A Bus Ride In Morocco

Recently on my way back to the town where I live here in the Sahara, I was trying to catch a bus south from Marrakech. I went to the CTM bus station, but found that both of the CTM buses out of Marrakech which would be headed down here were already full. I walked to the SupraTours bus station, but soon learned that the SupraTours bus south to the Sahara was also full. Accordingly, I went to the main bus station there in Marrakech, where I was able to get on a bus back south. At the main bus station, one catches buses less fancy than CTM buses and SupraTours buses. The buses are older and generally less comfortable. PCVs (Peace Corps Volunteers) refer to these buses as "souq buses," because the driver will let you off wherever you like; thus you can take these buses to the souq, or the farmer's market, whereas CTM buses and SupraTours buses generally won't make special stops for you such as at the farmer's market. 

Once I'd gotten my bus ticket, I found my bus and boarded it. When I ride buses here in Morocco, if I can, I always sit in the row furthest back. On the route I travel south from Marrakech back to the town where I live here in the Sahara, the buses go through the High Atlas mountains, and over the Tichka Pass. The buses make many turns on this curvy route. Consequently many people get motion sickness and become nauseous and end up vomiting. Given that I both don't get motion sickness, and given that I also don't want anyone sitting behind me potentially vomiting on me, I always sit in the row furthest back if there's an empty seat there for me. Thus on this particular day, I was sitting all the way in the back of the bus. Admittedly the spot where I was sitting didn't look that comfortable. Thus the Moroccan man sitting across the aisle from me asked me if I was sitting in a good seat. I replied in Darija, that is, in Moroccan Arabic, that it wasn't a good seat, but that I was a little insane. One is always likely to elicit a laugh if one insinuates that one is crazy. Accordingly, the man laughed, and, as people here do when they think that someone has made a good joke, he shook my hand.

Soon after we had this laugh, we were visited by some folks on the bus who did not end up traveling with us. Moroccans who are not traveling walk onto these less fancy buses and peddle different things, most commonly bottles of water, snacks, shoes and jewelry. Moroccans also walk onto the buses asking for alms. After I'd boarded this bus, there was quite a while until we were going to leave. Thus multiple people boarded the bus trying to sell their various items.

At one point the Moroccan man sitting across the aisle from me was surrounded by four kids, seemingly about eight to twelve years old. They were trying to sell him different things, which I believe included water and gum. Noting the little gathering around him, I suggested to him in Darija, "It's a little market here on the bus." Later, after the kids had left, I joked with him that if someone has to go shopping, he or she doesn't have to go to a hanoot, which is Darija for "grocery store." Rather, all someone has to do is board a souq bus and sit there for a little while before it leaves, and someone can do all of his or her shopping there on the bus. Of course, I exaggerate. One can't buy anything and everything from the folks who board trying to peddle their goods. For example, after my comment that being aboard a souq bus just before it leaves is like being at the market, that fellow sitting across the aisle from me noted that no one had come aboard the bus trying to sell vegetables.

And indeed, people are limited in how many different types of things they can sell on the buses partly due to time constraints. After a while, we were off on our way south from Marrakech and on to the High Atlas mountains. When we were passing through some of the highest spots on that road, I was pleased to yet again spot a waterfall, despite it being so long since the winter, thus with presumably less melting snow to feed a waterfall. Thus I was happy that day not only to get in some good laughs, sharing some humor with one of my fellow passengers, but I was also glad to get to enjoy some natural beauty on my way back south to the Sahara.

Traveling As A PCV In Morocco

I still have a couple of weeks of vacation time left. Given that I'm nearing the end of my Peace Corps service, I've got to use my vacation time now, if I'm going to use it. Therefore, I've been traveling this week. At the beginning of the week, I visited a friend, Bill, who lives north of my town. He showed me around his town. Since he's a PCV (Peace Corps Volunteer) who works in small business development, he was introducing me to women who have been learning how to make shoes, weave rugs and baskets, and make keftans (long Moroccan women's robes) and handkerchiefs. In addition to giving me the tour of his town, he also hosted me in his apartment until the next day. I was grateful for his hospitality and generosity. Since it's been getting hot, I especially appreciated how he served another PCV and me cold watermelon and green cantaloupe.

Later in the week, I was happy to visit a Franciscan monastery. I managed to make it there for a service at 7:15 a.m. It was all in French, so I understood very little of it. I'd previously attended masses in French here in Morocco, but for some reason I seemed to encounter a particular difficulty which I don't recall experiencing on prior occasions. I found singing hymns in French more difficult than I'd expected. Later I considered that when singing in English, I'm not only reading the words, I'm also looking to see if the notes go up or down in the songs. Then I realized that when trying to sing in French, I'm struggling with words I don't know in French as an added element on top of trying to read and seeing whether the notes go up or down. But I was glad to be worshipping God with other Christians, since I don't get to do so with other Christians much here.

After the service, I spoke with the expatriate Franciscan monks and nuns who live in the monastery. They were very warm and friendly. I told them that I've benefited considerably from having a lot of time to read while living here. Consequently I've devoted much time to opening the door for God, to trying to place myself before God, so as to be receptive to what God is saying to me. I often think of Revelation 3:20 as a reminder to approach my relationship with God in this way. I was grateful to these monks and nuns for their implicit support of me and other Christians in our walk of faith and path in trying to emulate Jesus.

A couple of the elderly nuns were especially sweet, continuing to clasp my hand as they spoke with me. As I spoke with one of them, I was finding it difficult to speak in French, since I've been infrequently speaking French. She told me to speak in Darija, which was much easier!

After not too long, I was parting ways with the monks and nuns. As I was saying goodbye to them, one of the elderly nuns called me "Xuya," which is Darija, or Moroccan Arabic, for "my brother," as she next further noted that we're all brothers and sisters.

After I bid adieu to the monks and nuns, I caught a bus so I could continue further north on my journey. I was happy to be able to take a bus with the CTM bus company. CTM buses are nicer, and newer, than most other buses here in Morocco. In addition to also being more reliable than a lot of other buses, they're also air-conditioned, unlike many other buses here in Morocco. As I traveled north, I enjoyed more beautiful scenery, including green meadows giving way to hills covered with evergreen trees. In this area of Morocco, snow covers the ground in winter. But this month, there was no snow on the ground there, unlike when I traveled the same route on my way to PPST (Post-Pre-Service Training) back in February 2011.

This time as I approached Azrou, although I didn't see any snow, in addition to the green meadows, I also saw purple and yellow flowers. At one point, the bus slowed down since sheep were running into the road. Their shepherd, protective of his sheep, got them back off of the road. I saw other flocks of sheep later before arriving in Azrou.

Once I arrived in Azrou, I caught another bus to the town of Ifrane. I'd heard that Ifrane seemed different from the rest of Morocco. The French built Ifrane in the 1930s. Thus it has architecture different from rest of Morocco, namely houses with pointed roofs. However, I must admit that I was disappointed once I arrived in Ifrane, given how people had told me that Ifrane was very different. It didn't seem significantly different from the rest of Morocco. Ifrane is also known for its gardens, some of which are quite pleasant and pretty, with trimmed grass and flower beds with purple, lavender, orange and yellow flowers.

After visiting Ifrane, next I headed to the city of Meknes, where I stayed for the night. In the morning, I headed further north, to the ancient Roman ruins at the site of Volubilis, or Oualili in Arabic. Volubilis is still being excavated, but there's much interesting already to see there. A massive arch, built by local residents out of gratitude for being exempt from taxes, still stands there. The ancient baths remain. I was most impressed by the mosaics. In addition to enjoying the skill of the artists, I marvelled at how well they've endured against the elements for nearly two millenia.

After exploring at Volubilis, I continued north up here to Chefchaouen. I'd been wanting to come to Chefchaouen for a while, and I'm glad I finally did. I'd heard that a planned visit to Chefchaouen of a few days often easily turns into a stay of a week or more, since it has such a mellow, relaxed atmosphere, which I'm now glad to be feeling myself. I've also been appreciating the scenic beauty here. Chefchaouen is nestled at the foot of the Rif mountains. Its medina, that is, the old part of the city, is whitewashed and also covered in various shades of blue. I also tend to especially enjoy a medina when its streets slope more steeply, as they do here.

I'm thankful to be a PCV here in Morocco. There's so much to do and see here, and, more importantly, I'm grateful to be having mutually supportive relationships and interactions with such warm and generous people here, which is, after all, why I came here in the first place.

How To Stay Warm In Cold Weather

I live in Morocco, which has been called "The Cold Country With The Hot Sun" and "The Coolest of the Hottest Countries." It gets hot here in the summer, but in many places in the country, especially, of course, at higher elevations, it gets cold in the winter.

I certainly don't live in the coldest part of Morocco. But it does get a little cold here.

I'm a bit more challenged by the cold here than I'd be by the same level of cold in the U.S. In the states, I'd just go inside and turn on the heat. While I have a heat fan in my apartment, the last time I tried to use it, a little over a year ago, I blew a fuse, as I mentioned in my January 2011 blog post entitled "Lights Out." Furthermore, the fuse box is in my neighbor's apartment. Given that I don't always know when he's going to be traveling, I don't use the heat fan.

Thus I resort to other methods to stay warm, including drinking hot beverages. Recently I've been enjoying some Hot Love. It's German-made raspberry vanilla flavored tea, with a brand name of "Hot Love." I also thoroughly enjoyed some hot cocoa, using a tin of cocoa I received as a Christmas gift at the end of last year.

More commonly, though, I benefit from the oldest way of staying warm: I sit in the sun. I'm fortunate enough to have a roof on my apartment building on which I can sit in relative privacy. I go up there and read for hours at a time in the afternoons.

It's much more comfortable up there during the day than it is in my apartment. Around the clock it's been around 50° Fahrenheit in my apartment. Last month, it got down to 47.5° in the apartment. At night I sleep under three heavy blankets, in multiple layers of clothing both above and below the waist, while also wearing a winter hat and scarf. That way, I'm warm when I sleep.

I've also taken to growing more facial hair during the winter here. While generally I prefer to have less, rather than more, facial hair, for much of this winter, I've been sporting a beard, mostly to help me keep warm during the colder weather.

I often feel fortunate when I consider that there are PCVs living in even colder locations than me, including in Morocco. Here in Morocco, it snows in Azrou and Ifrane, and on many mountains. While I can't see any snow-covered mountains from the town in which I live, often when I leave town in the winter, within an hour I can see snow-capped mountains in the distance, reminding me that, while I may think it's cold, it's even colder elsewhere, including not even that far away.

First Visit Back to the USA

So, in the last couple of weeks I made my first visit back to the USA since I started to live in Morocco in September last year. It was a lot of fun!

To take things in order: the morning I left my town, I showed up to the office of one of the bus companies here in my town and found out that the early bus out of my town was going to be full. I always go to the bus company office the day before I catch a bus to buy my ticket for the bus I'm going to catch the next day. But the day before I left my town to head to the USA, the bus company office was closed both times that I went to it that day. So that morning that I was leaving my town, after finding out that the bus was going to be full, I headed to the grand taxi stand in my town. Given that there are multiple ways of leaving my town, I wasn't concerned about making it to the airport in Marrakech for my flight the next day. Nevertheless, as I was waiting for a taxi to fill up, I appreciated how I saw a truck drive by with a large sticker on its windshield that said, "Don't Worry."

In fact, once I got out of a taxi at a stop about an hour from my town, I managed to get on the bus I had been told was full when I had still been in my town. Apparently the bus was only full until that stop where I got on the bus. I was thankful to be on a bus and not crammed into a grand taxi during most of the ride to Marrakech.

Later that day, I arrived in Marrakech, which provided the context of the blog entry immediately preceding this current one. I was glad to be on my trip!

Early the next morning, I checked out of my hotel and began walking toward the nearest petit taxi stand there in Marrakech. Before I got to the taxi stand, a middle-aged guy approached me and asked me if I wanted a taxi. I replied in Arabic, "Yeah, but it's going to be expensive." He replied in French, "No, seventy." I had heard from another PCV that a taxi driver in Marrakech had told him it cost 100 dirhams to get to the airport. Further, after dusk and before dawn, taxi drivers in Morocco charge one-and-a-half times the regular fare for any particular taxi ride. So, when this driver told me it would only cost 70 dirhams, I figured I was being charged less than the usual price, and took him up on his offer. On the way to the airport, I was thinking all of this, especially in light of how some taxi drivers in Marrakech clearly had tried to overcharge me on previous visits to that city. So after I paid him, when I was getting out of the taxi, I told him in French that he was an honest man, and told him in Arabic, "God be with you."

I was very glad that my flight from Marrakech to Casablanca, and my flight from Casablanca to Brussels, Belgium both went without incident. I happily ate some delicious food in Brussels, stayed overnight there, and the next day continued my journey to the USA. Finally, after one grand taxi, one bus, two petit taxis, one train, four trams, one metro, five planes, and one car ride, I arrived at my parents' home in the USA, 72 hours after I left my apartment in the Sahara.

I was very happy to spend time with my folks, and also with my sister, who was also visiting them at the same time. In addition to enjoying their company, I also was very happy to eat food I can't eat, or at the very least, can't easily come by, in Morocco. My mom made some delicious lasagna. I loved having bacon for breakfast (remember that Morocco, being a Muslim country, does not have a lot of pork, bacon and ham in it, except in cities, and more likely in the larger ones, and even then, it's not ubiquitous).

Another stark difference of which I was very conscious: though I hadn't forgotten, nevertheless, on my visit back to the USA, I was very conscious of how women are not covered up like women are in my town here in the Sahara. As I visited restaurants and shops, and walked around on sidewalks in the USA, I was repeatedly struck by how women in the USA often wear clothing which shows all of their arms up to the tops of their shoulders, their legs well above their knees, and, from time to time, exposes their midriffs. I was taking this all in in contrast to the women in my town here in the Sahara, who are covered sometimes literally from head to toe (that is, everything except their faces and their hands). If they're not that covered up, then they are only exposing below their ankles, even now, during the hottest part of the year, here in the Sahara. If a woman is exposing herself any more than that in my town, it is rare (unless she is visiting this town from a larger city and/or is a tourist).

I suppose that I was struck on my recent visit back to the USA by how relatively uncovered women in the USA are, even though in my everyday life in Morocco, I have been very conscious of how covered rural Moroccan women are, because throughout my life, I've been used to women dressing as they like. In other words, I was raised under certain customs, and those are still the ones to which I am most easily accustomed. Which brings me to a larger observation I had during my trip back to the USA. As I was processing my thoughts about what it was like being back in the USA, often out loud, in conversations with my parents and sister, finally my mom paraphrased my many observations, and said, "So, being here feels normal." And I said yes, that it just felt normal being back in the USA. I wasn't experiencing reverse culture shock, since I must say that I don't feel Moroccan. While I've adjusted to life in Morocco, I still feel like a citizen of the USA living in Morocco. So while it wasn't a gigantic relief to be spending time in the USA, it just felt good because it felt natural.

That is to say, I haven't adopted the customs of Morocco as my own. While I feel like I've adjusted to living in Morocco, I don't think of it as my own culture. When I got back to the USA, having been constantly faced with rural Moroccan women so covered up, it was a major change to see women so relatively uncovered, as I have for most of my life. I felt like I was returning to a culture which felt more natural for me, and for that reason, among others, I was enjoying my visit.

After a good visit with my folks and my sister at my folks' place, I flew to New York, where I again met up with my sister. When we had our first lunch there, I had such a good pastrami on rye sandwich. The pastrami melted in my mouth! At that meal, I also had some of the best cheesecake I had ever had.

I continued onward and then spent time with more of my extended family. The next day, a relative threw a barbeque where I got to spend time with a good number of my relatives. It was great to see them. They had a lot of questions for me about my life in Morocco and in my town, and about my work. At that barbeque, I loved eating a variety of things I don't get to eat here in Morocco, among them pulled pork.

The following day, I attended the wedding of a friend of mine to his sweetheart. I see their wedding as reflecting another difference between culture in the USA and Moroccan culture. My friend is Jewish, and his wife is Christian. By contrast, over 98 percent of Moroccans are Muslim. And on top of that, many of the relatively small number of Moroccans who are not Muslim are not that recognizable.

At the wedding, as throughout my visit back to the USA, people were asking me a lot of questions about Morocco and my life here. So of course I was talking a lot about life here.

On the rest of my trip, I was happy that I had the chance to see other friends. Among them, I met up with a mentor of mine, who had also been a teacher of mine years ago, and who had been a PCV himself before me. While we had previously spoken about our Peace Corps experiences, we spoke more over brunch about being PCVs. He told me that when he was a PCV, he left his town twice in one year, since it was so isolated, and since there were so few transportation options. While I have many times thanked God for the many blessings which have been bestowed on me, including during my time as a PCV, I became even more grateful for my current living situation once he told me how isolated his village was. I was also thankful and appreciative of his guidance and support.

It was great to get to see my friends while I was back. I feel recharged after spending time with them and receiving their encouragement. And, I was happy that, during the last couple of days of my visit in the USA, I shared great food with them, including more bacon, ice cream, and cupcakes, among other tasty morsels.

Once I split off from my friends and started heading for the airport, though, I was looking forward to getting back here. As I was on the way to JFK, I was thinking that since I wasn't going to get to see any more of my family or friends, and since I wasn't going to visit anywhere else in the USA or do anything else there, I just wanted to get back to Morocco. To get the long trip back done.

After I landed on the last of my three flights back from the USA, and was about to exit the airport in Marrakech, I decided to utilize the information desk at the airport. As I approached the desk, I saw a few Moroccan girls huddled together in conversation. I asked them in Arabic where I could catch the bus. They directed me to where I would find it, expressing surprise and smiling as they commented that I was speaking Arabic.

Having gotten the tip from a second-year PCV to take the bus from the Marrakech airport into the city of Marrakech, rather than being charged more for a taxi, I was happy to only pay 20 dirhams to take the bus to my hotel. And, it didn't even take significantly longer than a taxi would have taken.

The next day, I woke up late, exhausted from so many days of traveling over the previous two weeks. I caught a morning bus back down here to my town. Traveling through the High Atlas mountains, I was again surprised and pleased that in the summer month of July, with no snow visible on the mountains, I saw waterfalls flowing down some of the mountains.

I arrived back in my town late that afternoon, exhausted, but happy to have spent time in the USA with my family and friends, including at the wedding of one of my best friends.

IST (In-Service Training)

Last week, I was at IST (In-Service Training) with the other PCVs who arrived in Morocco at the same time as me, in September of last year. We gathered together to discuss lessons we had learned in the three months since we all had last met for our previous communal training. We also discussed upcoming activities for the summer. We also had a variety of sessions dealing with administrative, safety and security, and medical issues. Some of us were due for, and thus received, regularly scheduled medical shots.

It was good, as always, to spend time with other PCVs. When I spend time with other PCVs, I'm reminded that I'm not the only one doing this work. I gain the insights of my fellow PCVs about challenges we tend to face. And consequently I always emerge from these communal trainings strengthened and energized for the work we're here to do.

During my free time last week, I was happy to enjoy some ice cream there in the town on the coast where we had the training. I also enjoyed some time at the beach when we weren't in training sessions. And a bunch of us PCVs played some dodgeball there on the beach, which was fun.

On the way back down to my town, I again enjoyed some fresh-squeezed orange juice in Marrakech. While there, I was happy again when I found more delicious ice cream.

Later on in my journey south, while riding the bus through the High Atlas mountains, I was surprised to spot waterfalls. Given that I was seeing hardly any snow in those mountains, I didn't expect to see waterfalls, but I was glad that I did, and enjoyed their beauty.

While it was great to spend some time with other PCVs, and while I was glad to gain their insights and support, it was tiring doing that traveling. I've been using my free time to rest up since I got back here to my town.

Revisiting old friends, visiting new places

At the end of last week, I started traveling north. Since three weeks had passed since the big storm here in Morocco, thus giving the high elevation snow ample time to melt, I didn't expect the bus ride through the High Atlas mountains to be more spectacular than usual. However, I was thrilled to spot five waterfalls created by snow that was still melting. I also enjoyed the sight of dozens of goats walking toward us on the other side of the road, obediently staying on their side of the road under the skilled care of a shepherd as we continued further north through the mountains.

In Marrakech, I doubted the accuracy of one of those screens outside a bank which claimed that it was 42 degrees Celsius, which would've meant it was 107 degrees Fahrenheit. I continued north and I visited Casablanca for the first time. While there, I slaked my thirst at the bar named Petit Poucet, where Saint-Exupery used to relax between runs delivering mail across the Sahara.

The next morning, I caught a train and headed further north. Later that day, I had much fun visiting old friends in the community where I trained as a PCT (Peace Corps Trainee) during my first couple of months in Morocco. When I first saw this one boy, who's a wonderful friend of mine, for the first time again in months, he literally jumped through the air into my arms. I was joyous spending time with my friends there.

The next morning, I continued even further north, since I am up here this week for work activities as a PCV. Yesterday I spotted a cafe high on a hillside and made a mental note to return to check it out. After exploring the older part of the city, known as "the medina," I was exiting the medina on an old brick staircase which led me through the middle of what I thought was another hillside cafe with remarkable views of the Rif mountains. I continued on to the newer part of the city, where I finally ate a meatball sandwich, and walked across the street to eat a delectable eclair and another delicious dessert at a patisserie. I then continued back to my lodging for the night.

Today some other PCVs and I met with some Moroccans to discuss logistics of activities we'll be doing here later this week. Toward the end of the day, I headed back out and came to this hillside cafe, with its amazing views. Once I was sitting here enjoying some fresh squeezed orange juice, I realized that the cafe in which I was, and still am, sitting, is both the one I spotted from below as well as the one through which I walked when exiting the medina. It is very pleasant here. I have been very much enjoying the views of the Rif mountains from this spot.

In the last couple of days, I've also been enjoying seeing a different region of Morocco. Given that this city is so far north in Morocco, many people speak Spanish here. Also, cultural norms are different this far north than they are in southern Morocco where I live. Thus far since I've been here, I've seen couples sitting on benches openly displaying affection towards each other, which would definitely be "hshuma" (considered shameful) in the region in which I live.

Also, there have been women sitting here in this cafe. In my town, as in many small towns in Morocco, you don't see women in cafes. So this is another change which is noticeable as one travels to different parts of Morocco.

So it's interesting to see a new part of Morocco, and see what changes, whether it be cultural norms, or the landscape, or the weather. Right now it is getting noticeably hotter in the town where I live way down in the Sahara Desert. But here in this northern city, it is quite cool, with a constant breeze and the sea air, the Mediterranean Sea being a scant dozen miles away. The environment is most definitely different here. One sees, in the contrast between where I live, areas through which I have passed on this trip, and where I am as I type this post, some of the meteorological diversity of Morocco. In my town where I live, I have considered retreating inside a cafe when winds were blowing a lot of sand and dust at me. Up here, there are most definitely different weather concerns. While it was barely sprinkling on and off in the early afternoon here, by the early evening, it had started raining slightly more, so I migrated inside the cafe, where I still have been enjoying views of the mountains as dusk has been falling.

In addition to admiring and loving the scenery, I was also amused when this young Moroccan woman ran inside here, squealing and waving her arms. She rushed into the bathroom. Once she had emerged, and breathed a sigh of relief, I asked her in Darija, "Kulshi mzyan deba?" which means, "Is everything good now?" She affirmed that all was well. It turned out that she had had a close encounter with an insect.