MEGA NERD!

The truth is out..



A small neighborhood indeed!

I told no one I was ill. I only left the house once, desperate for water, to go one block to the hannut; yet when I left to be back in the world this morning, along with the usual chorus of “Bonjour” and “Salam”, was “You are better?” It is reassuring in that I think if in desperate need I could hang my head out the window and ask for help, and the Oudayas would answer.

The Moroccans do not seem to gawk at accidents and back up traffic the way I have observed in the West. It is more a casual, “Someone is there? All right then.” And they go on their way creating lanes of traffic around the accident, no matter this involves driving on the curb, sidewalk, or median. Now if it were a camel involved…

It has, do I dare to say it, wish it, as I have longed for it – been getting cooler, or at the very least getting no hotter? A girl can dream. I have big plans the instant the weather cools down. I want to explore the Hassan and Mausoleum of Mohammed V monument, and the site of the ancient Roman city of Sala Colonia and the Merenid necropolis of Chellah with its historic gate, great walls and a viewing platform that looks out over the valley, and the grounds of the palace I can see without getting shot or arrested, as well as the Royal mosque. I will of course take you along via words and camera. Rabat looks to be a good walking city when one is not melting into the cracks in the sidewalk. Unfortunately the museums here are not really worth visiting which is a shame for me, I love museums, but as Q pointed out it takes a lot of money to maintain a good museum.

The horrid bank fiasco is over! I have my bank card and cash in hand. Details on the 'morrow.

Back to the gym today, so I’m off.
Ciao.

Update on the renovation of the fort walls

update

Here are the updated pictures of the walls of the Oudayas. Don’t they look fantastic? I think the chaps are doing a splendid job. It is terrifying to watch them scale the scaffolding with no safety equipment, no helmets, and no gloves. I am so very pleased to see that are finishing the walls in the ‘old way’ and not slapping on some concrete.

I included a photograph of a woman in the traditional form of dress until thirty years ago, haik made in Tafroute; this is a large piece of fine woolen cloth serving as a cloak, hook, and veil all in one. I would say very difficult to maneuver in one of those. You can see why the djellaba is a feminist statement.

I believe I have answered all the comments from the days I was "missing in action". Please let me know if I missed anyone.

Ciao.

Migraine day, back on the 'morrow.

Politics and Nipples

As I strolled through the Medina on Saturday in search of drugs (the prescription kind) and yogurt (the Greek kind) walking side by side through the crowded streets were politics and nipples.

I consider myself European in most of my outlook but in I did grow up in the Highlands and carry whatever prudery that entails and I acknowledge that. I had a French nanny however and was exposed to the rather revealing Hindu arts at an early age. All to say I am more nudist than not – but in private people, in private. Perhaps it is a cultural thing, perhaps an age thing, but I do not enjoy having another woman’s nipples thrust into my view – especially a woman MY age, and worse, one who needs to drop thirty pounds. Put those things under cover! Offensive enough in the West but here? Are they mental? I passed no less than five women on my walk with tiny clinging t-shirts and nipples to the wind. I remember some years ago attending a very posh affair, everyone in tuxedo and gowns, where one not-so-young woman wore a gown that showcased her nipples above all. It was impossible to ignore them, as you tried, while shaking hands and conversing. I do not find this sexy. Perhaps the chaps do? That being said it is not appropriate for a Saturday walk in the Rabat Medina two weeks before Ramadan. Get a grip. Look at a map. Think where you are. I am neither Moroccan nor Muslim and it offended ME.

The young men are out everywhere handing out the flyers for the elections, and the old men are sitting in the shade reading the paper about the elections. I passed one very heated, but in good fun, exchange up near the market between a man and a woman both from what I could tell extolling the virtues of their candidate. There are rallies through the streets (under my window) noisy but thankfully (unlike India) not violent. The little hand carried Moroccan drums - doumbec and tam-tams are out in abundance, some of the carriers are just making noise but some of them are quite good at stirring the blood with the beat.

The nice woman at the apothecary tells me it is two weeks to Ramadan. I must check my calendar as I intend to fast again this year. I found it a very spiritual experience last year. The comradely of the entire country honoring the spirit of Ramadan is uplifting. In spite of this effect, our friend Rebecca, who is a Muslim, had her wallet stolen during Ramadan last year. I loved her reaction, she yelled after the thief, “I’m a Muslim you bastard, and it’s Ramadan!” So not everyone perhaps is feeling the spirit, but for me it serves as an excellent reminder of my beliefs. There are no Buddhist Temples here, but I have my altar, and love and compassion are the same no matter the religion yes?

I called the bank again on Friday – The Compass Bank – as I still don’t have my card. I have at this time given up somewhat on getting my money back. When in doubt go for the personal touch so instead of calling the number I was given, I called the branch of my bank. Those Southern men are very helpful. Mr. Alex Doss (I promised I would mention him by name) listened to my tale of woe and said, “I see no problem Mam’. I will Fed-Ex you the card today. There may be some delay because of the holiday but it will be there by the middle of next week.” Assuming all will go as he said, Mr. Doss is my hero.

Then sitting at my desk that night I heard a ruckus (really, the only word) in the street under the window. I stick my head out to observe yet another political-rally-parade coming down the street. Drums, bells, and some banging thing, that looked very much like a big bowl, accompanied the clapping and singing of the men, women, and babes in arms as they passed through my street handing out flyers as they passed. Elections are a very joyful experience here.

I am WAITING again today. I don’t do waiting well when it feels like being trapped, like there is nothing I can do – yes, the truth is I get very out of sorts when my fate is in the hands of others. Besides, angst is not good for my face so I try to avoid it!

Ciao.

days and nights

Soon it will be back to school here. I can see it everywhere. The bookstore next to my office at the Majestic in the New City is packed with parents and children, lists for necessary books and supplies clutched in the hands of the parents. The children admiring the new backpacks, pencils, and art kits are everywhere. At Marjane I saw them packing the aisles set aside at one side of the store, filled with school supplies. I witnessed the exchange between a father and daughter where she was trying to convince him she really needed that art kit. He showed her the list on which I gathered there is no art kit, but I hung about long enough to see him give in. I’m still smiling. At Dessange the children on their way to the posh schools are getting their back to school haircuts. I have a moment of nostalgia for all those days with Q gathering books and supplies for another year.

For the past month or more the street-fruit de jour is prickly pear cactus. I don’t want to attempt to eat anything that looks like it might make some objections, but Q adventurous in the culinary venue as always gave it a go. Not to her taste she said, sweet but too bland and with lots of seeds. I’m taking her word for it and holding out for the dates and the return of the Moroccan oranges.

Passing through the Rabat Medina after dark is an experience of raucous noise and crowds to rival 5th avenue after five. The wonderful smells that you inhale during the day through lunchtime from the hannuts is gone, people are at home eating or in the restaurants. Down the middle of the streets are spread blankets covered with goods from belts to shoes to scarves to knickers to socks, kitchen goods, and any other mundane item you can think of with a hawker for each spot calling out his better prices and choices. The blaring exotic music coming from the stalls and hannuts selling CDs drown out conversation that is made more difficult by the fact it is almost impossible to walk side by side in the press of the crowd. The people move in currents, and to progress forward you have to follow in the wake of the group headed your way. The jewelry stores are lit from within highlighting the golden showcase in the windows – the huge golden wedding belts, the multi-stoned necklaces and garish rings. The rug shops, and souvenir shops are doing all they can to lure the strolling tourists inside. The nights now are thick with the moisture from the sea suspended in the still warm air from the day.

On Mohammad V Boulevard there are crowds after dark strolling the avenue and the length of green grass with benches and flowers that runs along the middle. Entire families walk along enjoying the coolness of the evening and the store fronts, young and old couples walk side by side – the more daring hand in hand, and everywhere the children run about chasing each other and exploring any new sight. During the week there are outdoor concerts with live music in the middle of the boulevard.

It is election season now. The different contingents walk through the streets carrying posters, books, and signs singing, banging drums, and bells – with the women at the back, but they are there.

And at 2200 hours on last Friday night, a lightening show and RAIN! Honest to gods rain, wet stuff coming out of the sky. It’s the first time in M.C.’s lifetime it has rained. He did come out on the terrace to watch me fold up the table and get it under the plastic. Granted it only rained for five minutes, but it rained! What I wouldn’t give for a deathly thunderstorm or some of the horizontal rain from Skye.

look what I found!

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