Casa, Fez and some photos!

Sorry for the formatting; computing has been a mess!  Though I can post so no complaints 

November 8, Casablanca

Yesterday morning Corinne and I had a nice long goodbye after a calm and collected journey from the
apt in Stockholm to Arlanda airport. Well – we did freak out a few times, but only to realize that our
stop was the next one, clearly labeled, with busses pulling up as we needed them, as per uzh. I had the
sense that my travels from place to place might feel a lot like that – long slow journey with mounting
panic as I think the train is close to the stop, its been a while hasn’t it, should I just get off, maybe I
should ask that guy, wait what did that sign say ……..

As per uzh. So we did finally arrive, I realized that I am stopping in Rome as well as Copenhagen (during
that layover I enjoyed a few moments like that described above), and we had our long farewell. It was
an emotional moment for me – she waited for me to pass security ‘just in cases’ and it took a while and
I was out of sight of her for several minutes as I navigated the line. I grabbed my bag (having forgotten
to take out my liquids baggie, which didn’t matter apparently), and turned to see her poking her head
above the crowd – I waved, she waved, a person walked between us, as we waved again, blowing
kisses and trying to catch an extra last glimpse before inevitably turning towards the gate. It was a very
emotional moment for me, being sent off like that. I hope everyone has the chance at it sometime – like
the bookends of ‘Love Actually.’

The layover in Rome, much like my layover in Chicago, felt like the beginning of my trip, when I was no
longer surrounded by people who looked like me and assumed I spoke their language. The plane ride
in was enjoyable, I slept for the first time – conked out really – and enjoyed trying to hear the difference
between Moroccan French and Moroccan Arabic. All of the plane announcements were in Arabic, then
French, the English. I also learned something that I think will come in handy – Moroccan do not use
lines – there is no first come first served. I watched first a crowd of people mass at the gate after 20 of
us patiently stood waiting for the announcement, I watched an old lady slowly make her way in front
of me in the passport line – shuffle, shuffle, shuffle … wait a minute … - and I watched an older guy step
in front of me to buy bread at a corner shop next to my hostel. Corinne would go crazy I think. Maybe
everyone would – it is gonna be an adjustment.

I took out cash at the airport – no trouble at all (though thanks for the gd Fed I had to transfer 280 when
it would have been 240 for the same amount of Dirhams a week ago), took a train from the airport, and
a cab to the hostel. I have a double room to myself for about 25 dollars. Few people speak English –
everyone speaks Arabic and French. The currency feels strange and new, but I think I know enough to
respect it. It is a funny thing, though, currency. Dolla dolla billz ya’ll. US dollars are now play money, as
Corinne calls them. The Dirham is play money to me at this point. I have to keep an eye on it.

I’m going to sleep now – I’m exhausted. I’m not clear on where I’m going tomorrow, but I’m going
somewhere. It’s nice to have a double to relax into – lock the door, spread out a bit. I hope to have
more connectivity, but these posts might be spotty, and pics might be spottier for a while. Oh well.

Side note – I attempted to hop online at the same hotel I used last night for a quick hello to my folks and
C, but no luck on the old laptop – so I headed off to catch the 915 train to Fez.

November 9 - Fez

Holy sh1t. OK. I’m not sure where to begin exactly with Fez – I’ll try to go chrono and see if that
squares things away. A few notes to set the scene. Again, no one speaks English really – I’m finding it
frustrating, but mostly because I know I could be communicating so much better had I studied French. I
think that while being bi-lingual is essential, tri- or more seems to be really helpful. EVERYONE speaks
French and Arabic. Everyone. So there’s that.

Secondly, prices being negotiable, I am spending a wide range on similar things – all cheaper than I
would in the states, and most drastically more expensive than would be paid by a local here. Exchange
at the moment is 7dirham:1usd. So to sound like the mastercard ad – 4 minute taxi from Casa station
to the hostel, 60 dirham; 15 minute taxi from Fez station to hotel, 15 dirham. Bread in casa for lunch, 3
dirham; chickpea sandwich for lunch in Fez, 4 dirham. Train ticket from Casa to Fez, 110 dirham; street
soccer game being played outside of my window, loud.

Anyway – paying for things or not buying after all has afforded me another level of cultural experience.
I almost always have the sense that I could be paying less – however, I am most definitely paying less
than I would back home. And I do NOT speak the language. Either of them. Couple this with the
atmosphere of this place and basically I am just doing my best – saddling along, paying like an American
in Morocco.

Fez is a big(ish) city. Not reasonably walkable in its entirety. The medina (the old city/market) is,
however, walkable. It is also entirely insane. My hotel …

--

Sidebar: on the train into Fez, a guy joined me, quite friendly, I asked him about Fez, he started making
calls, one to a hotel if they had space (400 dirham, no thanks), to a guy who might tour me around
(a ‘deal’ at 100 dirhams) a hotel that would be nicer than any hostel at a comparable price (120 dirhams,
mostly true). His friend greets me before I am out of the taxi at the hotel (some pics are from the
taxi), shows me to the hotel, starts walking me around. First stop, carpet shop – this was extremely
stressful for me. I do NOT like a hard sell, especially one disguised as a soft sell. I was two stories,
several hallways and a cup of mint tea into a building in the middle of the medina. What started as a
pleasant history of the building and the government co-op style of rug making shifted when the rugs
got pulled out and which one might I want? Try on some Arabic for fun – yes and no, nice and simple.
Not fun for me anymore, but it went on for a good 15 minutes longer. My ‘guide’ encouraged me to
buy, I eventually convinced him to head out. Lunch? Not at 120 dirhams (again EVERYTHING is hidden
and impossible to find, no signs, not to mention street signs). We visit a tannery and after I again say
no thanks to leather goods, this guy has had enough of me. He helps me pronounce the name of the
square near the hotel and takes off. I am extremely grateful to be rid of him.

At the same time, I am worthless in terms of finding anything. I tried to capture it with pictures.
Basically, you cannot see more than 20 or 30 feet in any direction (often including up), dark alleys
connect busier streets, there is a slight downhill slope to where I am staying but that is as close as I

would get to direction but basically there is no navigating, only varying degrees of comfort with being
entirely lost.

To navigate then, one must ask for directions. Everyone I met was very friendly – some sought me out
for a hello, many more wanted my attention and money and I would try to avoid the latter, sometime at
the expense of the first. It is a strange combination, maybe for them as well, that I have money to pay
and I need their help, and they need the money and can ask for basically whatever they want from me.
A kid offered to show my a view of a mosque, lead me for about 5 minutes and up through what seemed
to be a house (I had no idea where people lived) to a rooftop with a great view. I said thanks and we
shook hands and he stood there while I paid him 5 dirham. ???

It was overall a pretty stressful day. I feel good to be sitting alone for a minute or two – it was a long
time being quite close to people and feeling pretty outside of it all without being able to effectively
step back at any point. I ducked into a dark corner or two but that didn’t really do it. But it is safe. I
feel safe. And the food is well cooked, and the bottled water easy to come by. I did have some fun
– I enjoyed a sandwich in a little cut-out, I got a haircut and shave (for the first time since Oct 2 – and
my heartfelt apologies to Corinne for getting it cut so fast after insisting that I grow everything out to try to blend in, that was
delusional). I stepped into the barber with the intention of getting off the street – of having a thing to
do where I was occupied, unavailable for someone to attempt to sell me something, and to have to sit
without being able to do anything else; to force myself to slow down. It worked, though the guy asked
if I could speak French – saying no did not dissuade him from trying to converse. Basically, the language
of barbershop is universal. Aside from a few pauses that turned out to be questions, he talked and I
made affirmative noises depending on his tone. The haircut with 60 dirham, negotiated in advance and
certainly more than it could have been, but I was glad to have a happy barber.

I think I’m going to head out of here tomorrow, try to go to Meknes, which from what I hear is a slower
Fez, before heading to the south. For now, I’m going to brave the medina in the dark. Have a walk
around, see what there is to see. Password: wadzouel.

Note the date above the gate

 

 

 

 

Insane intersection in Casa

Streets in Fez Medina

Tannery!

Streets in Fez Medina

Streets in Fez Medina

Post haircut and shave!