Being Content Despite The Circumstances

Not only can you have valuable and insightful self-realizations in humbling and austere circumstances, but, I would contend, you're actually more likely to have such realizations under such conditions. I feel like I had such helpful musings today during a stop on my return trip south from Marrakech, after I went there for the weekend.

Soon before I left Marrakech, I was sweating since it has been hot there. Hence I was happy that I was taking a CTM bus back south to the Sahara. CTM buses are newer, cleaner, brighter, and safer than most other buses here in Morocco. Given that CTM buses are nicer than most other buses here, the air conditioning was on in full force on the bus. I had both of the vents above me completely open, and with the cold air blasting down on me, it felt downright chilly despite the heat outside the bus.

I spent much of the trip south from Marrakech admiring the landscape. While we were riding through the High Atlas mountains, I pointed out a waterfall to a couple of friendly, pleasant French tourists sitting across the aisle from me. Soon after that, we went over the Tichka Pass, at an elevation of 2260 meters, or 7414 feet, above sea level.

When the bus stopped for a lunch break in the small town of Agouim, about one hour north of Ouarzazate, I got off the bus and looked across the street, at the line of shops there. I walked across the street to find some shade. In small Moroccan towns, most shops, including hanoots (Darija, or Moroccan Arabic, for "grocery stores"), close at lunchtime, starting between 12:00 p.m. and 1:00 p.m., and re-open in the latter half of the afternoon. Given that it was nearly 2:00 p.m., I had no trouble finding a closed shop, where I sat on some unused steps.

I pulled out the round bread and the can of tuna in tomato sauce which I'd bought this morning in Marrakech. When I know that I'm going to be traveling during lunchtime, I try to bring a sandwich, or at least what I need to make a sandwich. A lot of the time when buses make these pit stops, they stop in towns where folks sell street food, that is, food that's cooked on the sidewalk. When I eat street food here, I get sick; thus, usually I don't eat it. Consequently, I was glad that I had brought along this food; I was happy to be packing the tuna into the bread and eating it.

After a little while, I became conscious that I was happy to be sitting there eating my lunch amidst discarded tires and scattered garbage. I wondered what had happened to me. Earlier in my Peace Corps service, I had been disgusted and irritated to be constantly surrounded by trash. I wondered if people would think me radically different when I arrive back in the states.

Then I considered how, before I'd started making and eating my sandwich, I'd disinfected my hands with hand sanitizer. I still have some of the same outwardly visible habits I'd had before I came here to Morocco. I figured that people back home wouldn't think I'd become a completely different person. I came to a similar conclusion again after I'd finished eating, when I cleaned my hands with a sanitizing hand wipe.

It's not that I haven't changed in significant ways. I have changed in a variety of ways. Yet I've also retained certain habits. As I noted above, I've changed how I approach the phenomenon of garbage on the ground here. It's not that I no longer care about it; I certainly do still care about it. I just don't let it irritate me. I do what I can about it. I've done environmental lessons about properly disposing of trash and respecting the environment, and I've otherwise tried to instruct youths about properly getting rid of garbage. Knowing that I've been doing something about it, I'm less prone to get angry about it.

Yet it's not just about doing something about it. Yes, if you care, you're going to do something about it. But I'm not less bothered by trash on the ground simply because I've been trying to address it. I'm also increasingly more at peace with my surroundings, because I've been endeavoring to value what's most important in life. Thus I try to focus on what nourishes me, and especially what is most essential, namely treasuring how God feeds my spirit, and I try to ignore what ultimately are more trivial matters.

I've always strived to live as simply as possible. I've always tried to value most highly those gifts of each day which have been most supportive and nourishing of my mind, body and spirit.

Thus, I realized, as I was sitting on that concrete stoop, eating my lunch amidst scraps of garbage, that I was content merely because I had food to eat. I found irrelevant the circumstances in which I was eating it. I try to focus on what's important. I thank God for my daily bread.

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.

I Don't Believe In Riches, But You Should See Where I Live

This afternoon I was in the bus station in Ouarzazate. As I was waiting for my bus to arrive, I saw a dog looking up eagerly and expectantly at a fellow who apparently was its owner, because he was holding a leash. I was surprised to see a dog which appeared to be a pet. One doesn't see many pets here in Morocco, and that includes dogs. When someone has a dog here, it always seems to be an expat who has the dog as a pet, and even then, most expats don't have dogs as pets here. Then I was even more surprised to see that the man holding the leash appeared to be a Moroccan. It was the first time I'd seen someone who seemed to be Moroccan with a pet dog.

I was waiting in the main bus station in Ouarzazate, where one catches older buses. These buses tend not to be in as good condition as the buses of the SupraTours and CTM bus companies. We PCVs here in Morocco tend to call these older buses "souq buses," since they'll let you off wherever you want to get out, and since you can therefore take one to the souq, or farmer's market, unlike the CTM and SupraTours buses, which won't stop at the souq for you.

Since I was on a souq bus, I was pleasantly surprised to find that the bus was air-conditioned! I'm inclined to agree with another PCV, who'd theorized that these air-conditioned buses used to be SupraTours buses, perhaps until SupraTours sold them. I also figured that this particular bus had just gotten so old that SupraTours had sold it. When we stopped for a break, as I was getting off the bus to walk around a bit, I looked down at the odometer, and saw that the bus had 995,703 kilometers on it! That means it had over 617,335 miles on it!

I certainly appreciated the air conditioning, given how it's the summer here, and how it's been hot in the town where I live down in the Sahara. I enjoyed pleasant temperatures when the bus was moving, but only partly due to the air conditioning. Combined with how it wasn't very hot through the territory in which the bus was traveling, which was surprising especially considering that it's June, and how we were at a higher elevation, and how the roof vents were open, I often felt cool during the trip north through the High Atlas mountains. At one point, I looked down at my arm, and saw that I had goosebumps!
 
As I rode on the bus, I was listening to music through my headphones. Soon after going over the Tichka Pass in the High Atlas mountains, at the moment I caught a glimpse of the first wide open expansive magnificent priceless view, I found it very appropriate as I heard Bono of the band U2 sing the lyrics, "I don't believe in riches but you should see where I live."

I've certainly been grateful for the gorgeous landscape here in Morocco. During that highest stretch of road through the High Atlas mountains, I was glad to see a waterfall, which was strongly flowing. Later, once we'd descended a considerable elevation, I was enjoying seeing many bushes with pink flowers and densely packed evergreen trees. I've enjoyed much other beautiful scenery during my time here in Morocco. Honestly I haven't missed having as much money as I used to have. I've felt constantly blessed by God with other types of riches which, I feel, are more enduring, more profound, and which nourish me in healthier ways.

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.

On The Way Back

On the way back from Spring Camp to my town down here in southern Morocco, I took the train from northern Morocco to Marrakech. On the train, I once again enjoyed seeing lines of what looked like prickly pear cacti, arranged much as fences would be in the U.S.

I also noted satellite dishes on top of modest dwellings with concrete block walls and corrugated tin roofs. Usually when I am in Moroccan homes, which are typically those of poor people, there is a TV. But seeing from the outside so many satellite dishes on top of these simple dwellings, I was reminded of how frequently one finds televisions in Moroccan homes, despite poverty.

I also definitely enjoyed seeing some camels while riding the train. This time I saw only a few of them. Last month, east of the High Atlas mountains, I also saw camels, but more of them than I saw this month.

Once I arrived in Marrakech, I stopped at a cafe to quench my thirst. As I entered the cafe, it felt a bit surreal to note that a flat screen TV was playing a music video, "Learning To Fly," by Tom Petty, in its original English. I had grown a bit more accustomed to this perk by the time the next song, "Satellite," by the Dave Matthews Band, had started playing on the TV.

I was very happy that I got to attend Mass at a church that evening in Marrakech. It was all in French.

I was pleased to run into other PCVs (Peace Corps Volunteers) in Marrakech. As I was arriving at a hotel there, by chance I happened to rendezvous with other PCVs.

I went with one of my pals, Dipesh, to a big square there in Marrakech, where we had some fresh-squeezed orange juice, for only 4 dirhams (which is equivalent to about 50 U.S. cents) per glass. Then he and I went to a nearby rooftop cafe, where we had a great view of the square. We caught up on how we both have been doing, facing difficulties, adjusting to life in Morocco, coping with family and friends back home being so far away, and dealing with challenges in our work as PCVs.

He told me how my training site mates, Liz, Tory, Katy and Margo, with whom I trained for over two months when I first arrived in Morocco, were staying in a nearby hotel. I enjoyed showing up at that hotel and surprising them. I was especially entertained when one of my training site mates, Tory, upon seeing me, was so surprised to see me, that I felt that he seemed to be reacting as if someone had snapped his or her fingers, causing me to instantaneously appear in front of him. We caught up on each others' experiences at Spring Camp of the previous week, since we did not all serve at the same Spring Camp.

As usual, I took a bus south from Marrakech back through the High Atlas mountains. I was pleased to again see waterfalls flowing in those mountains on my return trip back down south.

When I arrived back in my town, I was rather fatigued from traveling, as well as hungry. Stopping by the hanoot (Darija for "grocery store" or "corner store") which I most frequently patronize, one of the proprietors handed me a glass of tea. He also gave me some peanuts to eat. He continued to attend to his shop as I refreshed myself. When he came back to the counter, seeing that I had stopped eating, he again encouraged me to eat. In his behavior that day, he provided a good example of typical Moroccan hospitality and generosity. Being as tired, thirsty, and hungry as I was, I was happy to receive his warm gestures. Experiencing such generosity, having established a connection with him, I was reminded why I am here, and felt further integrated into the community here. It helps that people have been as welcoming as they are. I appreciate their warmth, generosity and friendliness. And, it feels great when I relate it to you, as it reminds me that I am a Peace Corps Volunteer, which I have wanted to be for many years. I'm glad that I'm a PCV.

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.