff so why do I have to keep it locked up?
Alas, I could go on and on but I won't...until I notice something else, which will probably be tomorrow. No I'm joking. These Moroccans are welcoming, funny and would wait on me hand and foot if I let them so I'll commence with the picking apart of their habits. But really, I couldn't help it.
First off, these people are forever cold and they dress as if they're about to be relocated to the Arctic Circle at any moment. I kid you not, these people wear multiple shirts, and by mulitple I mean like three or four, and they all have some sort of tights under their pants. They will even wear them under jeans. Even when we go out in the street, under the blazing sun in 70-degree weather, they are all in pea coats, sweaters and some are even wearing gloves. This is all going on while my children are complaining of the heat and asking for their undershirts to be taken off. You should have seen my mother-in-law's face when I took off both my children's undershirts in the middle of the street during a recent walk. She was stunned, and of course sure we'd sprout ice cickles at any moment. But, for all their worries about my children and how I dress them, they don't pressure me to mimic them and we just laugh at each other's differences... and then they put on another shirt.
Second, these people want you to eat...a lot. And don't get me wrong, I'm happy to oblige as they produce delicious and super healthy dishes at least twice a day, every day. But in between the two major meals there are at least two tea times, where we have the yummy mint tea Morocco is known for, and then we have coffee and bread as well. So I'm eating about every three hours or so. I figure this is keeping my metabolism going strong so I won't complain about the timing, but I'm telling you if I ate as much as they wanted me to- which is a mistake I made the first time I visited Morocco-then I would have a permanent case of stomach ache, which does not make for a happy girl. So, as a result, I learned very quickly how to say "Enough" and therefore I spend a lot of my time at the dinner table saying "Safi, safi. Shukran." Which translates to "Enough, enough, thank you." But again, they don't pressure me too much and I take their generosity and desire to feed me way more than they feed themselves as a sign of their wonderful hospitality, which of course they have in abundance.
Third, they are crazy when it comes to footwear and socks. By that I mean they wear their shoes in the house but take them off when they walk on the rugs, which are in all of the rooms for eating and TV watching. As a result, you are in and out of your shoes all day and each doorway is littered with that room's inhabitants' shoes. They also freak if you run around the uncarpeted floors in your socks in case you, gasp, get your socks dirty or, double gasp, take off your socks to preserve their cleanliness and then you have cold feet. I think if I pulled that last stunt it would send my mother-in-law over the edge.
Finally, these Moroccans-who want to feed you all they have and who would give you the shirt off your back if you were only wearing two of your own-they lock everything. Any time you want to go in your room you have to unlock the door, and then you further have to unlock the armoire or wardrobe where you keep all of your stuff. It's exasperating. I mean, they'd rather die than touch your stuff so why do I have to keep it locked up?
Alas, I could go on and on but I won't...until I notice something else, which will probably be tomorrow. No I'm joking. These Moroccans are welcoming, funny and would wait on me hand and foot if I let them so I'll commence with the picking apart of their habits. But really, I couldn't help it.
Thursday, December 22, 2011
Anxiety?
So.....the first day or so after I arrived I had a few of those "What did I get myself into" moments.
For those just joining us, I've signed up for a six-month stay in Marrakesh, the native home of my hubby, but the majority of my stay will be sans hubby, a.k.a. Ali.
I would get that sinking feeling in my stomach where you feel like you've just made a terrible decision and there's no way out of it now.
Well, it hasn't been that bad but you get the picture.
I'm not one much for despair, so as the days have gone by and I've settled into a routine, including bringing the kids to and from school twice a day, I've relaxed considerably. I figure I may still have those "Oh my God I'm alone in Africa, am I nuts?" thoughts and I don't know if I'll have to tell myself to buck up and get over it or if I'll have some sort of a meltdown. I don't think it'll reach such a drastic conclusion but one never knows. I wonder what the in-laws would think?
Anyway, the last few days have been nice. I've been to the hammam twice, Morroco's renowned public baths. I'm not going to spend a lot of time describing them here so Google it if you like, but take my word for it that's it's mucho awesome! Ali jokes every time I'm about to leave that he doesn't know if I'll come back. For the record I often don't want to come back. It's just too relaxing and it's a clean like I've never known. These people scrub you down and the skin and dirt literally come of you and collects all over your body until you wash it away. Fab-O!
OK, I can see I'll have to dedicate a post to the hammam but now is not the time. Truthfully, I'm tired, my book is calling my name and I just want to get into bed.
Until next time.
For those just joining us, I've signed up for a six-month stay in Marrakesh, the native home of my hubby, but the majority of my stay will be sans hubby, a.k.a. Ali.
I would get that sinking feeling in my stomach where you feel like you've just made a terrible decision and there's no way out of it now.
Well, it hasn't been that bad but you get the picture.
I'm not one much for despair, so as the days have gone by and I've settled into a routine, including bringing the kids to and from school twice a day, I've relaxed considerably. I figure I may still have those "Oh my God I'm alone in Africa, am I nuts?" thoughts and I don't know if I'll have to tell myself to buck up and get over it or if I'll have some sort of a meltdown. I don't think it'll reach such a drastic conclusion but one never knows. I wonder what the in-laws would think?
Anyway, the last few days have been nice. I've been to the hammam twice, Morroco's renowned public baths. I'm not going to spend a lot of time describing them here so Google it if you like, but take my word for it that's it's mucho awesome! Ali jokes every time I'm about to leave that he doesn't know if I'll come back. For the record I often don't want to come back. It's just too relaxing and it's a clean like I've never known. These people scrub you down and the skin and dirt literally come of you and collects all over your body until you wash it away. Fab-O!
OK, I can see I'll have to dedicate a post to the hammam but now is not the time. Truthfully, I'm tired, my book is calling my name and I just want to get into bed.
Until next time.
Saturday, December 17, 2011
Arrived
So I'm here and even a hit-and-run didn't stop me.
Long story short. My mom's car (which I was in en route to the airport) got sideswiped. I jumped out of the car, put up a hand to let the drive know to hold on, which apparently she was prepared to do only until I got back in my car. As soon as I was in, explaining to my mom the damage, a guy in the back rolled down the window and waved goodbye as they sped off and out of my life.
At least they were polite about it.
Too bad I wasn't. I put my reporting skills to good use and quickly committed the plate number to memory before they were out of sight. Info was relayed to police and that's that.
I hope they throw away the key.
On the other hand, I admit the first thing that went through my mind when they hit us was how long the whole report-taking and exchanging-of-information ordeal was going to take and I was worried I would be late for my flight. I'm sorry to say I was more than a little relieved when they drove away and I realized that the plane wouldn't leave without me and I and the airport personnel would be saved from a freak-out.
Sorry Mom.
As for the flight, the most I can say was that it was uneventful, which means my kids didn't drive me mad and force me to threaten their lives (thank God!) and I got to watch "Horrible Bosses" which wasn't horrible at all. I followed it up with a repeat performance of "Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 2." I didn't get to "Friends with Benefits" but, all in all, good flight.
So now we're here and I'm practicing my broken Arabic, which gives the fam a good laugh. Glad to be of service I would say if they could understand me. But I'm happy to report Drea is already starting to use the Arabic she knows, as is Eli. It's a work in progress but I'm encouraged.
Until next time.
Long story short. My mom's car (which I was in en route to the airport) got sideswiped. I jumped out of the car, put up a hand to let the drive know to hold on, which apparently she was prepared to do only until I got back in my car. As soon as I was in, explaining to my mom the damage, a guy in the back rolled down the window and waved goodbye as they sped off and out of my life.
At least they were polite about it.
Too bad I wasn't. I put my reporting skills to good use and quickly committed the plate number to memory before they were out of sight. Info was relayed to police and that's that.
I hope they throw away the key.
On the other hand, I admit the first thing that went through my mind when they hit us was how long the whole report-taking and exchanging-of-information ordeal was going to take and I was worried I would be late for my flight. I'm sorry to say I was more than a little relieved when they drove away and I realized that the plane wouldn't leave without me and I and the airport personnel would be saved from a freak-out.
Sorry Mom.
As for the flight, the most I can say was that it was uneventful, which means my kids didn't drive me mad and force me to threaten their lives (thank God!) and I got to watch "Horrible Bosses" which wasn't horrible at all. I followed it up with a repeat performance of "Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 2." I didn't get to "Friends with Benefits" but, all in all, good flight.
So now we're here and I'm practicing my broken Arabic, which gives the fam a good laugh. Glad to be of service I would say if they could understand me. But I'm happy to report Drea is already starting to use the Arabic she knows, as is Eli. It's a work in progress but I'm encouraged.
Until next time.
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