1st week in Kuwait 50 days later

I wrote this post after the first week we got to Kuwait.  Now after 50 days I am ready to share…

August 10^th 2013

As I sat down ten other things come to mind I might possibly be doing before I start. Just now my chair was uncomfortable. I needed a glass of water. I wanted to make sure the lights were turned down upstairs so that Anne could sleep, but turned on downstairs so that Tim would have plenty of light when he came home.  The ultimate delay of course is the question of what to write. What to write?  We are now living in Kuwait. We are finally living the time in our lives that we have been dreaming of: the time to live together indefinitely, the time that would give us the freedom to have another baby. This is finally the time that is supposed to be "the new chapter". 

15 years ago we cried over not knowing when or if this would ever happen. Tracy Chapman’s The Promise was truly what we breathed day in and day out. His turn, my turn, his turn even when we would briefly be living together. Now, finally together without a death or a deployment or grad school or, or...  So here it is on the other side of the world. Life is so amazing.

Tim had spent a good amount of time in Kuwait before. He was stationed here when I lived in New York City in 2000. That was a time of letter writing, an occasional email, possibly once a week. Every so often a phone call came with time delays and the stress of not knowing what to talk about. (in retrospect, I'll take a 5 month deployment in peace time any day!)  But the letters kept us close made us feel like we were a part of each other’s lives. And maybe it is the past letter writing that draws me to write about this time now.  Do not anticipate anything jaw dropping or provocative, it is only week 1.  But this is what we did upon arrival.

Week 1

Friday Aug 2 2013

We arrive in Kuwait at 11:30pm. We had flown from Chicago to Frankfurt into Kuwait. Our journey had started at 11:30am on the 1^st. We left the farm to drive into Highland (about 10 miles away) to mail a big box as an experiment to see how long it takes to ship something to ourselves from middle America. It took a week.  We also were going to try to cancel our phone plan. This was not possible and I proceeded to do this over the phone with a very friendly Ashley from AT&T who had never done a military cancellation due to orders.  We went through this whole process together line by line.  It was fortunate that we were driving from Highland to Chicago via 55 otherwise I think I would have blown a gasket from her genuine interest yet lack of knowledge. She has a very kind and patient manager, I assure you.  Anyway, our phone was cancelled by Springfield I think (a little over an hour later). We arrived at the airport in Chicago easily aside from the horrible traffic starting in Kankakee.  Left at 10:15pm, made it to Frankfurt by lunch. Left again at 5pm and made it to Kuwait at 11:30.

When we arrived in Kuwait our bags were there but our visas somehow were not correct.  After 90 minutes and 4 different agents we made it through.  I was totally calm about it. Maybe from exhaustion but I think it was because Sgt. B. was there with us on the entry side assuring us it would be ok. How incredibly wonderful to be met at the airport in a foreign country before going through the passport check!  MAJ O. was waiting for us as well with water bottles and a Kit Kat.  I never knew how much I like Kit Kats or that they tasted so good after 27 hours of travel.

At the passport check was Anne’s first encounter with being goaded, as she feels, or as the Kuwaiti’s see it--celebrated.  This has been a daily event, and sometimes toward both of us. She pulls away and tries not to talk but depending on the situation we tell her to at least say hi. I think its good that she reacts this way.  I can only imagine what I would have done when I was her age.  My totally unafraid, precocious, performing self would have been a nightmare for my parents.

We arrived after a detoured trip to our home at 1:30 and didn’t sleep until after 4am.  We saw the sun rise every morning for about 4 days. Jet lag was terrible. I think it would have been better if we had arrived in the morning so excitement and nervous energy would have kept us awake at the right time of day. Alas, jet lag it was.

Saturday Aug 3^rd

At 2pm the phone rang.  We were all totally asleep.  Sgt B. asked if he could pick us up to take us grocery shopping in our neighborhood. We went to the Co-op which is a neighborhood specific grocery store that the locals shop at.  We got a cart full of food. Little did I know what I really needed.  After dropping off the groceries we went to his house to meet his family. They are so nice and his daughter let Anne borrow some toys to take home. We stayed for an hour and then went driving around the city to get acquainted.  We stopped at the Kuwait Towers and took our picture. Welcome to Kuwait!

We thought we were exhausted around 6:30 so went home.  But after a quick rest we walked over to the Radisson Hotel where they have a beach club that American Embassy employees can use. They have free wireless, a gym, a pool, and restaurant. All things that have saved us from being cooped up all week.  We ate dinner at a Moroccan restaurant just a few minutes walk from our house. We were all up again until the sun came up.

 

Sunday Aug 4^th

The week here runs Sunday-Thursday, with Friday and Saturday as the weekend. We found out on Sunday that not only would the Embassy be closed but it would be closed all week. I am sure you all know the background on this. This put a whole new spin on things. We could not do anything with out our Embassy badges and orientation. Nothing could begin on shipments or getting our health insurance, or getting Anne in school. We could not get internet or cell phones until we went to the Embassy.  

Monday Aug 5^th

Since jet lag continued to haunt us, we went to the club and swam around 4pm. Its too hot to do anything before 3pm. There we met the F family.  The F’s have 2 daughters Anne’s age. They played all afternoon into the evening while the adults talked poolside.  I think this was my first full exhalation. I am a people person so meeting people makes me feel better.  And by 6:30 it was only... 104!

Tuesday Aug 6

Anne went to the F’s house to play with the girls and their parents M and M took me shopping at Lu Lus Hypermarket. Think the size of a Target with three floors.  Though big and full of everything one needs it is expensive and about 30 minutes away.  I bought actual groceries, meals in mind groceries, this time regardless of the price. I have no idea what we were thinking at the Co-op.  Aside from random snacks, fruit and vegetables we had basically nothing.  M also introduced me to the Sultan Center that is a perfect little grocery store close to our house that I go to often. The prices there are no better than Lu Lu’s but its close.  When I say expensive let me explain. $7.00 for barbeque sauce.  $15.00 for sunscreen. $6.00 for markers.  $4.00 for a quart of almond milk.   Staples are more comparable to California prices, but anything that is foreign is tripled in price.  Driscoll’s berries are $7.00.  When I think about how we used to live a few miles from where these berries are grown and what I had to go through to get to Kuwait myself I don’t mind spending $7.00 to eat fresh berries.  Let me say that I am FULLY aware of how this is totally antithetical to the Local Foods Movement.  This pregnant girl needs her berries.

1.9KD ($7.00) for Stubb's BBQ straight from Austin TX

 

Wednesday Aug 7^th

Tim finally got to go to the Embassy for 45 minutes to in meet Lt. COL F and to see the office. He was home so quickly I think A was still eating breakfast. Tim walked next door to The Palm’s hotel and inquired about renting a car over the weekend. We drove all over downtown seeing as much as we could on the map we have.  The city is built on a grid with 5 North/South roads and then 6 ring roads that intersect them. Think of a small section of a spider’s web.  I think it is pretty easy to navigate around the neighborhoods. . Afterwards Anne and I took Tim to the Sultan Center to show him the close and nice grocery store. This was our most awkward “celebration”. Tim did well to keep us moving.  It is hard not to be totally respectful of a person wearing a dish dash. We are so used to seeing someone in a robe as honorable and pious. Not necessarily here. After this person kissed me I pulled away quickly. I felt terrible afterwards. It is such a mix of wanting to understand and be a guest in this culture and always needing to be cautious and have clear boundaries.  I think at the end of the year A will have a very distinct sense of personal space and will never wish unsolicited attention upon herself. Oh wait, she already does this. 

Thursday Aug 8^th

That night we ate dinner at MAJ O’s house with COL F.  Very fun to meet everyone and A totally loved the O’s kids.  She cried as we were leaving! COL F encouraged us to hit the road as soon a possible that is why we went to Morocco so fast.

Friday Aug 9^th

We went to Mass.  This is an underground congregation. It is only known about through word of mouth. There were about 30 people there. During the school year about 100 people attend regularly. We have been actively involved in the community since then and many of our friends attend.  

We drove late in the afternoon to The Avenues, the huge Mall of America style mall I referred to in my last post. We walked from end to end and mostly people watched.  There is not a single store in any American mall that is not in The Avenues.  We decided to only go into stores that were particularly interesting or that we needed something. So we walked into the biggest Dean and Deluca I have ever seen.  Ok, we didn’t need anything….

At The Avenues Mall eating Pinkberry.

 

Saturday Aug 10^th

 It was 1 week.  We drove to the Plant Souk and bought plants. Since the walls of our home are white and we have nothing to put on them it is nice to have some green… it is nice to have some green because there is so little here. Except, we do have a great little park in our compound that has fruit trees and green green grass. This is a little oasis.  Who knows who pays that water bill? 

Exploring-- I am taking a picure of the full moon, I don't know what Tim is taking a pic of. Me I guess.

Local Kuwaiti food.  Tabouleh, garlic paste, Lamb and Chicken kebabs.  Aqua Fina.

1st grader at work. Her school offers Saxon Math, just like we grew up with. See, its not so different....

There it is…

I guess at the end of the first week I was feeling a lot less anxious but it still felt like we were visiting. Today as I revise this I feel excited.  I like living here.  It may be home number 6 in the last decade but it is home. For now.

A caveat: To some of you it may be boring to read this mundane stuff but I am posting this so that those of you who have known us our whole lives and still think of us a two eager kids from Greenville, IL,  can read it and feel that you are a part of why we are brave enough to live this way.  I don’t mean the kind of brave that screenwriters or song lyricists contemplate in order to capture the nuances of a struggle worth pulling through. This kind of brave is about being present in each moment so that the world can fall into our laps. So that we will be willing to become fully ourselves even when we want to crawl into bed or fly back home.  If I write it, if I tell you that this is what we are trying to do, maybe it will be in our consciousness enough to be true. We wouldn't be here with out you.  Since June Anne and I have been singing this song by Sara Bareilles.

 

 

 

A Long Day's Journey and Djemaa el-Fna

We finally got out of Fes at a little before lunch (that's about how we tell time in the Middle East).  Upon consulting Google Maps prior to our departure, I was presented with the following choices as to our route south.  As you can see, the recommended route was to head back West to Rabat and go down through Casablanca before heading back South and inland.  Knowing we would be eventually covering that route as we headed North out of Essaouira, I studied the other two routes suggested, both looked indirect at best.  But looking closer I saw an un-recommended route (what does google know anyway?!)  By my eye, the N8 ran almost directly between the two cities, consulting my trusty lonely planet guide, I did a quick search of the small towns along the way and found out that the route would be mountainous, forested, and would even pass through the town of Irfan, famed for its Scandinavian style architecture, ski resorts, and serene beauty.  Sounded good to me, decision made, we headed south.

The decision turned out to be a good one.  Although the road was long, and poorly maintained, and busy with slow trucks, and did I mention long?  Knowing what lay ahead of us in Marrakech, we insisted that Anne take an afternoon nap, so Mary and I got to enjoy a long ride together across the middle atlas mountains of Morocco.  The town of Irfan was as picturesque as we could have imagined, with tall trees, beautiful buildings and a quiet relaxed atmosphere.  There is an Islamic University here built with money donated by the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia which attracts wealthy Muslim students from around the world.   Irfan is also home to some of the only Alpine skiing in morocco, it is said that while Europeans vacation in Marrakech, Moroccans vacation in Irfan.  I could see why.  

 After about 7 hours of driving we finally pulled into Marrakech, all we knew of where we were staying was a dot on a map.  Something we have learned along the way was that just because a road has a name in Morocco, especially in the old medinas, doesn't mean you can drive down it.  We decided to press our luck and see how close we could get.  What started off as a surprisingly easy route, quickly became difficult as the road narrowed to less than 18" on each side of our vehicle, and those 3 feet were crowded with people, bicycles, and scooters.  Luckily, as is often the case in Morocco, just when you look hopelessly lost a smiling young boy comes out of nowhere to rescue you.  This young lad just happened to know exactly where our Riad Nashira was, and was even so kind as to guide us down the narrow street.  Eventually we came to an archway, which honestly I didn't think we could fit through.  There was a sign hung on it with the name of our Riad, so Mary jumped out and walked with him, and I stayed in with our vehicle, and the just waking Anne.  After about 10 minutes, Mary returned with the Porter, who confirmed, that yes we did need to maneuver our vehicle through that archway, and no, he wasn't sure it would fit. After an 8 point turn, (Mr Kistler would have been proud) and tucking in the rear-view mirrors, we managed to squeeze through the archway, wind-our way down a few more narrow alleys, and just as it was getting dark, arrive to and overgrown junk lot which would serve as our parking accommodations for the remainder of our stay.  The 'attendant' or rough looking guy hanging out there, asked for my keys, and handed me a dirty slip of paper with a number scrawled on it, in Arabic, using the imperative tense of the verb 'protect', he told me to protect the slip of paper, likewise, using my most commanding imperative I told him in Arabic to protect my key.  After retracing our route back to the riad, settling up with our impromptu guide and entering a beautiful door on an otherwise nondescript wall, we entered an oasis of calm and monochromatic-ism.
After a full day on the road, and the chaos of our arrival, walking into the Riad was like a breath of fresh air.  After enjoying complimentary mint tea and cookies, we were shown our room, which to Anne's delight was only steps away from the pool.  We changed into our swim attire and took a quick dip in the refreshing water, changed our clothes, and prepared to head out for our nights adventure.

Our evening plans were simple, walk to Djemaa el-Fna, eat dinner and soak up the atmosphere.  Djemaa el-Fna is one of those magical places that has been in existence for hundreds if not thousands of years.  As the sun goes down, the call to prayer sounds on the nearby Khoutoubia Mosque, and the action begins.  Hundreds of food carts begin cooking fresh meats, vegetables, fish, you name it. 

 Juice makers squeeze fresh juice, bands of berber musicians began their songs, dancers spin around you, the crown mixes with no one really caring where they wind up, just letting the flow of the crowd, the sounds and the smells move them . .  

The Hammam and other spa pleasantries

 I must start by disclosing that I am a no true connoisseur of the finest spas (I would not mind that job though if you are hiring!) I do however appreciate the spa experience, the limited amount I have had the pleasure of enjoying. Our life in California afforded me the opportunity to be a Spa member at the lovely Sano Spa in Monterey through the blessing of military discounts! But I am no expert; I do not play one on TV.  I can tell you though that the women of the Middle East have created a culture of excellence and this is not lost on me.

Women throughout this region pride themselves on their beauty and grooming. They are immaculate at all times. In my opinion Americans can learn a thing or two from their persistence. I am not trying to change us- I do not think it is necessary to wear mascara to say Wal-Mart.  Ok, I am never found without my mascara, so that is not a good example. What I mean, is that I think Americans are ok with mediocre. We are ok with wearing grubbies to pick up milk, we think "oh, its just a trim", and frequent the Super-Cuts. This is not an option here. Even the cheap here is superb, and never will you see a Middle Eastern woman in yoga pants --even if they were Lululemon.

Here is what I have experienced so far:

The second day we were in Morocco on our way to Chefchouan we stopped for lunch at Ouzzane. Tim previously mentioned our day of touring there, ending at a family home where we bought (unbeknownest to us at the time) a way over priced berber rug and blanket. The wife of the home wanted to give Anne and I henna. I have always admired the beauty of henna designs. I know that they are used in many ceremonies and can mean different things. However when she started she put a huge glob on Anne's hand. I was shocked and said, no, never mind. But felt it may be rude and I accepted the henna for myself.  It was nothing like we thought. They told me I needed to wait with my hand open for 3-4 hours... yeah right.  It was like holding pureed spinach. So after we left Tim stopped at a gas station and I washed my hand off on the side of the road. After only 25 minutes the Henna was very dark orange.  I did not know anything about this odd design.  Yet, when we were in Marrakech a shop owner saw my henna and told us, "This is the true Morrocan henna, not the designs you see the tourists getting. What you have is very good luck."  So I guess it worked out.  Pretty, no. Lucky, maybe. Blessed, Yes. 

When we were in Fez I had the pleasure of experiencing my first Hammam.  While I realize it would be good to tell you what an Hammam is exactly I figure you can take a quick look at a site first if you want an in depth discussion on the history and procedure. For this post I would rather take the time to discuss the cultural differences between American Spas and the Hammam and other issues regarding the effort of beauty in the Middle East. 

http://www.completemorocco.com/morocco-an-introduction/what-is-a-hammam/

In Fez, upon entering the Hamman you are treated with care but not lavished to the point of self-consciousness.  The fact that you are being washed by another adult is actually a comfortable, wonderful event. I found it was nice to have someone wash my hair, especially.  I did not feel naked.  On the flip side, in spas in the US, the effort taken to be discreet is sometimes painstakingly obvious that I feel super aware which, makes it hard to relax. 

After much time lavishing in a warm steamy room I was sent to relax with a eucalyptus mask from head to toe. This is then sandpapered off--literally.  A pumice stone is used with water to exfoliate your whole body. The only time I felt like my whole body was not “asleep” with pins and needles from the outside in was when she scrubbed my abdomen because she thought it wonderful I am haml (with child, and in Arabic this is assumed a boy child until otherwise notified).  It was wonderful. I felt totally refreshed after the stinging was gone.  Tim and Anne sang my praises when I returned, and I could tell too it was like a full body facial.  I just think it probably takes time to get used to the eucalyptus on sensitive areas.  The Moroccans do this once a week. When we discussed the women’s Hamman with Bill and Molly Parson’s tour guide he said that his wife will go once a week and be there all day to sit and a chat with other women.  This part of the procedure I am not so sure about. I mean, I love you all very much but I can’t imagine getting together once a week with you to sit naked all day. 

Back in Kuwait I have enjoyed two different spas. In The Avenues Mall (think a couture Mall of America on Ritalin) there is a spa called ME TIME.  Two hours for a mani/pedi. But seriously the best I have ever ever had or heard of. After a month my toes still look great and just yesterday did I have my nails redone at Tan-Fastic.   You might be asking, why I care to write about this.  Well, if the only thing you can see on a Kuwaiti woman’s body is her face, her hands and her feet you can be certain that they will look exquisite.  Given our position this year I feel it proper to at least try to fit in. Not everyone does this and I appreciate that. But why we are in Kuwait in the first place is for "In Region Training". So, call it training.

It took me a minute to realize what happens when Kuwaitis arrive in a spa. The women come in and go straight to a dressing room to take off their abaya and hejab. They return into the spa sporting couture clothing, nothing less than Armani, Alexander McQueen, Chanel, and the like. I obviously skipped that part and went directly to my chair.  I went from feeling dressed nicely to feeling like my Banana Republic was pretty shabby. Needless to say, these places are for women only. There is a scene in the movie Sex and the City where this happens. C, Ch, M, S walk into a secluded area where the women are not covered… the feeling is about the same, but I just don’t have any comparable attire to gawk at. All my Jimmy Choos and Monolos are in storage…HA HA…

Before leaving the US my dear friend Jessica told me to try the threading in the Middle East, this is why I have gone to Tan-Fastic, which is tiny little salon mostly known for tanning. **A side note here, So if only your face, hands and feet are in the sun and the rest of you never sees the sun then I guess you really have to fix your crazy tan lines** Anyway, my next door neighbor had told me about this place.  She said that the threading was super cheap and good.  I went right after we arrived in August, it had been a month since my last appt.   

So after about 30 mins looking for this tiny place on the 2^nd floor of a residential building Tim, Anne and I went in.  Immediately we realized that Tim could not be there and he had to stand in the hallway. Now, given he had to wait 2 hours for me at ME TIME he was not happy. But at ME TIME he sat at a café in The Avenues! Here it was just a hallway.  I was worried, I didn’t know how long threading took.  Anne came in with me. I sat in the chair and the woman started.  Threading hurts more than say waxing only by the sheer volume of times. It feels nearly the same done like a hundred times over and over really fast. I was in and out of there in less that 10 minutes and only paid 1 Kuwaiti Dinar!!! That’s $3.50.   I went back last night and had my nails and more threading done and everything was only 9 Dinar.  The best part with threading is that my skin is never touched so there is no issue about redness or god forbid ripping.  I am sold.

So, I haven’t had my head hair touched yet… this will be an adventure. I need to make friends with a blond haired woman who has lived in Kuwait for awhile so I can find out where to go. On some of the blogs here in Kuwait I have read that you can’t get out of a salon with out a huge bouffant and a gallon of hairspray.  I’ll let you know. Until then, my American roots are showing....

Roots. We were in Essouira and didn't have a mirror for me to see the back of my head so I made Tim take a pic..

But when its down its not so bad, right?

Fes

Decorative Coin Slot on the Mosque Door.  Zaqat, or Alms is one of the 5 pillars of Islam

To try to describe Fes, founded in AD 789 by Idriss I,  with words is to fail from the start.  To add pictures will add color, but the texture or feel of the city can only really be described by using other senses.  The smell of the souq where fish and meat and vegetables are displayed without the advantage of refrigeration.  The sound of 1,000 mosques all sounding their call to prayer at exactly the same time.  The feel of the crush of people, all pushing to squeeze through the same narrow corridor between the stalls of the market.  The site of more colors of thread than you can name, stacked orderly in a shop, with 5 others just the same beside it.   Fes has long been the center of Moroccan life.  Until the French occupation, it was the largest city in the country, home to some of the oldest universities in the world, home to the largest car free area of any city in the world, home to a history where “New Fes” was founded over 700 years ago.  The artisans of Fes have been carving wood, throwing potter, dying leather and sewing slippers longer than imaginable.  The craftsmanship has passed from generation to generation in a seamless line weaving threads of history with pride of craftsmanship resulting an atmosphere so far removed from the modern city and modern shopping center not even 10 minutes away as to be dizzying.

Arriving in Fes after a long drive through the hills from Chefchaouen, after informative stops in Volubulis and Moulay Idriss, we were surprised to see the sprawl that surrounds the city. After skirting the walls of the city, looking for our “Bab” door in Arabic, but commonly used to name the large gates which allow access into and out of Moroccan ‘Medinas’, we found our parking lot and were met by the desk manager of the hotel who guided us into a parking spot, before we could blink an older gentleman had disappeared down an alley no bigger than a hallway with our luggage.  We followed our new guide down a series of narrow passageways where we entered a large doorway into our riad for the next two nights.

Anne is our Official Hotel Photographer

The Courtyard

As is typical, or riad was organized around a central courtyard, with each room overlooking the well-kept garden and fountain.  On the roof there was a sunning area with umbrellas, sun chairs, and even a roof top bar.  Prior to being shown to our rooms we were served Moroccan tea with mint and cookies.  We decided to stay in and enjoy to hotel for the evening, so we took our dinner at the hotel, and were served a modern take on Moroccan cuisine,  Anne didn’t make it past the first course, but because the riad was so small and private we were able to let Anne sleep in the room while we finished dinner.  We woke the next morning in order to see the main historical sights of Fes which conveniently enough are located within the souq.  We began by leaving the hotel and diving into the heart of the souq, where I am certain few tourists shop.

The smell of fish, warm, fresh slaughtered meat, rotting vegetables, and smoke was stifling, and we hurried through it as fast as possible.  We arrived at our first destination the Nejjarine Museum of Wooden Arts & Crafts, or the wood-working museum.

Beautifully Restored Woodwork in the Wood Museum

  Fes and Morocco in general have a long history of intricate wood working, everything from hand carved keys and locks, olive presses, ornamental ceilings, musical instruments to bowls, combs, and everything in between.  The museum is located in a restored riad, which also served as a jail.  It presents a rich history of the tradition of working with wood in the region.   Our path to the next historical sight fortuitously led us through the slipper and thread market.  Our room in the riad had a large glass jar of spools of thread of various colors which Anne immediately began playing with when we arrived, I told her that the next day we would pass through the tailor’s souq, where she would find stores specializing in thread of every shade of pink imaginable.  As we passed through the shops, we stopped at one with a friendly looking owner and his son.  He hoisted Anne over the counter, pulled over the ladder and allowed her to pick spools of thread of every shade of pink he had.

Picking Thread

  It was a really awesome experience.  We then passed through a street specializing in leather slippers, I’m not sure how Mary and Anne decided on exactly the perfect pair, (or should I say, the perfect six pairs) but after a couple rounds of ‘Moussouma’ or bargaining, we had them in hand.   

Slippers

 A short walk through the labyrinth arrived us at the Kairaouine Mosque and  Medersa el Attarine, Founded in 859 by Tunisian refugees it can hold up to 20,000 worshipers.  The Mosque which is so completely surrounded with the marked as to afford no perspective on its size or shape, is still in use, and the beauty inside is glimpsed only in passing through the open door by non-Muslims such as ourselves.  The University, established in 1325 an is a beautifu example of the traditional patters of zellij (tile work) stuccowork and cedar.

Intricate Stucco and Tile Work

More Beautiful Decoration

I can't read it, can you?

  After following our ears to the souq al hadidia or metal souq, where the cacophony of artisans hammering copper pots and sinks, silversmiths decorating trays for tea, and Berber musicians with spinning tassels and hand cymbals playing their traditional tune, we found the perfect ‘genie in a lamp’ for Anne and turned back for the calm and quiet of the riad.

Not a fan of the donkey

Mary had an appointment in the Hammam, which in Morocco can be interpreted two ways.  The Hammam, as in a room in your house is where the toilet is, to go out to the Hammam, or to ‘take’ a Hammam is to go to a public bath to scrub or be scrubbed, massaged, steamed and otherwise abused at the hands of a local woman or man who specializes in such things.  See Mary’s post for all the details.

The final event on our itinerary for our full day in Fes was dinner with a fellow FAO and his family.  Bill Parson’s and his family arrived in Morocco just a couple weeks ago, and are engaged in the same regiment of travel, language and immersion as we are, only based out of Rabat as opposed to Kuwait city as we are.  As it so happens Bill and I were supposed to be stationed together in Tunisia prior to all that transpired on Sept 11, 2012 in Libya and elsewhere, when as it so happens the embassy there was attacked and the English school that our children would have attended was burned to the ground, so Bill was redirected to Morocco and I was sent to Kuwait City.  Bill and his family were travelling locally in Morocco, and as we compared our schedules at the train station we realized that our paths would cross in Fes.  We arranged to have dinner at a restaurant in the medina called Clock Café.  Clock café is located across just across the aisle or street from the Medersa Bou Inania which is a stunning example of an Islamic school very similar to the Medersa al Attarine mentioned previously.

  As it was nearly closing time, as well as prayer time, I was able to arrange for a local gentlemen to waive the ticket fee, and just take us in a give us a quick 15 minute explanation of the school, as well as explain some of its particulars such as the purpose for the brass spheres on the top of the minaret (lighting rod) and the history of another building located directly across from the Medersa (university), the Water Clock.

 Constructed somewhere around 1400, the water clock worked via a steady source of water which, diverted from the surrounding mountains, flowed through the upper floors of the building filling up bowls of water connected somehow to a series of twelve windows which spanned the facade of the upper floors of the building, as each bowl filled over the course of the hour, the window was opened, and the passing citizens could glance up and see what time it was.  The clock is no longer in operation, the secret of its inner workings lost to the ages.  The name of the clock café located next door is of course borrowed from the water clock.  The café was a good choice for a meal, our table was high on the fourth floor overlooking the medina and the nearby mosque, and as we prepared to dig into our meals, the sound of a thousand minarets echoing the call to prayer filled the city with noise. 

The next morning, we woke up, enjoyed a fresh Moroccan breakfast,

and secured our belongings in the vehicle and drove across the city to the palace of the King.  The King of Morocco holds a place in the lives of the Moroccan people which cannot be overstated.  A King who can trace his ancestry back to the prophet Mohammed and a Monarchy which spans 8 centuries, he enjoys a legitimacy unlike any other modern monarch.

Small Door

Medium Door

Big Door

A feast for our senses

Prior to arriving, in my mind Morocco was an enchanting ancient country that was the crossroads of many countries and cultures. This is in fact true, but my version was more like a cross between Aladdin and the Epcot Center's version than what is real. Those of you who have known me for a long time know that I have done my fair share of world travels but my imagination did not come close to how profoundly exotic this country truly is.

Anne picked out 9 different colors of pink thread at the Souk in Fez.  

Royal Palace in Fez

As Tim has mentioned we have been busy travelling through out the country seeing as much as we can with little down time. It is hard to describe the brain and body work it takes to be here. It is as if you must immerse yourself in a way would make quantum physicists proud. We are not here right now in one place at one time. We bounce from century to century. We float in mere meters from poverty to opulence. Color and light are constantly guiding us in and out of emotional experiences and transform our awareness of how Art, Religion, Culture and Economy were once fully intertwined and quite possibly (and in my opinion) still should be. 

I am struck by the ornamentation of all things functional and ritual, and possibly the inability to separate the two. There is no lost space, every corner has a decoration of Islamic geometric art. Having grown up the daughter of an abstract religious contemporary painter my eyes are comfortable with pattern and shape and the painstaking meditation of repetition. However it wasn't until we made it here to Riad Nashira in Marakesh that I realized that it is the surprise of the sacred geometry as it emerges from chaos that makes it breath taking.  Our riad is monochromatic, with little to no ornamentation. This lack of ornamentation is essential for rest, we can not appreciate the color and form constantly. With rest we can see new things every time we step outside the riad.

 

This video is a glimpse at the night life in Djemaa el-Fna in Marrakesh every night for over 1000 years. This is where all of life collides. There is no such thing as a free art here, In fact there is no such thing as a free smile or free hand gesture pointing you in the right direction. Though dinner that night was about $8.00 for all three of us we had to pay over $30 to get directions to our hotel from young men in the alley ways of the medina. Just taking this video was risky. Tim said that if they saw me they would make me pay.  

Tim has said on many occasions to Anne over the last five days that each large piece is made of thousands of tiny pieces hand picked by an artist who had to make each piece the right color and the right shape so that we see the doorway, or wall, or fountain as this exquisite whole. Anne is so good at seeing each piece, experiencing each moment fully that of course it is exhausting for her. But she is a trooper and does all the walking that we do and looks at all the museums and schools and mosques with much interest.

We just wish we could get her to eat!  Most of the time I would not be praising her for eating a whole bowl of potato chips but when its the only thing in three days we didn't have to bargain with her to get her to eat I am pretty excited. There is a flavor or spice that pervades everything. It is a cinnamon, saffron, peppery taste that we can not place. I am determined to figure it out. Without fail Anne does not approve.

Spice Market

I will end with the smells. It has been a long standing joke between Tim and I that he has a superior olfactory sense. Normally I would say this is true. But in the last two months my olfactory sense has surpassed his. Just like how the eye gets tired and can longer see detail, so does the nose here where animal, human, trash and food all coalesce. Walking through souks in Fez were difficult for me. I constantly felt I was going to vomit. It has all been wonderful but it takes a lot more energy to do this kind of trip at 12 weeks pregnant.