I apologise for the late posting but I have been having too much fun (not) with a three day migraine. Let me recover over the week-end, then back to Italy we go.
The Taxi Ride or The tower of (Babylon) Morocco
I got into the taxi. “Salaam alecum,” say I. He turns around, gives me the grin and we complete the verbal ritual. I give him the usual direction for Moving (the name of the road, apparently one that is well known as it usually gets me there).
He gives me a look that says, “I have no bloody idea where that is,” along with a stream of French.
I say, “Je ne parle pas francais.”
He says, (in Darjia) “But you speak Arabic.” Sometimes I know just enough of a language to both garner smiles and get me in trouble.
He had no idea where Moving was or even the address. He spoke no English, no Spanish, no Tibetan, no Hindi – and we know my language roster.
We pulled out with a flurry of hand signals and mutual laughter.
He says, “By the Hilton?” I pick up the word “Hilton” and give him the go ahead.
He says, “Right or left?”
I say, “You know either way is fine, but since you obviously don’t the way or what I just said, go that way.”
He nods his head to the right.
I say, “Yes, oui, aye.”
We get to the park by the Hilton and he says, “To the right or the left?”
And I say, “No, I don’t run in the park, I run at the gym.”
He starts to really laugh, and I say, “The Right.”
We arrived. We had another exchange in Darijia. I gave him a huge tip. He smiled. I smiled – all the way inside.
Oh boyo! The Vatican has listed some NEW sinful behavior! Is that like Original sin, as in we have never heard of that one?
Anti-Musharraf parties to form new government – this can’t be good.
Warms the cockles of my heart: the King investing in Fez. Yeah!
And lest you think we are not keeping up with the latest in cultural affairs here in North Africa there’s this.
And for a sour stomach this. Anyone for the many reports that prove torture is not a way to get accurate Intel?
Football is breaking out all over Morocco. Spontaneous games on the streets and in any square in Rabat. I’m quite in love with the young man who runs the car park on the way to the Medina. Every time I pass through he looks at me like I’m desert – in the nicest way. Today he stopped the game to give me my, “Bonjour,” and “the look”. Makes my day and changes my walk I have to tell you.
They call it “war of roads”. Only one reason I don’t drive in Morocco.