Bislaama al maghrib!

This past semester has just flown by, and I’m now writing my last blog entry from home in Belgium. Study abroad in Morocco was one of the best decisions I’ve made in my college life, and now that it’s over I can’t help but connect with a certain passage in Mark Twain’s The Innocents Abroad (slightly amended):
"We are at home again. We are exhausted. The sun has roasted us, almost.
We have full comfort in one reflection, however. Our experiences in [Morocco] have taught us that in time this fatigue will be forgotten; the heat will be forgotten…and then, all that will be left will be pleasant memories of [Morocco], memories which someday will become all beautiful when the last annoyance that incumbers them shall have faded out of our minds never again to return." (438)
Yes, there were times that I just didn’t want to be in Morocco…standing in a crowded train on the way back from Asilah, with my nose in some Moroccan man’s armpit, not allowed to strip down to my tank top because of those silly cultural expectations; walking down the street in conservative clothing, and still being verbally harassed by any man between the ages of 13 and 83…but just like Twain reminds me, I will soon forget those experiences or my mind will transform them into funny party stories, and Morocco will become what I can ironically call, my Mecca.
I have been attempting to give you all an idea of what these past few months have entailed for me, but I know that it’s rather futile to try and make you understand every part of my experience. There’s only so much I can show with pictures and blog entries, and it’s the small things that I can’t convey…like walking through the crowded medina, giving a beggar loose change, and sharing a meal with my adopted Moroccan family. The other students who were on the trip with me have added so much to the experience (it was Matt that pointed out page 438 of Twain) and it just wouldn’t have been the same without some amazing travel partners. I know they "get it" when talking about Morocco experiences, and we couldn't help but feel like we were leaving a place we could call home, as soon as the plane took off from Rabat-Sale airport. I’ve done a fair amount of traveling in the past 21 years, but there’s just something different about Morocco. Maybe it’s the fact that I was able to connect with the country and the people throughout a longer period of time, or maybe I’m just becoming more perceptive; whatever it is, I’m thankful for the opportunity that I had to step outside (way outside) my comfort zone and experience something that was so uniquely different.
Now that I’ve returned home, I marvel at the sensation of warm water coming from the sink faucet, I feel the need to wear a scarf everywhere I go, and my “salaam aleikum’s” are met with awkward stares (especially from the military guards on base). It will take some getting used to life in Belgium and the U.S., and returning to Chapman will certainly be a shock, but I plan on returning to Morocco hopefully after I graduate, with a research award (insh’allah) so I'm trying not to miss it too much.
As for now…I’m working on some potential post-grad stuff, spending time with my family (yoga with my mom, swimming with my dad), waiting impatiently for Rob and Tara to come visit, and hanging out with friends as they filter through on their way back home from study abroad adventures. And I'll most likely take a few trips into the Moroccan quarter in Brussels.
Thanks for reading my blogs, or at least pretending to, and I hope you all have an amazing summer!

Moroccan Blackout

Every once in awhile I’ll forget that I’m in Morocco but then something will happen and I’ll snap back to reality. Last evening was one of those times. Lea and I were sitting in an internet café checking our email when all of a sudden the power went out. Instead of everyone freaking out and frantically trying to figure out what happened, people just kind of sat there for a bit. The guy next to me muttered “al-maghrib…” (Morocco…) and the owner of the internet café started playing music on his cell phone. I looked outside to see whether we were the only ones without power or not, but as it turns out, all of Al Hoceima was without power. Besides the dark skyline, you wouldn’t have known there was anything amiss. In the US, you would most likely hear something similar to this:
“Do you have power? I’m out of power. Our electricity is GONE.”
“Yeah, I don’t have power either! What do you think we should do?”
“I say we call the power company. Yeah! Let’s call the power company, right now.”
“I’ll call them too. Do you know if the other side of town has power? I wonder if they have power. I think I’ll call Joe to see if he has power. I bet he has power.”
…And so on. There sure is something to be said about that American tendency to want to discover the root of the problem. My response was typical.
We walked back to our hotel and stared down from our balcony at the rest of Al Hoceima going about their business as usual. The taxis were running. The men were headed to the hammam. People were selling hash. Life was normal.
Finally after about an hour and a half of no electricity, the lights came back on. There was no unanimous cheer or clapping to be heard, like I had been expecting. I saw an old man look up in mild interest, say “humph”, and shrug his shoulders when he saw a few street lights turn on. At the barber shop across the street, the barber went back to shaving the man who was still sitting in the chair waiting patiently.
Newsflash: you’re in Morocco, Jeannie.

Chaouen to Al Hoceima

The Rough Guide to Morocco states that “there are very few journeys in Morocco as spectacular as that from Chefchaouen to Al Hoceima. The road precisely—and perversely—follows the backbone of the Western Rif, the highest peaks in the north of the country.” If there was ever any need to refer to a road as being “perverse,” then this was most definitely the correct time to do so. My research led me to Al Hoceima because of a mass grave that was discovered in 2007, and this is the only reason I boarded the bus at 0615 and braved 6 hours of twisting and turning roads past the marijuana plantations and snow-topped peaks. I was popping motion sickness medicine like it was candy and even offered some to several of my fellow bus-haters, but they politely refused, as their heads were already in plastic bags. Sure the views were great, but I would have been fine with maybe an hour of this so called “spectacular” drive. There’s something unnerving about the phrase “insh’allah” (if God wills it), when you ask the driver if you’ll be arriving soon and he responds with “insh’allah”. Not really what I want to hear when I’m gripping my armrest so tight, my knuckles are white…
However, the best part was when all of a sudden we emerged from in between two peaks and the solid blue Mediterranean Sea was right in front of us. When Lea, John, and I arrived in town, we sought out a hotel where we could drop off our bags before grabbing lunch—I have another bone to pick with Rough Guide: That supposedly “reliable hot water” at our hotel and “clean rooms”? Yeah. Nowhere to be found. We grabbed some delicious kefta (ground spiced meat) sandwiches and walked down to the beach to eat them, where we ended up spending the rest of our afternoon, passed out in the sun from this morning’s drive. The beach is just a small 500 yard stretch of sand, but because it’s not peak tourist season it’s surprisingly empty (though there were a few more people today because it’s Morocco’s Labor Day). The ferry boarding dock is to our left, and there are some cliffs bordering the coast to the right (perfect for diving into the water!). It’s tempting to hop over to Spain for some sangria and tapas, but I’m not so sure the study abroad people would be too happy about that. Besides all our laziness over here, we’re all working pretty hard on our ISPs, and planning on returning to Chef on Tuesday to finish writing them. Wish us luck!
Note to the Moroccan transportation authority: painting a solid white line down the middle of a six-foot wide stretch of concrete does not constitute a two-lane road.