Again another day which feels as if it's three. Packed with sensations, impressions. Today started at 5:13 am for me, awakened by the sound of the muezzin calling the faithful to prayer, despite going to bed at one. Too much to do. Too excited to sleep.
As we sit here in the lobby room, which has chairs, tv and wi-fi,there is a hotel worker or local man praying behind a screen in the corner. At noon I met with Gabrielle, the Belgian woman who has organized our being here, in the courtyard and there was the not so distant sound of a local religious man singing above the white washed walls of the apartment buildings behind the hotel.
A strong beautiful sound. It is wonderful to experience this sense of the spiritual in the air. The men take turns praying and their prayers are beautiful to hear. It feels somewhat disrespectful to be blogging on my i-Pad, but this is the designated place for the internet!
This morning, through a minor comedy of errors, we all arrived at the Fondation Orient Occident, an NGO serving under served immigrants, mostly Sub-Saharan, from other North African countries as well as poor Moroccans. Initially we thought it was in walking distance to the Splendid Hotel, which is in the medina and the heart of downtown, but it was necessary for us all to get in three cabs to go there. Our cab driver vaguely knew where it was and Ikuko, Hilda and I vaguely communicated in poor French to help him. We were dropped off in a shopping section called Al Menal and needed to consult in the local post office before walking around in circles. All signs were in Arabic and this section seemed much poorer than where we are staying. The surrounding area had several parks filled with flowering trees filled with orange blooms called Flamboyant, but are also strewn with garbage. Within one of the parks the Fondation seems an oasis. It's a beautiful highly sculptural, modern structures where airy buildings and rooms are connected by long walkways and smooth lawns lined with large welded sculptures of what appear to be African musicians.
We were introduced to two classrooms of children: a group of 6 year olds all in check shirts; several 2-3 yr olds. The man who gave us the tour said most speak English as well as some French because they are originally from English speaking countries. They were beautiful babies shoving their fists through the window and shrieking excitement to see a bunch of strangers. We get to work with them starting tomorrow. Turns out they were not ready for us yet. So we sorted through the boxes of supplies and agreed to meet there at 2:30. So a whole afternoon free!
But first a return to yesterday and our comical cab ride from Casa, five of us crammed into a rattle trap white sedan with our numerous suitcases strapped to the roof with rope and shoved in the boot.
Aziz, our driver, was really very chatty and good natured, a fount of information. Driving through the landscape between Casa and Rabat we were struck by numerous things: the proximity of the azure Atlantic always to our north as we traveled north/east, the minarets rising above the water in each town, the prevalence of satellite dishes on each apartment building, hundreds of them.
Aziz tells that everyone has Internet. Everyone! And the women especially, watch many romances from Mexico, Turkey and Egypt. He describes women as all being of "bien taille" now (good size) because they all go to the gym and exercise. Apparently he says women used to be much more fat and spent time cooking and taking care of the their families, but now they work and go to the gym and the men stay home and cook! One man's opinion. We passed fields and fields of of sheep grazing, often dotted with masses off prickly looking cactus. Aziz says agriculture - especially wheat - is a big crop as is lamb.
A special oil is harvested from trees found in among the sheep fields - Argon oil. The nuts of the Argon are eaten by the sheep. These nuts produce an especially emollient oil, which is very good for the skin and hair and can also be eaten like olive oil. Apparently available only in Morocco, it is becoming more popular in the US. We also see every few miles or so very official silver SUVs in the median with a soldier in handsome grey uniform: very fancy dress with yellow braiding on the epaulets. Across the street an identical soldier facing the car.
"Is this typical?" I ask and am told that the king is enroute from Rabat to Casa - so the guards are on post for the entire route apx an hour's drive. You see images of Mohammed the VI posted everywhere. In shops, restaurants, hotels. We stop at a regular Shell station and while Aziz gasses up. Raquel engages us in a game of making up movie star names. You use the name of your first pet and the street you grew up on. A few of the choice names: Pokee Crotonne, Benji F. Pemberton and Princess Oceanside. How's that for Moroccan celebrities?
A word about the Hotel Splendid - a perfectly wonderful homey little pension - reminds me of tiny hotels in Paris where they give you a key to a little room and then a bit of cafe au lait and a croissant in a garden courtyard for breakfast. The concierge is a polite protective man who takes your key each day when you leave, hangs it on a peg and says "A votre service." Today he warned me off from a smooth talking stranger who insisted upon ordering me Moroccan tea: "We don't know him. Don't stay with him long." The key is a real key, mind you, not some silly plastic Hilton or Radisson card. Sitting in my hotel room, which is very plain with a wooden bed, woven striped blankets, a bidet, and European shower with a long hose, I listen to the sounds of the Moroccan night on Rue de Gaza: distant cabs, calls to prayer - all so different from the pounding surf of Casa.
Description seems to begin with sound as my ear is newly attuned, though the other senses are heightened as well: tastes, sights, the sensation of the air cool at night and warm in day under bright skies. There is a keen sense of difference yet familiarity, the sing song of French spoken by women's voices harkens back to an early time in my memory with my Belgian grandmother, "Bonne Maman." And now the flavorful blend of French with Arabic like the food, both savory and sweet, conjures excitement, enticement and deep satisfaction. Pastille, tajine, Meknes, Ouarzazate, Essaouira. The words roll replete with vowels that are swallowed whole like black olives and rolled out again minus the flesh.
We are all up early to go off to the Fondation by nine on Monday. Hilda and I have a perfectly lovely omelet and Moroccan tea across the street for breakfast. Cheap good, friendly - a good place to have meals and not go broke. Returning from the Fondation, Gabrielle accompanies us all on the bus so that we know the way to go and need not taxi over there each day. The bus is crowded and she warns, "Mind your bags!" A man begins singing very loudly as we ride through the city. No one responds. It's sad and beautiful. We stop at Bab Al Had, just at the main entrance to the walled medina and follow Gabrielle's brisk pace past the gare Rabat Ville, the municipal buildings, the main post office and a boulevard of trees and back to Rue de Gaza.
After a rest and change to lighter clothes, sun hat and block, Hilda and I head for the medina in search of hangers and toilet paper, a few of the items in short supply at the Splendid.
Unlike the ancien medina in Casa which is for tourists, this is the real deal! This is where Moroccans go to shop. It is gigantic and maze like.
We find the plastic hangers right away in a souk, or stall, carrying hardware. Hilda had scoped it out. Ten for 25 dh about $3. We are determined not to spend anymore and to just look, but I do need a glass for tooth brush. We use bottled water to brush not being sure of the tap. So a tea pot stall carries glasses - 2dh. Then Hilda practices her haggling skills over a Moroccan teapot.
It is crowded and busy filled with the business of human life. Strange men in red garb with bells walk about - Berber? Traditional costume? We are not sure, but learn later that these are the water men and they are required to provide water to anyone who asks, but of course they like a tip if it is offered.
Fruit carts every where, plastic toys, cassette tapes. This is like 14th Street magnified by a hundred.
Hilda and I stop to admire beautiful containers of spice and are lured in to see more within the stall. He holds up a big scoop full of bright red powder "paprika." Then there was cumin, saffron, melange de epice, canelle. The next thing you know he was scooping things into bags and pulling out real saffron - not just powder. It all goes into a paper sack folded closed. 533 dhiram! How'd that happen. $65 - Hilda and I get him down to $48. Clearly we need to hone our haggling skills. Either I am cooking a lot of saffron rice or Christmas stockings will be very spicy this year.
Onward. We see turtles of all sizes stacked on top of each other in basins, parrots and parakeets crammed into smaller cages, hamsters, a stack of guinea pigs and one very sad little baby squirrel who hid in his little face when I produced my camera. The medina version of Petco!
We move into a section of the market, which is covered with a thatch roof so the sun shines through in dapples. Slippers, beautiful leather slippers in all colors. Some with curled toes like a genie's shoe. We start to form mental check lists of where to come back and shop.
We walk into a side alley where there is a leather merchant who seems to have better wares than what I found in the Casablanca medina and I price out a wallet for my brother once again. Next door is a djellabah salesman and with Hilda's help on the i-Phone I successfully negotiate bargaining for a pretty maroon caftan - down from $185 dh to $135. Not even $20, but the salesman is delighted and I promise to return. We have made a friend. On our way out of the medina we see baby chicks for sale dyed all colors of the rainbow, like carnations in grocery store bouquets. Colorful, but a bit sad.
Work tomorrow at the Fondation...
As we sit here in the lobby room, which has chairs, tv and wi-fi,there is a hotel worker or local man praying behind a screen in the corner. At noon I met with Gabrielle, the Belgian woman who has organized our being here, in the courtyard and there was the not so distant sound of a local religious man singing above the white washed walls of the apartment buildings behind the hotel.
A strong beautiful sound. It is wonderful to experience this sense of the spiritual in the air. The men take turns praying and their prayers are beautiful to hear. It feels somewhat disrespectful to be blogging on my i-Pad, but this is the designated place for the internet!
This morning, through a minor comedy of errors, we all arrived at the Fondation Orient Occident, an NGO serving under served immigrants, mostly Sub-Saharan, from other North African countries as well as poor Moroccans. Initially we thought it was in walking distance to the Splendid Hotel, which is in the medina and the heart of downtown, but it was necessary for us all to get in three cabs to go there. Our cab driver vaguely knew where it was and Ikuko, Hilda and I vaguely communicated in poor French to help him. We were dropped off in a shopping section called Al Menal and needed to consult in the local post office before walking around in circles. All signs were in Arabic and this section seemed much poorer than where we are staying. The surrounding area had several parks filled with flowering trees filled with orange blooms called Flamboyant, but are also strewn with garbage. Within one of the parks the Fondation seems an oasis. It's a beautiful highly sculptural, modern structures where airy buildings and rooms are connected by long walkways and smooth lawns lined with large welded sculptures of what appear to be African musicians.
Al Menal nieighborhood
Flamboyant Tree
Entrance to the Fondation Orient Occident
Garden within the Fondation
Entering the Fondation
Steel Sculptures
We were introduced to two classrooms of children: a group of 6 year olds all in check shirts; several 2-3 yr olds. The man who gave us the tour said most speak English as well as some French because they are originally from English speaking countries. They were beautiful babies shoving their fists through the window and shrieking excitement to see a bunch of strangers. We get to work with them starting tomorrow. Turns out they were not ready for us yet. So we sorted through the boxes of supplies and agreed to meet there at 2:30. So a whole afternoon free!
Leaving Casablanca
In Aziz's cab
Aziz, our driver, was really very chatty and good natured, a fount of information. Driving through the landscape between Casa and Rabat we were struck by numerous things: the proximity of the azure Atlantic always to our north as we traveled north/east, the minarets rising above the water in each town, the prevalence of satellite dishes on each apartment building, hundreds of them.
Satellite dishes everywhere!
Aziz tells that everyone has Internet. Everyone! And the women especially, watch many romances from Mexico, Turkey and Egypt. He describes women as all being of "bien taille" now (good size) because they all go to the gym and exercise. Apparently he says women used to be much more fat and spent time cooking and taking care of the their families, but now they work and go to the gym and the men stay home and cook! One man's opinion. We passed fields and fields of of sheep grazing, often dotted with masses off prickly looking cactus. Aziz says agriculture - especially wheat - is a big crop as is lamb.
A special oil is harvested from trees found in among the sheep fields - Argon oil. The nuts of the Argon are eaten by the sheep. These nuts produce an especially emollient oil, which is very good for the skin and hair and can also be eaten like olive oil. Apparently available only in Morocco, it is becoming more popular in the US. We also see every few miles or so very official silver SUVs in the median with a soldier in handsome grey uniform: very fancy dress with yellow braiding on the epaulets. Across the street an identical soldier facing the car.
Escort for King Mohammed VI
"Is this typical?" I ask and am told that the king is enroute from Rabat to Casa - so the guards are on post for the entire route apx an hour's drive. You see images of Mohammed the VI posted everywhere. In shops, restaurants, hotels. We stop at a regular Shell station and while Aziz gasses up. Raquel engages us in a game of making up movie star names. You use the name of your first pet and the street you grew up on. A few of the choice names: Pokee Crotonne, Benji F. Pemberton and Princess Oceanside. How's that for Moroccan celebrities?
A word about the Hotel Splendid - a perfectly wonderful homey little pension - reminds me of tiny hotels in Paris where they give you a key to a little room and then a bit of cafe au lait and a croissant in a garden courtyard for breakfast. The concierge is a polite protective man who takes your key each day when you leave, hangs it on a peg and says "A votre service." Today he warned me off from a smooth talking stranger who insisted upon ordering me Moroccan tea: "We don't know him. Don't stay with him long." The key is a real key, mind you, not some silly plastic Hilton or Radisson card. Sitting in my hotel room, which is very plain with a wooden bed, woven striped blankets, a bidet, and European shower with a long hose, I listen to the sounds of the Moroccan night on Rue de Gaza: distant cabs, calls to prayer - all so different from the pounding surf of Casa.
Description seems to begin with sound as my ear is newly attuned, though the other senses are heightened as well: tastes, sights, the sensation of the air cool at night and warm in day under bright skies. There is a keen sense of difference yet familiarity, the sing song of French spoken by women's voices harkens back to an early time in my memory with my Belgian grandmother, "Bonne Maman." And now the flavorful blend of French with Arabic like the food, both savory and sweet, conjures excitement, enticement and deep satisfaction. Pastille, tajine, Meknes, Ouarzazate, Essaouira. The words roll replete with vowels that are swallowed whole like black olives and rolled out again minus the flesh.
Bab al Had - wall to the medina in Rabat and subway tracks
After a rest and change to lighter clothes, sun hat and block, Hilda and I head for the medina in search of hangers and toilet paper, a few of the items in short supply at the Splendid.
Souks in the medina
Hilda closing a deal
Hilda and the Watermen
Fruit carts every where, plastic toys, cassette tapes. This is like 14th Street magnified by a hundred.
Coconut
Cow's feet
Pastry shop
More olives
Fresh orange juice!
Hilda and I stop to admire beautiful containers of spice and are lured in to see more within the stall. He holds up a big scoop full of bright red powder "paprika." Then there was cumin, saffron, melange de epice, canelle. The next thing you know he was scooping things into bags and pulling out real saffron - not just powder. It all goes into a paper sack folded closed. 533 dhiram! How'd that happen. $65 - Hilda and I get him down to $48. Clearly we need to hone our haggling skills. Either I am cooking a lot of saffron rice or Christmas stockings will be very spicy this year.
The spice shop
Onward. We see turtles of all sizes stacked on top of each other in basins, parrots and parakeets crammed into smaller cages, hamsters, a stack of guinea pigs and one very sad little baby squirrel who hid in his little face when I produced my camera. The medina version of Petco!
We move into a section of the market, which is covered with a thatch roof so the sun shines through in dapples. Slippers, beautiful leather slippers in all colors. Some with curled toes like a genie's shoe. We start to form mental check lists of where to come back and shop.
We walk into a side alley where there is a leather merchant who seems to have better wares than what I found in the Casablanca medina and I price out a wallet for my brother once again. Next door is a djellabah salesman and with Hilda's help on the i-Phone I successfully negotiate bargaining for a pretty maroon caftan - down from $185 dh to $135. Not even $20, but the salesman is delighted and I promise to return. We have made a friend. On our way out of the medina we see baby chicks for sale dyed all colors of the rainbow, like carnations in grocery store bouquets. Colorful, but a bit sad.
Work tomorrow at the Fondation...
Looks like a fantastic trip. Very refreshing!
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