More Ifrane

(We've been somewhat silent for a bit now, so I'm going to do a few short vignettes).

The past few weeks in Ifrane have gone reasonably well. Sam has been very busy and has had bouts of questioning her decision to be the sole counselor at a university that is completely outside of the American counseling paradigm. Things are inefficient and involve a bit of bureaucracy. Mental health is often not taken as seriously as it should be and carries even more of a stigma than in the States. And there's the sexism and the apparent futility of some of her (primarily female) clients’ situations. (One benefit of being a US citizen that Americans may not recognize is the ability to fairly easily travel to and work in nearly any country in the world, a luxury that Moroccans do not have). On the up side, Sam is very good at what she does and has periods of excitement where she feels she has really helped someone or has learned something new and is glad she is here.

Obviously my existence here is much less stressful. There are the day-to-day annoyances (shops being closed for no apparent reason and no indication of when they’ll re-open; the sub-par quality of a Moroccan dust pan), but nothing that could seriously affect anyone’s life. I've spent quite a bit of time paring down my thesis (74 pages to 25 pages) in the hopes of getting it published in "Landscape and Urban Planning", and actually sent a first draft of the manuscript to my advisor last week. I’m still talking with a geographer at Al Akhawayn that I mentioned earlier (Marzouk) who has a few projects he is hoping to get funded. Also, last week he asked if I’d want to brainstorm some proposal ideas with him to win some project seed money being offered by the university. He said we should focus on Ifrane, and I suggested that we focus on an environmental topic (water) to illustrate for the aged director of the Center for Environmental Issues and Regional Development at Al Akhawayn that, contrary to his belief, GIS is useful in environmental work. Marzouk and I are going to meet and talk next week. There is also a fine chance that I can teach or help teach a GIS class starting winter term.

I've been making my way to the marche nearly every day to grab groceries and such. I always try to get everything I need in one go, but eventually get tired of trying to find stuff and give up. There are a couple of store owners who I've gotten to know by name: they are always very friendly, and I try to get everything from them. However, I think a few store owners groan when they see me walk in because they are well aware of the assault of broken French they're going to be subjected to. The guy I buy cheese from, for example, always looks a little exasperated, but I haven't been able to find this kind of cheese anywhere else at the marche.

Two weekends ago, we stuck around Ifrane: Sam graded while I took a hike on Saturday (not very fair, eh?), then we both hit the souk and took another hike on Sunday. Aside from the pounds and pounds of vegetables and fruit we got at the souk, we also scored a tagine pot (picture above), which is an earthenware dish used to make various meat and vegetable meals. Ifrane is really a nice town to be in, especially after having visited other cities in Morocco. The biggest differentiator is the climate: Ifrane is at 4800 feet and is very cool, compared to cities in the valley that are pretty damn hot right now and are even hotter in the summer. There are also a lot of trees in Ifrane and the scenery is amazing. The hikes that we took over the weekend were within walking distance, in fact one is right out our back door. There are also several parks in Ifrane that are really nice to walk through. I think we both prefer living in the quiet Moroccan countryside and traveling to the frenetic cities, rather than the reverse, no matter how little there is to do in Ifrane.

I took some pictures on my day hike to a large hill behind our place. Check them out: Ifrane Dayhike.

Foray into Moroccan cooking

As many of you know, I really like cooking. I've had quite a bit of time to shop for ingredients and cook since we've been here, which is a beautiful contrast to our time in grad school. I've also asked around to see if I can find a Moroccan woman in town (men here don't really cook) who could show me how to make some dishes ... an Ifrane cooking school, if you will. This inquiry has not been very diligent, but most people I ask say that it will definitely be possible and there's bound to be a lot of tittering about a man learning to cook. For the time being, we have two Moroccan cookbooks with us, so yesterday I decided to attempt one of the couscous dishes therein.

To those unawares (which included me prior to coming here), the preparation of couscous is a lengthy affair. There's a first soaking and drying, then a first steaming and second drying, then a final steaming. I'm used to the packages in the States where you add water and boil. Still, I figured that I'd try to do it the proper way. The proper way involves a device called a couscousiere (pictured above): it is a HUGE pot with a separate large steaming pan that forms a tight seal with the pot and a lid. Our friend Misty got a couscousiere with her two bedroom apartment (one bedrooms don't get one), and she said we could have it. You essentially make a stew in the huge pot (I used lamb) and go through the couscous steaming iterations in the steamer above the stew, so the steam is actually laden with "essence de stew". The couscous I chose to make also involved frying some almonds, boiling some tomatoes and making a glaze of lamb broth, onions, raisins, turmeric, cinammon, ginger, pepper and sugar. Needless to say, the process took about two and a half hours and destroyed our kitchen.

One of the more entertaining aspects of making this couscous was the acquisition of ingredients. For instance, I had no idea how to say "lamb neck" in French and didn't think to look it up before heading to the marche. So, once standing in front of the butcher, Mustafa, I pointed at my neck, pointed at the necks of the lambs hanging around, then repeated the Arabic word for neck that he told me, much to his amusement. At the end he quizzed me on the word, and I'd already forgotten. But I told him it was for a couscous, and he smiled and nodded knowingly, so I think I won some points there. I wonder what he would have thought if I said that I was the one cooking it ... ?

The other entertaining (?) ingredient was saffron. I was buying bread from one of the shops I go to regularly and asked if he had saffron, thinking that for sure he would send me to another stall. But no, he had it! He hands me four little packages and says they're four for a dirham ... WAY to cheap for saffron, but I just said thanks and headed home. I also disregarded the label in French on the side that said "Colour Alimentaire Synthetique". So, for those of you who are ten steps ahead of my yesterday self, it was a synthetic food coloring powder. And it naturally was spread on some paper that was then folded and stapled. So when I pulled the staple out, this bright orange powder from hell spilled all over my shirt and pants and on to the floor. I may have saved my shirt and pants, though water just made the dye bleed through the clothing. The floor was a nightmare to clean, since each swipe with a mop would just turn more of the floor a gorgeous yellow. I was rinsing the mop rag in the bathroom sink and turned to see there were yellow footprints leading from the kitchen. So I had to carefully get out of my pants, climb into the shower and wash my feet, then clean up my tracks backward to the kitchen. I'm telling you, it was like containing an epidemic, and I would not be surprised in the slightest if traces of this stuff appear throughout our house in the future, even though I mopped the kitchen floor some twenty times. Since last night, I keep imagining that the floor looks yellow and my skin is jaundiced.

However, the couscous was delicious and worth (?) the ordeal. And the little grains did seem much fluffier than when I've made packets of ten minute couscous at home. But perhaps that's just my imagination.

Rabat

Last weekend (10/6 - 10/7) we caught the bus to the capitol city of Rabat. Sam was on a quest to find some new dress clothes and some socks, and Rabat was said to be the best place to search for such things. Plus we both were very excited about the wealth of international restaurants we had heard about. Since Ifrane is a small town (10,000 people), there is only one bus a day that first goes to Meknes, then on to Rabat. There are other ways to get to Rabat, but this seemed like the simplest approach, since we didn't have to negotiate prices and we didn't have to change modes of transportation in Meknes. The 2 ½ hour car trip took 3 ½ hours on the way there and close to 4 on the way back, so next time we're going to try another approach. However, I talked to a grand taxi driver in Rabat about going straight to Ifrane, and he started at 1000 dirham ($120). I know that an expensive price would be 450 dirham, and I was really not in the mood to negotiate, so we just walked away.

As with Meknes, the trip to Rabat had its ups and downs. As far as ups: Rabat is right on the Atlantic, so we sat on the cliffs over the water for quite a while and it was absolutely wonderful. Lots of fishermen, and down the way there were people swimming and trying to surf (the king was a co-founder of the surfing school in Rabat). We did quite a bit of walking, which was really nice: we walked up to the kasbah, the huge fort looking over the mouth of the Bou Regreg river, then down through the medina, then quite a ways further to a neighborhood called Agdal where the shopping and dining wonders were. The kasbah was beautiful inside and had a gigantic, ornate gate leading into it. The walls and streets were painted white and blue in the Andalucian style, and it felt very clean and bright. And the Lebanese food we had in Agdal (when we could actually eat after the Ramadan cannon) was divine and well worth the hours of travel. We talked about how we could bring tubs of the stuff back to Ifrane.

(AN ASIDE. We got coffee right after the Ramadan cannon since most of the restaurant workers are having f’tour and won’t serve food until later. We sat outside on a corner in Agdal. At one point, a car going VERY fast came at the intersection, turned its wheels and hit the brakes and did a Hollywood-car-chase sliding turn onto the main road in this shopping district where the speed limit had to be 25 mph. We also saw a car blast down the road at an incredibly fast speed and fly through a red light. Neither car was being pursued by the police or gun-toting gangsters. Which makes me wonder: is this just like high school thrills in the States? The city is like a ghost town during f'tour, so do teenagers take this opportunity to try out stunt driving with just that tantalizing amount of fear that they MIGHT hit someone or MIGHT get chased by the police?)

Really I think the main down side of both the trip to Meknes and Rabat is the fact that traveling during Ramadan can be pretty tough for someone who is accustomed to eating and drinking water during the day. You can buy little bits of food here and there, but no restaurants or coffee shops are open until the evening. We had breakfast on Saturday in Ifrane, then snacked a little bit and finally had dinner around 7:30 p.m. Fortunately Saturday night I went out and bought two coffees, two yogurts and two croissants, because NOTHING was open when we got up Sunday morning. The coffee was cold, but better than no coffee at all! Ramadan ends this coming weekend and we’ll be in Marrakech, so there is definitely going to be some celebrating.

The other down sides of the trip to Rabat are the normal things that will become more tolerable with more exposure, a better grip on the language, a full stomach and normal blood caffeine levels. The clothes Sam was looking for were either non-existent or incredibly spendy. The socks she bought ended up having holes in them. In the more touristed areas (such as the kasbah), there are plenty of touts and hustlers trying to guide you, sell you something or get you to pay for views/pictures/air etc. In the kasbah, two or three men told us that the kasbah was closed for a religious service, but there was a shortcut through an alley to a great view point. Thanks, no. In the medina, a kid insistently tried to sell us a plastic bag for some milwee (bread with onions, olives and other goodies baked into it) that we were buying, even though the lady selling the milwee had plastic bags. What really stinks about this is that it is hard to trust or be friendly with much of anyone. Which sort of makes me feel like an asshole after a while, because I tend to just ignore people talking to me when walking about. This is one wonderful thing about living in Morocco: in Ifrane, we get to know the people at the marche and the souk and the restaurants, so we can actually have nice conversations with folks.

Overall, we really enjoyed the trip and plan to go back after Ramadan and grab some Thai food and more Lebanese. Check out the pictures: Rabat. (The scenery on the road between Meknes and Rabat is gorgeous, so I snapped a bunch of pictures with the camera in action mode, pressed against the window, to give you all a feel for the landscape).

Meknes

Last Saturday morning we headed to the city of Meknes, which is about an hour's drive away. Meknes is one of the four imperial cities of Morocco (along with Marrakech, Fez and Rabat) that were at one time or another the capitol of the country. Our first intent was to catch the 9:00 a.m. bus from the marche, but we concentrated a little too long on our Saturday morning lounging (breakfast and coffee to prepare us for the dearth of such things during the days of Ramadan). We then made a concerted effort to make it to the main road from our apartment by 9:00 a.m. so that we could potentially flag the bus down. We left just a few minutes too late and saw the bus go by as we were walking. On to Plan B: catch a grand taxi (larger taxis that go from city to city vs. petit taxis which stay within a city). While walking to the marche to catch the grand taxi, a couple that we met a few weekends ago (John and Ramiza) drove by, stopped and asked where we were headed. Turns out they were driving to Meknes to go to Marjane (the nearest large supermarket), so we caught a ride from them to the edge of Meknes, then caught a petit taxi to our hotel. How fortuitous!

Our time in Meknes was at times pretty cool, at times very interesting, at times somewhat annoying but overall, a good experience. Our hotel was in the medina, the old portion of the city, which is surrounded by a huge wall and has labyrinthine corridors and giant, gorgeous gates leading in and out. Some streets in the medina are wide enough for cars, and others are only wide enough for two or three people walking side by side. The Meknes medina is reasonably navigable, though you inevitably get a little lost while twisting around ... in contrast, the medina in Fez (a UNESCO world heritage site) covers some 7 square miles and is known for its maze-like ability to get nearly anyone lost. In the heart of the medina, shop keepers both real and faux have set up their businesses and you can buy nearly anything you might want in there if you can a) find it and b) haggle to a reasonable price. These areas are packed with people and you really need to be assertive if you want to move forward at all. And there are many people who think the one thing you need in your life is a new Berber rug. And they can be pretty sneaky.

So, in the morning we walked to Bab el-Mansour, the main gate into the medina that was built as a tribute to one of Morocco's great leaders (eleventh century), Moulay Ismail, by his son. The minute we dove into the narrow alleys of the medina, we were invited, quite persuasively, into a rug shop. We made it clear that we were not looking for rugs (the prices were quite a bit higher than rugs Sam bought in Azrou, a village near Ifrane), but our host was insistent on showing us perhaps twenty rugs, laying them one on top of the other on the floor, and describing the symbols on the rugs and the materials that went into making each one. Having no real place that we needed to be, it was very interesting learning about these beautiful rugs, and our host was exceptionally nice (another down side to Ramadan: typically these interactions involve drinking some mint tea). And in the end, we didn't buy any rugs, which may have bummed the guy out (though Sam bought some earrings).

We then wandered further into the maze and scored a yogurt maker (that last batch didn't fare so well) and also found an excellent shop to buy several types of coffee beans and have them ground on the spot. We witnessed the deaths of a few chickens. We stood out front of a pastry shop for a while watching a woman drizzle honey from what looked like a huge colander over a giant pile of shebbakia and baklava ... and then we bought some samples. At some point in the day we grabbed some snacks at a stand (bread with olives, onion and cheese baked into it) and took our non-Muslim, couldn't-fast-for-an-hour-much-less-a-day asses to out hotel room to snarf down some food.

After lunch we had our second rug experiene, this one a little more annoying. We were trying to locate a mosque in the middle of the medina (which is a tricky task), and at some point ran into a guy going to get some milk for Ramadan. He spoke English a little and said he loved to practice. We were just walking with him for a bit, at some point he asked what we were looking for, and we told him the Grand Mosque. He said he'd show us and also suggested the architecture at a Koranic school along the way. The "Koranic school" had a gorgeous, palace-like interior with amazing mosaics, and the "professor" told us about the history of the place. Then he started breaking out the rugs. We told him we weren't interested, but he kept talking and told us how when we heard the prices of the rugs, we'd thank him. We didn't thank him, nor did we buy a rug. And the douchebag who led us there was outside after thirty minutes of us being inside, saying he'd now take us to the grand mosque and asking for some "chips" for his troubles. No chips for you.

When the end-of-fasting cannon went off at 6:20 or so (seriously, there is a huge cannon blast that you can hear throughout the city at 4:30 or so in the morning and again in the evening), we high-tailed it to a cafe to get the caffeine fix we'd been missing all day. Sam got some strange looks because, naturally, a coffee shop is for men. We then, in an attempt to have a quick snack before heading to a restaurant we had scoped out, ended up getting served a full f'tour at a shop in the medina. F'tour is Arabic for breakfast, and during Ramadan this consists of harira (a thick tomato based soup with lentils, chick peas, noodles and cilantro), potato dumplings, savory and sweet "pancakes", olives, dates and an array of honey-saturated pastries. It's fairly tasty, but we've had a few Ramadan f'tours already and didn't necessarily want another. Thus satiated, we skipped the restaurant we had been considering and walked to the ville nouvelle, the new, French portion of the city.

One prominent aspect of Moroccan culture, at least during Ramadan, is the evening promenade. After everyone has eaten their f'tour, the streets and coffee shops fill with people. In Ifrane, this "filling" is a bit subdued, but in Meknes, there were people EVERYWHERE. There was a carnival of sorts set up on the hill above the medina, and it was packed. People and cars mingled somewhat harmoniously in the streets. We ended up walking around all evening and grabbing a pizza when our f'tour wore off. The ville nouvelle was a lot more lively and young than the medina, but we still didn't see many women in coffee shops ... apparently there are some younger establishments that are more amenable to a mixing of the sexes, but we didn't hunt them down that evening.

The only remaining aspect of the trip to Meknes to mention is the trip to Marjane. Since Marjane is the closest supermarket and since we were already in Meknes, we figured it just made sense to stop there before heading home on Sunday. We took a petit taxi there and then spent an hour or more wandering around this giant, crowded store. Prices were all clearly marked, which was refreshing compared to shopping in the medina (though my yogurt maker was quite a bit cheaper than those on display). It was like being in a giant candy store, since they had all sorts of things that we can't find ANYWHERE in Ifrane. Like frozen pizzas, cereals other than Corn Flakes, huge bags of rice. The line took us a good twenty minutes to get through.

So, then we've got a bunch of bags and are ready to head back to Ifrane. A grand taxi can SUPPOSEDLY fit six passengers, two in the front and four in the back. I have yet to see this happen, but prices are based on these six passengers (25 D per person). So, if you want the whole taxi for yourself, the trip will cost 150 dirham. We fortunately bumped into two other people from Al Akhawayn and decided to share a grand taxi back. This involved Sam and I going back into the medina in a petit taxi to get our stuff, making our way to the grand taxi station, negotiating a grand taxi to Ifrane and explaining that we had two more people waiting at Marjane and wanted to buy the last two seats, all in French. The conversation went something like this: "Ifrane. We are four. Two are Marjane. I pay all. Understand?" What with this vocabularily challenged exchange, the aggressive passing behavior of our driver and the pleasant lack of seat belts in the grand taxi, I'm somewhat surprised all four of us made it back to Ifrane in one piece.

And that's the end of the Meknes tale ... Sam's got some grading to do this weekend, so we're going to stick around Ifrane again and do a couple of day hikes in the surrounding countryside that were recommended.

Only took a few pictures ... check 'em out: Meknes.

The First Week or so in Ifrane (at least with both of us here)

I’m finally getting around to writing something about our first week or so in Morocco. Things have been going pretty smoothly: Sam’s been working quite a bit and getting into her groove, and I’ve been getting to know Ifrane, doing some reading, attempting to get everything that we need around the apartment and cooking a bit. I talked with a geographer at the university as well as the dean of his department, and it looks like there’s a good possibility that I can work (for pay) on one of two projects involving GIS and/or help teach a GIS course, all of which would be pretty awesome. One of the projects involves heritage sites in Fez, and the other involves a new nature reserve in the Middle Atlas mountains. However, neither project has been funded. Plus the dean asked if I’d be interested in doing some administrative work (perhaps he has something else in mind for me?), to which I replied NOT REALLY. We’ll see how everything turns out!

Sam and I are both TRYING to improve our French and learn a little Arabic, though I still get some pretty strange looks at the marche (market) when I attempt to make use of what I know (or don’t know) in these languages. People are so amazingly friendly here, especially when you attempt a few words in Arabic before switching to French. Sometimes you’ll be walking past someone who is staring at you like you have a giant appendage growing from your forehead, but once you greet them in Arabic, they smile this huge smile and greet you in return. One thing that seems to confuse the hell out of everyone is my habit of using the Spanish version of words that I don’t know in French, and simply pronouncing them as one would in French. The languages have some similarities, so occasionally this works. But usually it doesn’t.

I was trying to get a dairy thermometer at the marche yesterday so that I can make some yogurt (since the containers of yogurt here are pitifully small), and the shop owner was having a pretty entertaining time trying to figure out what I was saying. He asked me to draw what I wanted, then suggested what I drew looked like a flute. I think we finally connected, but he suggested I go to the pharmacy, I’m assuming to buy a thermometer that one uses to see if one has a fever. One’s fever rarely runs to 118 degrees Fahrenheit or above (the temperature I need to cool the boiling milk to), and it had already been ten minutes of intense concentration, so I gave up. I whipped up a batch of yogurt today using my finger as a thermometer, so who knows if it will actually set.

We are still in that new apartment mode where you don’t have some of those essential things that you usually buy in huge quantities and always have in your pantry and therefore never think of as essential. Things that new apartments should just COME with. Like spices and vinegar and brown sugar and flour and snack food and other such stuff. The reason it is taking us so long is because there is no large supermarket type thing in Ifrane, and it can be pretty interesting finding what one wants, partially because all labels are in French and Arabic and partially because of the nature of where we shop for groceries. We have three places where we can get groceries: the superette, the marche and the souk:

1. The superette is like a convenience store with relatively high prices, but the prices are at least marked on the packages, getting rid of any question of what the price actually is as well as any need to speak too much French. The nearest superette is in downtown Ifrane, which is about a half hour walk from here.

2. The marche is a set of stalls and rooms set up in this building about 20 minutes walk from here. You can find quite a bit of stuff at the marche, though it can be a bit tricky since sometimes stuff is just piled on shelves. Prices are better here, but you have to haggle a little bit, no prices are marked and transactions are in French or Arabic only. There is a hall that’s filled with produce and dead animals hanging all over the place, and it’s a pretty excellent experience getting what you want.

3. And finally there’s the souk: the souk is a large outdoor weekend farmer’s market (about 15 minutes from here) where they sell produce, spices, shoes, tupperware, bikes, pans, cell phone chargers, etc. Prices at the souk are ridiculously low, though they’re a bit higher for foreigners. Once again, all transactions are in French or Arabic. I’m really not much of a haggler to begin with, and the language difference makes it even more difficult. One guy looked devious when he charged us 2 dirhams for a pomegranate, but since 2 dirhams is 25 cents, I’m just not too concerned if I’m getting gouged. Any which way, we got quite a bit of food and bulk stuff for around $20, which was pretty shocking. I DID manage to reduce the price of a stove top espresso maker from 80 dirham to 65 dirham, and then proceeded to blow the extra $2 on some of the shittiest coffee I've EVER tasted. I need to get a Moroccan's opinion to see if maybe I'm brewing coriander, wood chips, spanish fly or something else. The espresso maker, however, is awesome. Pure genius. I’ve been wanting one for years.

Ok, this is getting long enough. Plenty of other things have happened, we've been meeting some pretty cool people, we went to our first f'tour (breakfast, which is at 6:30 p.m. during Ramadan), yada, yada. Take a look at the pictures: First Week in Ifrane. We're heading to the imperial city of Meknes this weekend, so hopefully there will be some cooler pictures next week. Hope all is well.

Counseling in Morocco

Now that Nate has joined me I feel much more settled in. It was so strange to be here without him those first two weeks. My job is pretty cool. I have been crazy-busy though. In three weeks I have already seen close to 20 students for mental health counseling on a campus of 1200 students. I have been very surprised by the severity of issues the students are bringing to counseling. It is certainty not the homesickness and relationship stuff I anticipated. In many ways, I could be at any university in the USA - except I would have colleagues and a safety net of national mental health support to refer students to. I am sad to report there has already been one suicide attempt on campus. The pressure here is high for students and there is a stigma about counseling. However, I see parallels with the US. There is still stigma in the US as well, and any religious objection to medication or treatment could be the same with certain sects in the US. So, yes there are challenges, but more with the set up of being the only game in town. I am the only mental health counselor on campus. A psychiatrist comes to campus Friday afternoons and Saturday mornings to prescribe and work with students with severe issues. With this formula I'm sure you can see why I might be busy, but I have been firm that I am not overworking myself. I have been upfront with my supervisor about emergency protocol (and me not being it). Oh and I'm also teaching an interpersonal communication skills class with 20 students and spending two mornings at the joke of the K-12 school - although I am still unclear about what I am supposed to be doing there. Phew!

My weirdest moment so far has been while walking to campus. I was by myself when suddenly I heard a very loud noise. Tearing down a steep embankment to my left were about 20 wild dogs quickly coming my way. Unsure what the hell was going on, I just sort of stood there dumbfounded by what I was seeing. Luckily, they had no interest in me (there has been tell of pacts of wild dogs following women on their runs about town) and took off across a field - very weird.

So Ramadan began on Friday. The campus has completely transformed and is pretty much dead during the daylight hours. From a teaching perspective, imagine students who haven't eaten since 4:00 am and will not be eating until about 6:30 or 7 (my class is at 2:30 pm). Oh yeah, and most likely stayed up until 4:00 am so they could eat before sleeping as much as they can. Now from a mental health perspective, well you have people who are either not taking their psychotropic drugs, or are taking them on an empty stomach. Of course add hunger, no sleep and most-likely no exercise (because they have no energy) to the mix and you have a recipe for breakdowns. Not to mention that this is family time and most of the students live way too far to go home, except on select weekends. This lasts for an entire month. I respect the religious tradition behind it, but from both a teaching and counseling perspective it is a nightmare. Now as a foreigner here during this time, we pretty much are hungry too because it is really taboo to eat or drink in public. On more than one occasion Nate has had to sneak into the men's bathroom to eat a handful of nuts. Stores and restaurants are not open during the day for the most part so it's a whole new set of rules to master just as we settled in. I also really miss going to the faculty lunch room to socialize with other faculty. I think it'll be a tough month. Some foreign faculty are trying to fast to sympathize with their students. You all know how much I love to eat, so I think I would be a mean and angry counselor if I didn't eat all day. So needless to say, I will be sneaking snacks when no one is around.

Ifrane or Bust

The past two weeks have involved a fair number of trials and tribulations:

• Tribulation: the overnight flight from Portland to Detroit went smoothly … our friends Ben and Amber drove me and my pile of luggage (three rolling bags, a large backpack, a carry-on backpack and a guitar) to the airport, and fortunately Ben helped me carry all of this crap in so that I didn’t have to deal with one of those annoying luggage carts. I spent five excellent days with my parents in Mason, and on Wednesday, we prepared to pick Samantha up in Detroit.
  
• Trial: Sam’s Royal Air Maroc flight (an airline boasting an impressive lack of timeliness and creaky, old-school airplanes) from Casablanca to New York is postponed for 12 hours. She spends five hours in horrendous lines hoping to find some other flight to the States, but the language barrier and questionable customer service turn up no other possibilities. Eventually, the airline ships all of the flight’s passengers to a hotel in Casablanca to rest for a while. Sam gets in touch with me, and I start looking into ways of getting her from New York to Detroit since she is inevitably going to miss her connecting flight. This proves to be quite a chore since the international flight is with Royal Air Maroc and the domestic flight is with Delta. Delta suggests I talk to Royal Air Maroc. Royal Air Maroc says they don’t have any authority to issue free tickets, Sam will have to talk with their New York office when she arrives at 1:05 a.m. I question whether or not the office will be open at 1:05 a.m. Royal Air Maroc says SURE. I say REALLY. Royal Air Maroc says YES, THE OFFICE STAYS OPEN UNTIL ALL FLIGHTS ARRIVE. Still in disbelief, I buy a brand new ticket on Northwest as a precaution. Sam's flight takes off an hour and a half late, she arrives in New York at 2:30 a.m. to find the Royal Air Maroc office closed (which is potentially a good thing, judging by the amount of agitation in her voice at 3:00 a.m.). She has a lovely night of rest on the chairs in JFK and arrives in Detroit at 11:00 a.m., 16 hours later than expected.
• Tribulation: we had an awesome time hanging out with our Detroit posse (very little sleep had) and being a part of our friend Brian’s wedding. The celebration was really a great time, and a large number of attendees were up until 3:30 or so, some literally toppling into their beds (Jer).
• Trial: 8:00 a.m. came very quickly. We caught a taxi with our friend Rob to Detroit Metro and arrived with enough time for our last greasy American breakfast for a while. Due to all of the bullshit described in Trial #1, Sam and I had different flights to New York. Also, since I had not printed the itineraries for our flights, I could not check baggage all the way through to Morocco. This precaution is obviously bullet-proof, since it would take a computing GENIUS with years of hacking experience and some incredibly sophisticated hardware and software to create a FAKE flight itinerary in Photoshop. Yay TSA. They also made us throw out some small cans of tuna and apple sauce, all less than 3 oz., because “they’re liquids”. Another ingenius plot foiled. Sam and I met up at JFK, grabbed our baggage and re-checked it on our Royal Air Maroc flight. We then had several hours to eat and drink some coffee, which was VERY nice. Finally we boarded our 8:00 p.m. flight … and sat on the tarmac until 9:30 p.m.
• Tribulation: the Royal Air Maroc plane did not fall apart on its trip to Casablanca.
• Trial: the Royal Air Maroc flight from Casablanca to Fez was an hour late.
• Tribulation: Whatever. We didn’t have to be anywhere. The Fez airport was beautifully uncrowded, just one baggage carousel, and all of our luggage arrived (though I think the flip-flops I had strapped to the outside of my backpack were stolen).
• Trial: The taxi ride to Ifrane started off a bit strange: we negotiated with a guy who spoke English very well, then were driven by a guy who spoke no English, no Spanish and only “un peu” of French. He was incredibly nice, but we quickly realized he was not taking us toward Ifrane, but rather into downtown Fez. It ultimately turned out that he needed to take us to the police station for them to register our passports, then get a voucher stamped before he could take us to Ifrane. At least I think that’s what happened.
• The Last Tribulation: we arrived in Ifrane and made our way to our new apartment. (The apartment is actually 6 km from Al Akhawayn, the driver had no idea where to go, we didn’t know how to say “right” or “left” in French, so we ended up pointing and grunting the whole way). We napped for a bit, then headed to the school for a new faculty welcome and dinner. The two hours of welcome presentations were pretty boring, especially considering how much sleep we’d gotten over the past several days, but the dinner was huge and delicious. Sam had to get up and introduce herself twice since she’s both THE counselor and an instructor at the school. (One bizarre detail: Sam’s credentials on the Power Point presentation said “GIS and Remote Sensing”, which are actually my credentials. We’re not really sure how that happened).

And we’re now getting over jet lag and adapting to life here. Sam is a bit stressed since she missed a few days of work and has started her responsibilities at the local K-12 school on top of her other duties … she is planning on writing a posting on her experiences thus far when she has a moment. Check out the link to some pictures of our apartment: “Ifrane Apartment”.