Bulgarian Burgers

I woke up today to get a 4 am transit down the mountain. I don't know what it is about getting up a the crack of dawn, but it always makes me a bit gitty. I blame my parents, my dad mostly. I can remember setting my alarm clock, if not being woken up by my mom, to get up around 4:30 in the morning and get to the car to go who knows where. Dad loves driving anywhere, I guess that's where I get it. It was always so exciting... our bags would be packed, and my brothers and I would trudge down the stairs, still half asleep, but with a pillow in arm and head to the car. And back in those days, when we had our sweet van, we'd already have our spots in the car picked out, so we would hop in, and make our own little bed. Then, after making sure we had everything, we'd all head out. And usually we'd all conk back out by William Floyd (Mom probably just after we got on the LIE), with the promise of bagels in Queens. "I know just the place!" Dad would always say, he always knows just where to go. I guess that's why I never mind getting up early to travel, I think I'm always expecting to get bagels. So I thank you both for that.


Here's a little different. You hope there's a seat, by the window preferably, and then pray you don't get caught in a vomit frenzy. With still an unknown cause, travel and Moroccans just do not mix. And nothing is worse than standing in the middle of a moving van, with a women on either side of you, puking into a plastic bag. Thank you Man for inventing iPods. I should have thanked you a while ago when I was taking the LIRR home after a Wiggles concert got out. Lord, was that a rough ride. I had my first MP3 player that I still wouldn't be able to figure out, with only 10 Weezer songs on it, but I listened to that baby the entire ride home.

According to local legend, two lovers, Tislit and Isli were children of warring mountain tribes and had fallen deeply in love. When their families discovered their relationship, they refused to allow them to see one another, let alone marry. The couple was so heartbroken that they ran away to marry secretly, and then threw themselves into the mountain lakes that today bear their names.

Devastated by the deaths of their children, the tribes came together and agreed that from then on, no one would be able to dictate who their children were to marry. The wedding festival serves as a yearly reminder of both this freedom to choose and an opportunity for men and women to meet their future spouses. Indeed, it is one of the few opportunities many mountain villagers have to socialize with the opposite sex, and people come out in droves to see and be seen.

According to protocol, women are made up by their families in traditional dress, their single status identifiable by their pointed head apparel. Potential husbands then browse the goods on offer, egged on by their friends, before settling on a potential match. The womens' families still play a crucial role, determining whether or not the suitor is appropriate - if his application is unwanted, a broken handshake indicates he should move on. If, on the other hand, he is successful, his bride-to-be will say the immortal words: "You have captured my liver" and the match will be settled.

Right, back to the point. So, now I'm down here, in Rich, one of the two closer cities to my town, running around getting some shopping done and some serious internet-ing. Which means intense Facebook stalking; no one's safe. I need to stock up on some goods because this week my side of the mountain is playing host to the world renown Wedding Festival. The story behind the festival is this:

Okay, so these days it's more like huge open market, and there's a tent where couple's can get a marriage certificate. It's believed that no one really gets married off these days, but can still happen. I'm told there are marriage ceremonies up by the lakes, so hopefully I'll get to see some of that.

So I get to play host to about 10-15 volunteers in my little house with no running water. These guys will actually be able to have a real Peace Corps experience haha.. it should be a lot of fun. Most people haven't gotten a chance to come up the mountain, so it'll be a good time. And I promise, I will post pictures when I can. 

Work wise, we will be setting up a tent at the festival where we will be giving free blood pressure tests and talking about good pressure vs. bad and what one can do to prevent it. We'll also be talking about the hazards of smoking and the health infrastructure in Morocco and locally so people will know where to go for what. So hope for the best!

Okay, so what exactly have I been up to... not much. I'm still trying to get use to this whole idea of me living here. The language is coming along, as is work. Towards the end of Ramadan, I took a little trip to go camping a bit and then spent a little time on the other side of the mountain, relaxing, cooking up a storm, and just having a good time. Check it out...

Plum Trees, with delicious free plumbs (free if you don't ask...)

A Moroccan house, if you will

Can you find the man in the tree?

absolutely adorable.

pop-up tent and self made fire

Fresh peaches! Yum!

Looking down at Ait-M'Hamed

Enjoying some homemade apple cinnamon pancakes!

Bulgarian cheeseburgers with a ranch topping, my stomach was so happy!

...these ones had a fried egg on top, oh lord.

Weekly souk that serves around 30,000 people

check out those melons!

I realize after posting a lot of these pictures I need to take some more pictures of my own village. I don't know why I just haven't yet. I think it's I don't really think to bring my camera along with me when I take walks, and I apologize. But, I'm on it next time.

Alright readers, I hate to leave, but my ADD is kicking in and I do have some errands to run. A lot of food and other items I need to run around town to buy. There's no Target, no one stop shopping in this town. One day maybe...

Ramadan

Well folks, Ramadan has started. A month where you can actually sit all day and do nothing with the excuse, “well, it’s Ramadan.” Yes, no eating or drinking, or any sort of enjoyment until sunset. Transportation stops, intense labor continues, and everything that you just got use to, has turned upside down. It’s so much fun.

But let’s backtrack a tad bit. Last I left you guys I was head off to Post Service Training. And oh how glorious it was. Actually, it was nice; seeing friends, sleeping in a hotel, food that’s paid for, getting to see the new Harry Potter (oh yeah, don’t think I would have missed that!) no complaints. And at the end of our week of sharing our feelings, experiences, and stomach problems, we ended our week with a Gayla. That’s right gaYla. With a movie (“But, I’m a Cheerleader”) the first night and then a giant dance party (same sex date appreciated) the second to help support our Pride group over here, we celebrated in style...

Ahh date night.

My date for the night, Fatima!

Some of my more appropriate artwork!

This one, not so much, but I tried!

The couples.. and yes, those are my little pink shorts he's wearing. No judgement please.

So yes, Ramadan started last week and it has been a interesting site. Life switches from day to night and it is definitely a time for family. Families travel long distances just to be with each other for the the celebratory month. And right as the sunsets, those fasting are just so excited, (or at least I am). Because it’s at this time when you can finally take that sip of water, taste that soup you’ve been cooking for the past 2 hours, and rip off a piece of fat bread (bread stuffed with onions, peppers, tomatoes, chives, pieces of fat sometimes, depends on the family) and stuff it all in your mouth. It’s like watching an Italian family eat- hands reach for everything, everyone’s talking and asking for things, complete chaos. I know this to be true, I’ve witness an Italian family eat thanks to my last roommate Alessandra (but there’s no wine here with break fast, darn.)

After five days of trying to get out of my site just to get my rent money, I am finally out, sitting on a terrace cafe and full from another volunteer’s host family’s food. I’m having another case of writers block, so I apologize. Not much has gone on since I’ve left post service training. Wish I had some more exciting news for everyone. But the basics: I’m meeting new people every day, I made a garden and fire pit in my yard, I screamed at some kids for banging on my window, the usual for life in Morocco.

I hope to write more and have some more for you guys next week! Sorry about the short entry.

Onward & Upward

It’s funny to me what brings people back into focus. Whether it be just getting out of your house for more than an hour, finally getting in some sort of exercise, meeting one new person, talking to a few of old friends, or even to some new ones. And then when all else fails, there’s good old Mom to tell you that it is perfectly fine that you’ve spent the last 2 days watching seasons 2 and 3 of Scrubs. For me, it was all of the above. But when you do find it, coming back into focus and realizing there is things to be done, is refreshing.

A little backstory to this rambling. I’ve done a bit of traveling in the last couple weeks or so- a much needed mini vacation. It started off with a regional meeting that a bunch of different volunteers in a variety of stages (different years in) attended. It was really cool to meet all these people and hear their experiences thus far. I then went on to meet up with a wonderful friend of mine- where we hung out, ate some great food, went to beautiful waterfalls and just relaxed. We also cooked for ourselves for the first real time- fettucini alfredo with chicken... awesome.

Waterfall in Ouzoud

The next step in my trip brought us to Marrakech where I was never so happy to forget my passport. Because of my forgetfulness, we were not able to stay at the smaller hotel where a lot of the other volunteers were staying, but we went over to an amazingly nice riad. A riad is basically like a hotel, but it’s that nice traditional Moroccan style housing you see on House Hunters International- with the courtyard in the middle of it and all the rooms stemming off from that. Long story short, it was the best mishap I’ve had in a while.

Looking down in our Riad in Marrakech

After this, we made our way down to a music festival where we got to see and meet a lot of other volunteers and see some great music. Bear with me, I’m trying to summarize and I apologize for lack of pictures- my camera died towards the beginning of the trip, figures, so I have to steal them from my other half. So all in all, the traveling was a lot of fun, but towards the end I could not wait to get home. And I think that feeling alone, the feeling of wanting to go home, was a great little accomplishment for myself. The fact that I’ve associated my new community as my home and I can call it that, makes me happy.

So, now.. I’ve moved into my house, I’m taking the decorating aspect slowly, getting use to all the quirks and charms that my mud house has to offer. But all in all, I’m really coming to like my place. Although my landlord, without me knowing about it, is building a new house in what use to be half my yard, I still enjoy sitting in my breakfast nook with my oatmeal and looking outside. 

Aspects about the house that I’ve been asked: 

Yes, it’s a mud house. No, it does not get all muddy & crumble if I get water on the floor.

Yes, I do have locks on my doors. I think.

The toilet, yes, it is a hole. (Check out the picture below- that’s for you Jill & Steph)

Though I have no running water, I’ve gotten down a sweet system for washing dishes.

It does get cold, especially with no heating, but a wood stove is in the thought bubble.

I did bring my hair straightener, because, frankly.. you never know.

Hand washing clothes, not fun.

My Front Yard...

...roof access

the salon room

yes.. the bathroom

this is for you girls... you're welcome :)

My kitchen- which has a new counter next to it now

My Oven...

a little breakfast nook

My room.

gnome, those are not troll sheets.

All in all, this is the first time I’m actually living on my own. No roommates - yes, it’s hard, no cuddle monster. Though, I am cat sitting for 2 weeks, so....

Thank you Mom and Grandparents for the wonderful packages. It’s pretty pathetic, but I’ve gone through a good amount of each package if not the whole thing. But no worries, I did share.. some of it. 

I hope you all enjoyed your Fourth of July!! I can only imagine the celebrations back on the island. I really wish I could have been there for it, but alas, I decided to take a two year hiatus. And even though I wasn’t stateside to celebrate, there was some definite patriotic happenings over here. There was flag hoisting, there was baseball, there were walks, there was potato salad, homemade cookies, Bruce Springsteen songs, and above all, there were fireworks. Okay, so it was steel wool used more like sparklers.. but it was still awesome. Here are some pictures from the day...

So the question I’ve gotten a few times recently- am I happy? (As I engulf a spoonful of American PB and Momma O’s homemade jelly... and yes that did just happen). And while my feet will be permanently dirty for the next two years, my hair constantly feeling like a knotted, dry, horses’s tail; my clothes never truly clean because of my lazy hand washing skills; my house continuously crumbling because lets face it- it is mud; and the occasional ‘what the frick am I doing here’ thought; yes, I am happy. Most days.. haha. 

I’m especially happy right now being that Jill taught me to forget the bread and just dip the spoon in the PB and then the jelly (thank YOU!). Which reminds me, Mom.. if you happen to make another batch of strawberry rhubarb, you know what to do, it’s sad, but I’m almost out. Maybe throw in some peanut butter as well...

So yes, I am happy. Plus, I have to years to read all the books I’ve ever wanted to read, learn to cook a buttload of things from scratch, meet people I never thought I’d meet, see places I’ve always wanted to, all of that cliche stuff! Leaving the states I took on the responsibility of people living vicariously through me, so I will do my best to deliver. Any requests??

Side note: I was so happy to talk to those I did from home. It meant a lot to me, you don’t even know.

Apologies

Hey Everyone, I apologize for the lack of updates. I've been running around and getting things done. And I'm gonna use the excuse of writer's block, which I'm convinced is also applicable to those who dabble in the blog. So just hang in there, I promise to have a few up in the next week or so. Or I hope to...

But also, CONGRATULATIONS TO MY UNCLE MIKE AND AUNT DIANA!! They are proud new parents of a beautiful little boy, Liam Michael. He is so beautiful!! So happy for you two!

Wanna Go to a Wedding? There’s No Cake, But There Are Stale Wafers.

So, how do you get over being sick here in Morocco? Why, you go to a wedding of course! Granted, I finally felt a little better, which means I actually got my butt out of my bed- which is an accomplishment if you ask me. But, yes, a wedding. My first here actually.

And when I started walking with my Aunt (pretty sure I was going to a wedding) I had a flash of “shizer, I’m underdressed- in my jeans and J.Crew button up shirt”. But, alas, I was not the only one who didn’t bring their A-game of attire. A fellow Moroccan danced her heart away with a sweet Mickey Mouse shirt on. So I felt a tad better.

So, after being sick and feeling that I had done zero integration I had the choice of doing two things: 1. sit there, take it in, and smile when needed to OR 2. realize no one really knows you here, so why not join in and dance, clap, all of it. Those who know me, already know that I obviously took the later of options. After being pushed into a room of about 50 people, and fumbled to find a place to sit while being stared at, I chose to engage in the festivities. Clapping away, swaying when told to, and then pretending I didn’t hear what people said to me (because I didn’t understand). All in all it was going pretty well. I was even told to dance a few times- I politely declined, answering maybe later, not now, God willing in the future (they ate it up).

So after eating, which itself was a free for all, the dancing commenced. But it was at this moment, the moment where I found myself comfortable, did I look up to see my local tahanut friend with his camera phone pointed at me. Now, I, in my ninja like ways, kept my hands strategically placed in front of my face so he could not capture any sort of flattering picture. This lasted for a good 5-6 minutes. Finally, his friend next to him caught eyes with me and it clicked in his head that I knew what was going on. So he told his friend with the camera, and they laughed and shouted my name- it was a good laugh, then I quickly noticed that everyone else was looking at me (God forbid I understand something and joke... but oh well).

These guys proceeded to mess with me the rest of the time I was there. Continuously calling out my name, telling me to dance, and just joking around. It was a comforting awkwardness. And you all know how much I appreciate awkward moments. They’re fabulous. But it was nice to know that there are people out here in the community that are starting to know me. Play with me. TALK to me. When I first arrived to the house (it was at my landlords) he greeted me and was asking where I was yesterday, to which I explained I’d been sick. So even though I feel as if I’ve been missing out on something the past few days- I’ve only been here for a week. I have plenty of time ahead of me, and I already have a few allies' out there.

So here’s to integration... and to those who were very supportive and amazing through me being sick, frustrated and just a bundle of joy in my first days at site. I have never been so thankful for a phone plan. It helps so much to know my fellow volunteers are going through the same sort of things.

I Just Want My Mom's Turkey Soup

After getting up to site, I wanted to have some sort of plan. Give me something to do. And this all started off so well because on my first day I got to walk around my community a bit, talked with my landlord about renting a house, spent some time in my new house going through things, and then met some locals at the local tahanut where I bought my water and toilet paper (I’m not ready to go without it yet). Everything went well, apart from the obvious language barrier, but all in all, a great first day.

Then second day came, I started feeling sick. Then third day, a little more sick. Nothing too serious, just a head cold with a constant, pounding headache. Add in a touch of fever and you’ve got yourself a volunteer who doesn’t want to get out of bed. Now, it’s hard enough trying to integrate your first few days, but add on being sick. Not to mention being sick in someone else’s house. And while I appreciate my family’s efforts to include me in outings and meals, frankly I just don’t feel up to it. My sisters were amazing when they knocked on my door and brought eggs, bread and a salad of tomatoes and peppers. However, since then I haven’t had much of an appetite; try explaining that to your host Mom.

Now, while I’m trying to chug down rehydrated salty water- jeeze it tastes like a mouthful of the LI Sound & is making me want to vomit- I felt better earlier, despite that now, not so much. And it’s hard to try and explain in broken Tam that you just want to lay in your bed- even if that’s all I’ve done the last two days. 

So the first few days have been a little harder than I anticipated, but none the less, I’m going to be here for two years, so I’ll have time to redeem myself. I hope.

The Tale of Getting to Site

So today was the day that everyone has been dreading. We separate and go off to our own communities. Let me begin with, the only thing I had an issue was my luggage. I was not excited in the least to be lugging a huge duffle bag, a huge hiking backpack, a smaller backpack, my purse, and thanks to Peace Corps a whole new bag of textbooks. I appreciated that, thanks.

Due to some smart planning on a friend’s behalf, a few of us dropped off a couple bags at the bus station two hours early and then we enjoyed some egg sandwiches at our leisure.   

So after saying some goodbyes- or see you later- a bunch of made our way to the bus station. We decided to splurge on the nicer bus because, frankly I think we didn’t want to walk all the way to the cheaper bus with all of our bags. So my goal was to make it to Tinghir where I would try to make a transit up to my site. However, because I was informed there might not be a transit, I mostly planned on staying the night with a friend and then heading up in the early morning.

Upon arriving in Tinghir, my friend and I were bombarded with men asking us if where we were going, if we were American, all that jazz. Though one man was very helpful, and helped me find my transit up to my site (luckily there was one). With that, we brought all my luggage over to the van, and then I had about two hours to spare before it left, so I helped my friend bring all her bags to her house. We made our way over there, was welcomed with open arms by her host mom, and enjoyed a great lunch.

Upon getting back to the transit van, I was told another volunteer was taking it as well, which was comforting. Another “Basu” (again, using his Berber name for his privacy reasons) will be living near me, so he had the same intentions as I did with heading up. So we all piled in, and I was encouraged to move up to the front seat so I would have a good view. The van was all men, and they were all intrigued and excited by our being there. Now, a tidbit about Basu- he had given the speech at our swearing in, so with that in mind, his language skills obviously exceed my own. So while he was making conversation swiftly, I myself, was not. Not that I didn’t understand or wasn’t able to talk at all; but it was obvious we were not on the same level. And these guys didn’t let me forget it. So obstacle number one: Language.

The 3 and a half hour ride up continued with questions, a guitar was even taken out for a while, and the obvious stop along the trail for tea time. I was growing tired (from everything) and when I stated the fact, the gentlemen next to me (who by the way, I’m pretty sure wants me to take him to America when I’m done here) offered to move to the back so I could have the whole front seat to sleep. Um, yes please. Then, I was offered a blanket to use as a pillow. This transit ride was catered to me. It would be like if Patrick and Conor were at my beck and call, and did everything I asked while we traveled, (that’d be the day).

Finally we reached Basu’s site. He collected all of his belongings, we said our goodbyes, and he was off. So all by myself, finally, with the four other men in my van, we headed towards my site. Towards my new life. So we’ve got conversation sort of flowing, the music’s going, and life is good. Life is good until I think I hear my phone ringing.

I check my pocket where I had my phone. Nothing.

I check the seat. Nothing

Get the panic button started up. Because my phone is nowhere to be found.

Then I look down and see a huge gap between the door and the rest of the car, and see the road flying by underneath it. Awesome.

So the driver realizes what’s going on, and then the two men behind me join in. We all scramble to look for my phone. We cannot find anything. The driver stops the van, we’re outside looking for it all over the taxi floor. It hits me then, that I remember hearing a thump when I turned around to say goodbye to Basu and I convey this to the men. So my driver asks me if I want to turn around and go back for it. First, I don’t want these guys to do this all for me. But secondly, I need my phone. It’s my only lifeline at this moment. So I say yes.

The men ask me my phone number, so I could call it. Now, usually the first thing your mom has you do as a child is remember your phone number just in case anything happens. DO IT. REMEMBER YOUR PHONE NUMBER. Because I did not. There’s like 10 numbers, and I don’t call myself. So they all think I’m crazy because I don’t remember my phone number and then it clicks I have my phone list somewhere in one of my bags. I find it, find my number, and we call it. Nothing. Walu.

I get Basu’s number, we call him, he didn’t see a phone but can go back and check, but as I’m on the phone with him- my phone is spotted on the side of the road. Thank Allah. We get out of the car, find the phone. Smashed. The screen is cracked and lighting up black and white. There is no keyboard, and it’s not even turning on. It’s over. Obstacle number two: things break.

Now at this moment I have a few thoughts running through my head. What the hell am I going to do now? How am I going to call anyone about getting my stuff done? Do I have the money to get a new phone? Where will I get a new phone? OF COURSE THIS WOULD HAPPEN TO ME. Ali is gonna freak out if he can’t get in touch with me for a few days (we’ll get to Ali another time, just go with it).

And then I just shut it all down and I have new thoughts. It’s just a phone. I can get another. Of course this would happen to me. My friends are going to love this story. 

So we pile back into the van and discuss my options. The men agree I need a phone and are more than willing to help me get another. We go over prices (it’s about 250 Dh which is about roughly $31 and I know you’re thinking that’s awesome, but no- I needed this money for other things, but luckily I had some emergency cash saved up), and how they’ll be going back to Tinghir tomorrow and can pick me up a phone. Okay, that’s awesome. Then, the angel old man from the back mentions he knows someone in my town that might have a phone. WHAAAAAAAT??? OLD MAN, WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN IN THIS CONVERSATION?!?!

Awesome. A new phone. Tonight. Let’s do it.

So one of the guys in the van and I decide that we’ll try and get me a new phone when I get into town. He’s come with me to make sure I get one and it works and all that jazz. Which I’m so thankful for. So we pull into my town, get out and run to this little tahanut.   There’s four kids about 20-ish just chillin’ and then words are exchanged and one runs out. He comes back with a whole container or  phones and we sort through them. And when I say we- I mean my new friend. These phones are about 600 Dh; which I do not have. So my friend tells this kid to go get a phone like the one I had, cheaper and not as fancy. He basically demands this kid to go find me a phone.

The kid comes back, with a phone like my nice broken one, and we decide to buy it. Yes, I have a phone. And it’s even a bit nicer than my first; by this I mean it’s grey instead of blue. With phone in hand, feeling accomplished, I head back to the transit and go to my house.

I asked the transit driver if he could drop me off in front of my house, he not only abides by that, he literally pulls up onto the dirt, all the way up to the front of my house until he cannot go any further. I’ve seriously been waited on hand and foot this entire ride. I obviously start dying laughing and tell him it’s fine, my family’s starting to come out of the house wondering what the hell is going on. The two guys heave all my bags out of the van, and start saying goodbye to me. Then, the one guy who had helped me with the phone tells me he has my phone number now. Obstacle number three: Moroccan men. He asks if that’s okay, and tells me he’s gonna call and see how I’m doing. Now, at this point, frankly I don’t care. I tell him it’s fine, he gives me a hug and kiss on the cheek and says goodbye.

I turn around to my family coming down the hill and saying hello and helping me with my bags back to the house. I follow, exhausted and spilling out what little Tam I have to communicate with. We enter my room, get it set up, and I slightly explain what happened and all the tales of my trip. My mom sorta laughs and then tells me to relax. They all leave, and I collapse on my bed.

Such is life in Morocco. Now, where’s my tea?