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| Marrakech Market |
It is now the end of March. My last day of work is April 15. On May 16, I am supposed to start a 3-week long WWOOFing stint in Northern Greece. Afterwards, I would like to WWOOF in Bulgaria until the end of June, at which point I would like to come back to France for a Lille to Paris bike ride, culminating in the beginning of July. Then, the idea is to fly through Iceland to Boston and figure out what to do next in my life.
adventure. I traveled with my friend Kristin, a
fellow American assistant and she made a good
companion, which was important. We got back on March 3 after 10 days, but it seems like forever ago now. It was a wonderful trip - what makes a place
great is the people and the Moroccans we met are
some of the most open, friendly and hospitable
folks around. In short, a welcome change from the
somewhat reserved coldness of France, though I
don't want to down the great people I've been
fortunate to get to know in Lille.
We passed through dreary, chilly Paris on Sunday, February 20. We saw the Pompidou Center, ate some delicious falafel (in preparation for Morocco, I guess) and generally got overwhelmed by the constant craziness of this city which I personally can't take for much more than a few days. We spent the night in a charming, family-owned inn in Beauvais, near the tiny airport. We were met at the train station by the family and we really enjoyed the short stint in the country.
In retrospect, I would have hitchhiked or carpooled to Paris, saving a lot of money, if not as much time. I didn't think too hard about this at the time, though, and you have to make compromises/practical decisions when you are travelling in a pair.
Bright and early Monday morning, we rushed to finish our fresh bread breakfast and hurried into the van that drove us through the rain and fog to the tiny airport - resembles a train station. We crammed onto the RyanAir plane and settled in for a not-so-long flight. I talked to nobody, but Kristin sat next to a French-Moroccan woman and her little son, so they somewhat kept her company.
We landed in Marrakech before we knew it, happy to see sunshine and mountains. In France, the controllers barely glance at your passport, but they like to take their sweet time in Morocco so that coupled with exchanging money and waiting for my ridiculously huge backpack put us into the afternoon when we got out into the parking lot. We were met by Abdoul Bouasria, the short, gray and bespectacled father of my Moroccan friend in Lille - quite the personality! He was our chauffeur for the duration of the Marrakech stint. I really enjoyed the ride from the airport to their house, complete with Arabic radio music, warm sun streaming through the windows and witnessing the insane Marrakech convergence of cars, bikes, motorcycles, pedestrians and everyone in between. This is a very modern city, with all the noise and pollution that one can imagine.
Our three days with the Bouasrias in Marrakech and the vicinity included highlights such as an unofficial tour through the Jewish Quarter, a hike in the High Atlas mountains, a traditional women-only hammam and clandestinely hanging out with 18-year-old Ali and his friends. I say clandestinely because the parents like to keep a tight lid on their son, so he can successfully finish high school and go to university in France. They don't entirely succeed in this aspect, but the dynamic still persists. Personally, despite the delicious food, comfortable bed, free chauffeur and tour guide services, towards the end I felt sort of stifled by these two retired science professors and looked forward to escaping to Essaouira, the blue-tinged Western port.
And escape we did - on a Moroccan, read: non-tourist bus with no AC and random stops on the roadside, on a hot late afternoon. Essaouira is cooler and more relaxed, though certainly not free of hassle by the locals getting in our faces. In fact, we were pursued more doggedly here because we were
no longer accompanied by a Moroccan male so we really faced the gauntlet of men, boys and women trying to sell us everything from housing to cakes to restaurants. Two white females traveling alone - not so much an outright risk as an open invitation to harassment. However, I enjoyed the freedom of
planning our own schedule, which we were sort of deprived of in Marrakech. We stayed two nights in a hidden hostel, a renovated riyadh. The guard who works there is an extremely sketchy-looking Moroccan man, who speaks nothing but Arabic (possibly Berber?) but who was also very sweet and hospitable. I felt bad, as he seemed to be picked up off the street to spend his time roaming around this place and sleeping on a couch. The hostel was halfway empty for some reason, though it was dirt cheap for pretty good accommodation. We were able to spend one full day and two nights exploring Essaouira, taking in a gorgeous sunset over the sea, not-too-hot weather and authentic Argan products from a women's cooperative in the area.
I didn't like fending off the horribly disrespectful men, especially the one who got in my face with selling his cookies and telling me to go back to France, while I was taking pictures of the clear sunset with the seagulls. Kristin didn't believe that I experienced - maybe I was looking extra feminine, with my dress.
We left the coast early Saturday morning, spending an entire day in transit. We went back to Marrakech on a tourist bus and from there hopped a train up north to the imperial city of Meknès. After much needless worrying, we were met by Jamel, his friend Adel and Adel's Couchsurfer Christina, another American. We spent a wonderful two nights with these two guys, staying with Jamel's family and being further impressed by Moroccan hospitality. Meknès' medina is maybe not as interesting as Marrakech's but it has plenty of other things to offer. Our first night, we went out with the guys and tried Meknès wine, all while being thoroughly hypnotized by live Berber music. The drumbeats, droning guitar-like sounds and wailing female vocals will never leave my mind. The second night, we smoked quite a bit of chicha at a café and enjoyed existential rants with the guys, while laughing at Lebanese pop videos and saying goodbye to Christina, who left for the desert that very night.
Monday afternoon, we again felt sad to leave but very much looking forward to Fès, only an hour away by train and I believe the crowning achievement of our trip. Northern Morocco is lush, the opposite of the Southern desert, and hills and mountains surround this beautiful imperial city, truly a jewel of this country from what I can tell. We were hosted last minute by Said, whom we only saw at the end of our first evening. We spent the day getting thoroughly lost and frustrated near the medina, searching for and finally finding the Jewish quarter, with its huge cemetery looking over the mountains. I enjoyed walking through it at sunset, with the shining colors lighting up the white tombs and blue doors. We didn't like being ripped off by the cemetery guard, though. What can I say about Fès? Well, just look at the photos. A fascinating, mazelike medina and again, wonderful people. We spent some time with the Polish girlfriend of Said's cousin, who is studying in Spain. A truly multicultural encounter.
Said was kind enough to call his cousin in Tangier, where we spent our last night in Morocco. We were very proud of our ability to hail down a "grand taxi" to the airport the next morning. And just like that, in no time at all, we were back in Paris. Of course, we still had to wait for an hour-long train up north to Lille. As I say, this all seems like ages go. Yet writing about it now brings it back, in all its colorful, mint-tea flavored glory.
If I were to regret something, it would be to not have met anyone involved in the social movement in Morocco, specifically the February 20 uprising. The king came to Marrakech and he was welcomed with essentially a parade in the streets, but that's not the whole picture. There is still burgeoning discontent in this least revolutionary of the Northern African countries and it can't be buried. It is a crime to speak out against the king in public, there's no real social security and women with no jobs have virtually zero protection if they are abandoned by their men, so they end up in the streets - often with their kids. I also liked meeting Adil and Jamel's friend Nabil, an older, soft-spoken, dapper, Western/English-style gentlemen wearing a hat and sports jacket.
Back in Lille, I have just three weeks left of teaching. I've realized now, towards the end, that I really love my kids. Not that they don't make a mess in my classroom on a regular basis - they sure do. Not because I think I've helped them improve their English - I'm not so sure about that. I guess it's the way their crazy energy and excitement to see me can light up my day, and how their innocence is so outside of the world I inhabit. No doubt about it, I learn as much if not more from them than they do from me and frequently, I wish I could drop the authority figure role and just hang out with them. It's hilarious how the same 15-year old kids who literally get up and walk around my classroom, throwing pens and paper and shouting, still walk up to me and make me laugh outside of class. And I'll never forget Nina, the girl adopted from central Africa who enjoys speaking to me in her brilliant English and who seems to appreciate my presence the most.
The makeshift Food Not Bombs Lille project is on a roll, with Thursday afternoons and evenings dedicated to open-air market leftovers, bread pickup, organic and supermarket chain dumpster diving. Friday is usually cooking day and late Saturday morning/afternoon I find myself in a lively group of five to seven folks, traipsing through the city on foot and on bike, with loads of soup and bread to distribute to people we find in the street. The idea seems to be taken up by other French acquaintances, with added talks of a new squat that might host a "cantine populaire" and perhaps joining forces with an alternative cafe to hold a meal outside its door. All in all, I'm extremely pleased with the progress we've made, which started with an innocent chat over a beer with my friend Marine. I've learned of many other social justice projects here and I continue to go out and get to know as many people as possible. Building a network and integrating oneself into a community is not the easiest thing in the world, but when I think that I've only spent five months total in Lille - with vacation cutting down the time - I can't help but feel like I'm jumping forward in leaps and bounds.
I've learned SO much, from my housemates, environmentalists, anarchists, feminists, musicians, teachers, students - everybody I've met. I would very much like to come back to Lille this fall, but I haven't been able to find a guaranteed way to do so. I'm looking into a Master's in Linguistics at the local public university, but I'm not sure whether I'll be able to fill out all the dossier requirements on time. It seems that the most I can do is to aggressively pursue assistant renewal, which is definitely not guaranteed. I am trying to keep my head up and look at other possibilities, such as teaching English in Asia, with the view of maybe coming back here next year at the very worst. I figure that everything must happen for a reason and if it works out to stay here, great. If not, something just as wonderful will find its way into my life.
Speaking of wonderful things, I am super looking forward to Greece and Bulgaria this summer. I honestly think it will be a lovely experience for me, which will hopefully push me further in my agricultural/food justice work. I'm sorry to say that I haven't taken out my video camera at all this whole time, though I've collected many still photos. Marine reminded me of this recently and so I say, now is the time. Starting this week, I will start filming the life around me, as I see it. We had absolutely incredible spring weather here this week and I spent some magical moments sleeping and digging in my big garden. Working in the earth is one of the beautiful tangible joys of life and I intend to continue with it for the rest of mine.
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