Fez: The good, the bad, and the mentally unstable.

Fez. We've spent a week here, and this is the only time I've had to write about it so I can't include that much detail about what we've done. Here are the important things:

The Medina

We are staying in the old part of town here. It was founded in the year 789. I haven't performed a carbon analysis, but using my analytical skills I estimate that the bathroom in the house where I'm staying was built a year or two after that.

Fez is home to al-Karaouine, the oldest continually-functioning university in the world. It was built in 859, and it's the most renowned and prestigious university in Africa.  From the outside, it looks really beautiful. But women are still not allowed to study there. Natch.

I'm writing a 15-page research paper about the ideological, legal, and cultural ways that Islam oppresses women, and I am having nooo trouble finding material. I know that in some ways Islam promotes equality, but in other ways it really sucks. This makes me a little bit grouchy.

The Tannery.

The medina here is "believed to be the world's largest contiguous car-free urban area." (wikipedia). It's even bigger and even more beautiful than the medina in Marrakech was. For one thing, the buildings are white and yellow (not pinkish gray), and they look really beautiful contrasting with the blue sky--it's been cloudless and hot every day here. It also feels a lot more real. There are tons and tons of shops, but the shops selling touristy things  and the shops selling everyday essentials are all squished together. Fez has the oldest and largest authentic tannery in Northern Africa. There, they make all sorts of leather products out of cow, goat, and camel. We went and checked it out and it was realllly cool. My god did it smell bad though. When we went in, they gave us each a sprig of mint to smell while we walked around. This helped a lot, but it made me feel very snobby.

"Ohh, yes, dahhling, simply smashing chamois camel leather, excellent graining, smells like putrid hickory, mmm splendid yes."

I really like the medina here, and the medina seems to really like us. Everywhere we go, men make us offers, either shouted or whispered, ranging from marriage proposals ("Hello princesss. Berber husband? How many camels for you?") to offers for a proverbial roll in the donkey hay. Hashak. I spent the first couple of days here being perpetually creeped out, but I've gotten used to it. My friend Jessie came up with a really genius strategy for deflecting the creepers: Everything they say to you in English, you respond to. Within a sentence or two, their vocabulary has been exhausted, and then they will usually leave you alone after that. Brilliant.

So we've been exploring the medina, we saw the tannery, did a couple tours, saw a really cool artisan pottery place, and went on a day trip to Meknes. Every now and then the medina gets overwhelming, so we hop in a cab to the new city, which is a lot more civilized. We usually ask the driver to drop us off at McDonalds ("If you would be so kind, sir, to deliver us to our place of refuge; our culinary embassy; our sacred place of cultural and spiritual repose.") Hey, they have really good icecream, and there are great internet cafes right down the street.

All in all, Fez has been interesting, educational, and enjoyable.... except for....


Shmeagle.


The home that Jess v.2 and I are staying in could not be more different from the family we stayed with in Marrakech. There are two distinct and significant aspects of it that make me hiiiiighly uncomfortable, so I'll address them individually.

1. Concerns regarding hygiene, plumbing, and irrigation.

As I mentioned before, we are staying in the olllld part of a town that was built in 789. The house is ancient. Jess and I are staying in a separate-but-still-kind-of-attached apartment that was described to us as "being renovated" a.k.a. abandoned.

The bathroom smells like gamy, fetid fetus. In an interesting architectural twist, there is a pane-less window between my bedroom and the bathroom. So sometimes I can wake up and smell the boweljuice.

How do I know that the apartment is abandoned and not just being renovated / between occupants? Because about five minutes after we'd arrived, Jess v.2 took a healllthy shit, after which we discovered that the toilet was not connected to any running water supply. Katie and I literally had to use our latent plumber skills, take the top of the toilet off, and fiddle with some nuts and bolts and screws, to get the thing to flush in any meaningful way. You learn something every day.

We have no shower. Instead, there is a closet under the stairs (love me an HP reference) with a squat toilet in it. You derobe, stand above the flush toilet in naught but your sandals (lest you should stand where some ancient inhabitant may have relieved himself), and our host mom brings us big steaming buckets of water, which we pour on ourselves, soap up, and rinse. Voila! Clean- or something like it.

2. Concerns regarding Shmeagle

The first evening we were there was the wurstle. This lady who was in charge of organizing our homestays personally delivered Jess v.2 and I to where we would be staying. We met the mom, 14-year-old Mohammed, 11-year-old Najia and 5-year-old Tisam, but we were not introduced to the dad--even though he was sitting right in the enormous open-air living room ("riad") while we walked through it. Nor were we introduced to the palid, silent man sitting with him.

Later that night...

Turns out the dad is quite the religious man. He cornered Jess and I and started yelling in colloquial Moroccan Arabic about Allah-knows-what, but I kept hearing the word "Quran"over and over. His voice is raspy and scary, and when we don't understand what he's saying (aka 100% of the time), he just says it louder and louder, over and over. Charming!

Also, the pale man we saw (who I had assumed was a visiting friend or relative) is the live-in uncle, Shmeagle! Here's a fun quiz:

1) Is Shmeagle:

a) mentally retarded
b) crazy
c) a deformed and maniacal hobbit, or
d) all of the above

2) At any given time, is Shmeagle most likely to be:

a) half concealed in a dark corner, staring at Jess v.2 and I
b) lurking in the dark hallway between their apartment and ours
c) staring at us while picking at his feet / shuffling idly through a deck of cards.
d) all of the above


Pat on the back if you picked 1.d and 2.d!

sometimes he stands on the other side of one of the (inexplicable) interior windows and watches us eat.

No further comments, except that I am realllllllllllly excited to be home. I like Fez, my tolerance for all things creepy and bizarre has gone wayyy up, but I'm ready to sleep in my own bed (where there is no window into the bathroom), shower without wearing shoes, and to eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner without feeling a pair of eyes on me, and the whisper of,  "My preciousssss."










Disclaimer for those who may be concerned regarding Jess v.2's and my safety: the door to our apartment deadbolts. 

Games, Trains, and Big Naked Group Baths

Our stay in Marrakech is officially over. So far Fez is absolutely absurd, but before I get into that, here are my final reflections on the Red City:

1.     Soccer Hooligans

On Thursday night, around 11 p.m., I was lying in bed when all of a sudden I heard chanting, singing, and horns beeping in unison.  It was coming from the Plaza, about  a 10 minute walk from  our house. I didn’t think much of it; kinda just ignored it and went to sleep. I didn’t know it yet, but this was the pre-pre-pre-game.

On Friday night, around 7 p.m., I was in the kitchen with Jess v.2. We were making dinner for our host family, and our mom Zakia was in the kitchen helping us, when all of a sudden, I start hearing the chanting, singing, yelling, blaring music, and musical car horns again. Then Zakia informed us that this was all in anticipation of the Morocco-Algeria soccer game, which was going down the following night, right in Marrakech. Apparently this game was to determine who would get to play in the African Cup. Also, apparently Morocco and Algeria (which are neighboring countries) are bitter rivals, not unlike our beloved Redsox and those soul-less, talent-less vermin the Yankees.  So what we were hearing was the pre-pre-game.

(On a separate note, the pizza we made turned out kinda rancid. Of course our host family pretended to love it, but Ouidjienne’s face every time she took a bite was worth 1,000 words.  She would hold her breath, and slowly bring the pizza to her face. Her expression as she chewed was that of a person stranded on a lifeboat who is eating their ex-companion out of sheer need to survive. Then, using every ounce of willpower she possessed, she would stop herself from gagging whilst she swallowed, and then she’d give us the thumbs up. True to character, though, she still ate 6 pieces.)

sitting on top of a moving car / dancing in the street

Anyways. Saturday was the day of the big game. We were by the medina early in the morning, waiting to catch a bus out to visit a Peace Corps site for the day. As early as 9 a.m. there were big swarms of fans walking around, yelling, singing, wearing the Moroccan flag as a cape, and taking pictures. We all decided then and there that we had to get together to watch the game later that night.

 

Sure enough, after our day trip,  we all met at a café in the Plaza to watch the game on their huge flat screen. The game was at 9, but our group started trickling in at 6 and we were all there by 7, to make sure we would all have seats at our table. While everyone was waiting for the game to start, some of us went outside (having decked ourselves out in Morocco gear) to check out the pre-game madness, and here is some of what I saw:

roller-blader holding onto a moped going 25 mph

2 mopeds get in an accident, gasoline is on the road, so they light it on fire.

lots of obnoxious fans.

Back inside, it was game time, and things had gotten significantly livelier.  As the ref blew the first whistle, I ordered my first beer in almost a month. Even with the exchange rate, it was more expensive than a beer back home. I don’t think the quality was actually that great, but I’ve never tasted anything so refreshing. That, plus the fact that Morocco went on to cream Algeria 4-0, made it all in all a pretty satisfying night.

So that was the game, wanna know what the post-game involved?

craziness.

Part II: Jess and I Pay a Professional to Clean Us: Hilarity Does Not Ensue. 

“Hamaam” is a really big thing here. It means, essentially, a Turkish bath. Lots of families, especially in the Medina (historic part of town), don’t have great plumbing (spoiler alert! More of this in Fez). So lots of Moroccans take care of all their personal hygiene at the hamaam. After the High Atlas, we were really disgusting and putrid smelling, so some of the girls and I decided to go to a hamaam. Our “friend” Yassine (acquaintance? Would-be suitor? Misguided errand boy?) works as a receptionist at a “hamaam” in the medina, so he made us all an appointment there. But, as it turns out, that hamaam was for tourists and totally sucked ass. What the hamaam is supposed to be is 3 sauna rooms, each hotter than the last, with clay walls and running water taps, and you go in there and cover yourself in this oily-black soap, and then take this scrubby-pad thing and literally scrub the shit out of yourself (or your friend does it for you, or you pay some lady to). Then you can hang out in the nice hot rooms, chit chat, and afterwards you drink fresh-squeezed Oj. Sounds nice right? That’s the real hamaam.

Fake hamaam was this: we paid about $18 to get herded, two at a time, into a tiny creepy 3x7 room on the roof of this spa. We were supposed to go in naked except for these white paper thongs they gave us (I kept my bathing suit bottoms on—sorry,  but if something looks like it could double as one of those disposable face-masks that dentists wear, it’s not going anywhere near my holiest of holies). So there were 2 stools in this tiny room, and one “hamaam assistant” who dumped buckets of water on us and then gave us the briefest (and yet most invasive) of rubdowns, while she had the door partly open so she could chat with her friend who was mopping outside. Also, she was inexplicably wearing Mickey mouse pajamas, with her thong showing (not made of paper, thank god). But anyways, it was weird and uncomfortable, and as always when I’m extremely weirded out and uncomfortable, I just started laughing hysterically and couldn’t stop.  I tried to play it off like I’m really ticklish, but I think she definitely realized that I’m just super, super immature.

Since then, we have gone to real hamaam, and it is awesome.

Also, if you like reading about uncomfortable cleansing scenarios, stay tuned for the Fez post.


Trains


On Monday, we all boarded the train to Fez. It was about an 8-hour ride, but I love trains, so no complaints here. It was a compartment-style train, typical of trains in Europe. Jess, Emily, Jessie and I got into a compartment for 4 people. We watched the country go by, and the medley of interesting characters who came to sit in our compartment at the various stops along the way. Memorable people:
1) mean, smelly old women who stared at us and whispered to each other. Keep it down, ladies.
2) nice old lady with henna all over her face and hands.
3) several creepers:
   3a) the man who would not shut up
   3b) the man who asked us if Professor Fraunholtz was "like a daddy to us" (language barrier, or more         sinister?)
   3c) the man who tried to squeeze into our compartment when there were already 7 people in there, and I just looked at him and said, No.

Anyways, now we are in Fez and it is totally, utterly absurd. One more week in Morocco!

Whitey Westerner & the Five Day Atlas Hike

I'll cut to the chase here. For those of you (poor, inexperienced souls) who have never spent 5 days in the High Atlas Mountains, here is a basic run-down of everything you need to know.

1. Berber Traffic Jam

No matter how you use it, size matters.

Day 1: we are enjoying a pleasant chartered bus ride up to the mountains, and are getting pretty close to our destination (a deserted ski resort, from where we will be starting our hike, into lands uncharted where no vehicles can venture) when the bus inexplicably stops. A preliminary investigation reveals the source of the traffic jam: a gigantic boulder that was dislodged from the heavens, plummeted to Earth, and is now blocking 97.25% of the winding mountain road. Fortunately, they have a CAT on the scene, which is working on excavating the boulder and the surrounding dirt. Unfortunately, at the pace that that's going, it would be just as fast for our bus to turn around and drive in a complete circle around the world, arriving at our destination from the exact opposite direction.

Cozy indeed.

What we ended up doing was getting all our food and bags etc, hauling them to the other side of the boulder, and a local bus (which was stuck on the other side) very kindly gave us a lift to our destination.

2. Berber Travel

The village we were hiking to, called Tidili (pronounced: Tiddles) was a 3-hour hike from the nearest road you could drive a car on, and from there about a half-hour drive to the nearest town. This is just the way it is. At one point, we asked our awesome Berber guide, Aziz, what would happen if someone in Tiddles got hurt or sick and needed medical attention.

us: Is there a doctor in Tidili?

Aziz: no

us: what happens if someone gets seriously hurt?

Aziz: he needs to go to the hospital.

us: doesn't that take a really long time?

Aziz: on a donkey, he can get there in 2 hours.

After this conversation, I wore my bike helmet everywhere I went.

Hashak.

3. Chez Berber

Picture, in your minds eye, where we all thought Osama bin Laden was living (before they found him in a posh Pakistani suburb). Congratulations! You have just envisioned a home in Tiddles.

Couscous Friday in the Berber Hilton

4. Berber Hilton

We were staying in a "ghit", which is basically a mountain hostel (the Atlas mountains are a very popular summer destination for European hiking enthusiasts). It had 3 rooms: one room for the boys, and two rooms for the girls. Except one of the girls' rooms also had to be used as everyone's dining room. I'm really glad I didn't have to sleep in that one. I'm a very messy couscous eater.

5. Berber Plumbing

That empty closet-looking thing was where everyone (except me) peed & pooed.
Gross.

6. Berber Bubble Bath

The "indoor plumbing" in Tiddles was a real punisher of the nostrils. As a result, I took alllll my business outside. And guess what? It was awesome. One day, Jess, Emily, Jenn & I went hiking up the river, looking for a place to wash ourselves. We walked wayyy far; at least a mile past any signs of civilization. The cliffs flanking the river got steeper and steeper until all of a sudden-- hello!-- 40 ft. waterfall up ahead.

The water pressure was significantly better than in West F.

Trip Summary:

20+ miles of extreme hiking

2 River Baths:

1 Morning spent dragging this skinny cow about a mile up a steep rocky cliff

1 Afternoon spent doing laundry in the river:

1 School wall rebuilt:

4 new friends:

The End.