Yousef d Al-Maghrib

Presenting Moroccan Bastilla

2012-02-03T23:11:00.000Z

Folks, you know me. When I travel, it's not always about climbing the highest mountain or taking a photo by the iconic landmarks that are associated with various cities and countries. For me, traveling is about indulging every single one of my five senses in the culture, the environment, and most importantly, the food. To me, the food is a reflection of a culture's creativity, resourcefulness, history, and tradition. Great recipes sometimes develop by accident, but sometimes they're created as a result of a fortuitous meeting between different peoples with different traditions. Sometimes out of the clash something absolutely magical emerges. While the kings, revolutionaries, military generals, and other leaders argue about who gets what territory, the townsfolk are chowing down on a new hybrid concoction of ingredients that restores sanity in the moment of strife. I truly believe food is that powerful.

Now, just recently, I had the fortune of eating an absolutely marvelous Moroccan dish called bastilla. Before I set foot in Morocco for the first in over a year, I had written down a list of must-eat Moroccan dishes and bastilla was in my top 5--yes, I had well over 10 things that I had to both devour and savor. I arrived in Meknes after a short stint in Chefchaouen and on December 31st before the end of the 2011, I saw, met, and most definitely enjoyed a moment of transcendence as I slowly crunched and gave each morsel the 40 chews that it deserved. It's perfect combination of sweet and salty, moist and well-seasoned chicken with sweet and crunchy almonds, other complementary spices giving it even more flavor, and finally wrapped in a thin crispy exterior.

Another foodie Christine Benlafquih in About.com, goes on to describe it as such: "[It's] a light, crispy warqa pastry shell conceals savory saffron chicken, spicy omelet stuffing, and crunchy topping of fried almonds sweetened and flavored with orange flower water. A garnish of powdered sugar and cinnamon adds to the fabulous blend of flavors." You may ask, what the heck is warqa? CliffordAWright.com explains:

The pie is surrounded by a very thin pastry leaf called warqa (which means "leaf"[also paper]), the top of which is sprinkled with powdered sugar and a lattice-work of ground cinnamon. Warqa pastry begins as a spongy dough that is tapped or slapped against a hot convex sheet of pounded metal, a kind of pan called a tubsil set over a hot charcoal brazier, in a series of overlapping concentric circles to form a large film of pastry. This collection of leaves, now forming a whole thin sheet, is carefully but quickly peeled off the metal and set side.

So how did this amazing dish come about? According to CliffordAWright, the etymology of the dish's name may have several different origins. When I first heard bastilla on a trip in Morocco's shamal, I thought it was referring to the Spanish word pasteles or pastries. It could very well be that the dish, like many words that are part of the Spanish language and Moroccan Arabic dialect, is a product of a blend of several cultures, which co-existed together sharing their culinary know-how. There's also a possibility that a similar sounding word was in use in Berber dialects for their chicken with saffron combos.

The history books tell us that the dish or some derivative of it was eaten by both the rulers of the Berber dynasties and even Spain's King Phillip II. The dish somehow disappeared from the Spanish diet perhaps due to the expulsion of the Jews and Muslims from Iberian Peninsula, but the Hispano-Jew and Hispano-Muslims who crossed over the Strait of Gilbratar or went further into the Mediterranean took the recipes with them and adapted the dish to the available ingredients in their new homes. Since historically it was a dish for royalty, even in contemporary Morocco the dish has kept its luster as it is generally served only during special occasions. The dish emerged in some shape or form in other parts of the Mediterranean even as far as Turkey as noted by another culinary anthropologist Claudia Roden who munched on pasteles made by some Turkish Jews.

I like to think that as empires, dynasties, and nations quarreld about the politics, taxes, and territorial boundaries, Berber Muslims, Jews, Christians were probably enjoying a nice plate of bastilla. CliffordAWright goes on to say, "Contemporary Moroccan cuisine is essentially an Arab and Hispano-Muslim cuisine set upon the foundation of an older and simpler Berber sustenance diet, with outside influences from sub-Saharan West Africa and colonial-era France." Seems like the best tasting things in life come about when people meet and share recipes.

As such, if you're reading this blog, it's just as if we had stumbled upon one another. I've been fortunate to have had Moroccan bastilla in the region where it was born, but there's no reason, wherever you may be, why you can't munch on this delicious cultural mélangé and its wholesome goodness. Good luck and enjoy!

Moroccan Holiday 2011 in the Shamal: Chefchaouen, Meknes, and Sefrou

2012-01-19T11:17:00.003Z

With teaching responsibilities done for the 2011 trimester, I took advantage of my two-week break to head down to one of my former stomping grounds: Morocco. Because my incoming and outgoing flights were both out of Tangiers, I chilled out in Morocco's shamal (north) for the entire trip. As I've said before in previous blogs (Shamal Series), northern Morocco certainly does not fit into the stereotypical desert oasis image of Morocco given its rolling hills of sprouting winter wheat and grass, lush plains, snow-crowned mountain peaks, and temperatures that chill you to the bone. The shamal offers plenty of beautiful scenery along with the always delicious Moroccan cuisine and famous hospitality.

On this latest trip, I got to spend more time in Chefchaouen hiking the mountain horns on which the city rests, got to sightsee around Meknes visiting the mausoleums, ancient prisons, granaries, plazas, and their majestic and enormous gates to its medieval city, got to reminisce with old friends in my old home town of Sefrou sipping coffee and sweet-as-molasses green tea at the mostly all-male cafes, and lastly got to walk around the Tanger medina. All in all, it was a great trip aside from the usual gastric disturbances. Below are a few pics from the trip. Enjoy and safe travels!

Maghrib mrra tnia

In Jordan: "Special Price for You"

2011-09-24T16:44:00.000Z

It was interesting to see different prices for different people posted for all to see throughout Jordan. All of the national parks I visited had prices for both foreigners and for locals. For instance, for Petra, foreigners were asked to pay 50JD for a one-day visit or 90JD if one's visit would be the only visit in Jordan without an overnight stay in Wadi Musa. I was told that the 90JD rate was set up to discourage Israelis or other Western tourists from crossing the border for just a day visit. As far as Jordanians go, they were only asked to pay 1JD every time they entered Petra.

At the Dead Sea tourist beach that I went to and wrote about, they charged me a whopping 15JD while my Jordanian counterparts were asked to pay 4JD. Even all the way south in Aqaba, the beach parking asked that foreigners pay 4JD while the locals paid just one measly JD.

Some of the travelers that I ran into along the way did not agree with this price difference and thought it was discriminating to pay more for the same product. They would often say that a policy of that sort would never fly in a Western country; everyone pays the same price no matter who you are or where you come from. Actually, when I thought about it, even Morocco didn't have different price schemes for foreigners (at least not posted officially).

I had mixed feelings about the issue. On the one hand, I can see why a government would seek to exploit something that is so unique and so in demand to generate revenue for the people. The question then is do the people benefit from the extra revenue or is it eaten up in government bureaucracy? A lot of Jordanians would argue that it's often the latter.

Dionysiac painting in Little Petra

Also, a higher sticker price can stem the flow of tourists thereby reducing the environmental impact of tourist traffic and preserving the country's fragile historical treasures intact. That's certainly not the case though. In fact, just last year a Jordan Times article reported a 42% increase in tourist traffic at Petra National Park during the first six months of 2010 in comparison to the same time period in 2009. The Art Newspaper worries that too much traffic may endanger some of the most remarkable sites in Petra like, for instance, the recently restored and conserved Dionysiac wall painting found in the Siq of Little Petra.

Another Jordan Times article goes on to say that the Petra Development and Tourism Region Authority (PDTRA) plans to use some of the funds to rehabilitate sites and upgrade services to enrich visitor experience, and that the new price scheme was setup with those needs in mind as well as the needs of the kingdom. In essence, there is no effort to cap numbers, and when things are going this well, I can't see the authorities doing much to contain the flow even if it's for environmental concerns.

Regarding the locals, I think it's wise that the Jordanian government mandate a reduced price for its citizens because the current foreigner price would put many sites out of reach for many. Reducing the price also encourages domestic consumption of tourism-related services thereby boosting the local economy. Not only is it good for the economy, I think it's wise that a country's citizenry be well traveled and that they know their country and their countrymen and women.

For the meantime though, if you're a foreigner traveling in this foreign land, get ready to pay up. But take it from me, floating on the Dead Sea is an experience like no other and walking through the red-rose city is once again something for which there is no equal. Did it hurt to pay? Yes! Was it worth it? Totally!

Maqlouba

2011-09-07T18:41:00.001Z

Sometimes when you travel, you set goals for yourself as to what you'd like to accomplish that day. Let's say for example that you're in Paris. In Paris, you must, of course, visit the Tour Eiffel, Sacré Couer, Moulin Rouge, and perhaps other landmarks. Some people get a kick out of going to these historical man-made architectural wonders. I too enjoy taking in the scenery, but other times I like to indulge other senses. So when I woke up in Kerak, already on my third day of what was supposed to be a one-day visit, I got up with only one goal in mind— EATING MAQLOUBA!

The PCV, PCT, and I had a very light breakfast so as not to spoil our hunger. Last time when I was treated to mansef, I was not as hungry as I could have been. I didn't want to make that mistake again. Jordanian families like Moroccans don't just suggest that you eat more; they order you to eat and I was planning to comply.

We arrived at the Christian family's home around 1PM. Immediately, we were engulfed by an assortment of aromas indicating that something good was in the works. Our empty stomachs were ready. The father took us directly to the dining room, seated us, and then called his grand-kids and son to the table. The mother was still rummaging around the kitchen setting the table and giving a large pot its final stir.

Maqlouba or Maklouba

Then came the moment we were all waiting for: the unveiling of maqlouba. The mother brought over a the large pot and a serving tray, placed the serving tray on the pot, and flipped the contents of the pot onto the serving tray in one swoop. In front of us was a mix of Jordanian rice-n-roni, fried cauliflower and eggplant, and what looked like pan-fried chicken. It looked messy, but it smelled delicious.

The mother and father went about filling our plates. I savored every bite trying to take in all the flavors and spices. I ate and ate until I could eat no more. Everything in that dish was so juicy. The cauliflower and eggplant were cooked just right. The chicken had been seared, but it was still tender. It was a wonderful combination of ingredients that produced another Jordanian masterpiece.

Shortly after filling our stomachs to the brim, the mother brought over some pitch black Turkish-style coffee. A sip of that and any desire to lay down quickly dissipates, and perhaps it was given to us for a reason. Any normal person would simply collapse after that meal. We still had to walk a kilometer or two back to the PCV's house.

The father told us that he had private classes starting in a few minutes. That was our cue to go, but not before exchanging hugs with both the father, mother, high-fives with the two young boys, and thanking everyone profusely for the marvelous hospitality they bestowed upon us.

Once again, I thanked my lucky stars and the cosmic forces of the universe for what had just transpired. I didn't see any tall buildings or historical landmarks, but I was fortunate to have been the recipient of some amazing Jordanian hospitality. Muslim or Christian, they both gave me the best that they could offer and did it out of the kindness of their heart. We shared stories, ate together, and sipped a little coffee or sweet tea to cap our encounter. I'll forever remember maqlouba and the folks that made that day a day to remember.

___________

Maqlouba Recipe

Breaching Kerak

2011-09-06T13:39:00.000Z

The first time I heard of Kerak (Karak) was throughan email correspondence with a potential couchsurfing host. He told me that the city and its famous crusader castle could also be another day trip from Amman.

Even though I had read Karen Armstrong's Holy War: The Crusades and their Impact in Today's World, I wasn't all that interested in checking outthe sanctuaries and other crusader ruins. I think my indifference stemmed from having read the gory details oftheir slaughter campaign through the Holy Land.

So before arriving in Jordan, I had heardof Kerak, but I had no intention to go until a fellow volunteer living inKerak, who I ran into while traveling Jordan's shamal (north), suggestedthat I crash his place. I thought, “Why not?”

No Change For You!

To get to Kerak, I took a bus from theSouth (janubia) Amman Station and arrived in Kerak about 2 hours later. I think the fare was about 2.5JD. I remember upsetting the money collector whenI gave him a 20JD bill. Small bills andcoins, like in Morocco, are a prized commodity.

I still don't understand why change is sohard to come by. Is it because the centralbank is not minting enough coins or printing only a few small bills? Are the general banks and central bankforgetting to turn in and replace the bills that have lived out theirlife-cycle? For instance, Morocco's 20Dirham (DH) was the greasiest and dirtiest bill of them all probably because itchanged so many hands.

However, before I blame the government orthe bankers, maybe the root of the problem is a lack of planning andcoordination on the part of the local bus companies who forget to keep changein hand? At that moment I wondered ,“Why was it so easy to break large bills in Israel no matter where I went andwhy is it such a huge drama on the other side of the River Jordan?” Fortunately, about halfway through my tripafter collecting money from those that boarded at the station and the straypassengers they picked up on the highway, I got my change back.

The DL on Kerak

The PCV in Kerak told me to get off at theoutskirts of the city near a truck stop. I got out, and he was there a few minutes later. Lining a major street leading to his housewere a few shawarma stands. We went to one that he frequented and were greetedlike family. We had the Jordanianfast-food combo meal of a shawarma sandwich, a small dish of sour vegetables,and Jordan's sweetened black tea.

On our way back to the PCV's home, the PCVshared some tidbits about the make-up of his community. He told that there were two to threeprominent tribes that controled most of the local government and that the familyties were really strong. In addition totribal affiliations, Kerak had a significant number of Christians who activelypracticed their faith. In his community,most of the Christians lived on the north side of the city near their churches,parochial schools, and cemeteries. He saidthat in general both groups respected one another and shared some of the powerin managing community affairs.

He told me that both christians and muslimsmade wise-cracks about each other. Forinstance, when the volunteer visited a christian family once and felt sick thefollowing day, his Muslim neighbors blamed his sickness on what they argued wasthe Christians' notoriously bad hygiene. Christians, on the other hand, would joke that Muslimsmust believe that Allah is deaf so much so that he needs to hear themsay 'Allah u Akbar' (God is Great) so many times during their prayers.

@ the Castle

The following day the volunteer and I wentout to see the crusader's castle. TheCity of Kerak itself is perched up on the same hill as the castle. We took a small transit van that zig-zaggedits way up the narrow and congested city streets and dropped us off a fewblocks from the entrance.

I paid a smallentrance fee. Then, the volunteer proceeded to tell the attendant that he lived in Kerak, showedhis Jordanian ID, and dropped his host father's tribal last name, whichimmediately brought a smile to the attendant's face. They spoke to each otherfor a bit, exchanged a few God phrases, and soon thereafter, the attendant toldhim to proceed without paying.

The views from the castle were quitestunning. Most of the fields in this dryand hilly terrain were plowed waiting for the winter rains to come. Off in thedistance, one could make out the blue of the Dead Sea and the silvery haze thathovered over it.

The castle was a labyrinth of tunnels withall sorts of nooks and crannies. Wesnaked through the tunnels, checked out some of the major halls, rooms, andwells, climbed to the top, and imagined the siege of Saladdin.

Angry Birds in Kerak

I can see why Saladdin had such a hard timeconquering the post. It was nearlyimpossible to scale it without getting shot at, burned by any type of scaldingliquid, or run over by whatever debris was thrown from the top. The narrow windows on the fortress wallsprotected the archers very well. One hadto be quite a marksman to be able to squeeze an arrow through such a narrowopening. Even though I'm no fan of thecrusaders, I had to marvel at the ingenuity of the fortress architecture.

Making Haram Billboards Halal

After an hour or so walking through thecastle, we made our way down to the city center where we made a small pit stopto refuel on some delicious kenafa--that mozzarella and crunchy filodough drenched in honey confection that just never seemed to get old forme. On the way there, I saw a number ofyoung girls dressed in fairly revealing Western wear. I pointed them out to the volunteer, and heknew that the families of those young girls were Christians and that in generalChristian girls and guys dressed a little more Western than their Muslimcounterparts.

Change of Plans

A few blocks later, the volunteer and Iparted ways. I went to the bus stop inhopes of catching an afternoon bus to Ma'an, which is about 40k from Petra,where I was hoping to crash for the night. Once at the station, I asked about going to Ma'an or Petra. I was told that the only thing available evenat 3PM on a weekday was one last express bus to Aqaba, the southernmost city inJordan. I didn't want to go to Aqaba tothen ride up north again to Petra; so I called the PCV, asked if I could crash,and he obliged. I went north to thetruck stop where I was dropped off the first time and met up with the PCV andwith a Peace Corps Trainee (PCT) who was sent to Kerak to observe aday-in-the-life of a PCV.

Later on that evening, we got an invitefrom a Christian family that the PCV had befriended. Coming from Morocco where 95% or so of thecountry is Muslim, walking through the streets of the Christian neighborhoodand seeing crosses, parochial schools, and Christian cemeteries just feltstrange. At the door, we were met by thefather of the house who greeted the PCV with the same God phrases I had heardearlier when the PCV greeted his Muslim friends and neighbors.

We were escorted to the living room wherehis wife and a couple of young boys greeted us. Even though the volunteer had told me that most Christian families don'tfollow the same protocol that many Muslims do in protecting or some would arguehiding their women from strangers, I still hesitated when greeting his wife,who was dressed in a simple blouse and casual dress pants with noheadscarf. For some reason, I felt asense of relief walking in. I felt thatI could probably be more myself in this home.

The Holy Bible in 3rabia

We had a nice little chat over some coffeeand some cookies. The father spokeEnglish and translated for his wife whenever she had something to say. It was a very open environment. The boys, who happened to be theirgrand-kids, were playing in the living room. One of their younger sons came out of his room to greet us, but thenwent right back to it, which at the time was blaring some techno-house-ravemix. The mother half-smilingly told usthat he worked as a DJ for private parties.

The father shared some stories about some ofthe scuffles some Christians had with their Muslim neighbors, but he said thatfor the most part everyone respected each other. He asked if I and the PCT were Christians towhich we nodded yes. Itold him that I wanted to take a look at his Bible if he would allow me. He brought it over and read a few of thefirst verses of the first chapter of Genesis. Knowing already how these verses read in English, it was easy to makeout the context of the Arabic words in use. He went on to tell us that the Arabic language Bible is a closertranslation than the English version because Aramaic is within the same familyof Semitic languages. He added that the Arabic translation is alsomuch older than the English version having been translated all the way back inthe 5^th century. I asked if Icould hold it. I browsed through some ofthe pages and just sat in awe of it.

For the longest time, I had associatedArabic with Islam and the Qur'an. Here Iheld the very book I had read ever since I was a kid, but in Arabic. Here was another book, considered sacred bymany Arab Christians, that was written in the language many Muslims claim to bethe language of God—unlike other faiths, Muslims are strongly encouraged to recite their prayers in Arabic so as not to corrupt or confuse the original intent of their scriptures.

From then on, Arabic took on a moremultifaceted look. Not only could thislanguage be the language of Islam, but also Christianity; of not only Muslims,but also Christians. It was a languagefor all Arabs no matter what one believed. They both prayed to Allah, but in different ways. They both recited scriptures in the samelanguage, but in distinct ways. Sure, I had heard that there were Arab Christians in the Middle East, but once again just like visiting Jerusalem, meeting people and seeing the Holy Scriptures in Arabic makes it that much more real.

More Kerak to Come

Before we left though, the father invitedus to come back for a special lunch treat. He asked his wife if she could cook up some maqlouba, whichsupposedly means upside down, and she smiled and said, “Yes.” The PCV was super excited to hear this. The dish was on my list of must-eat, must-tryJordanian meals, but all I had heard was that it was kind of like mansefwith more vegetables and different spices. If it was anythinglike mansef, it was bound to be delicious.

Because transits to Ma'an only ran in themorning, dining with that family would mean I would have to chill out in Kerakfor another full day. The PCV had noproblem letting me crash so just like that I extended my stay for anothercouple of days. On our way back, wewalked back through the Christian neighborhood and then back onto thesurrounding streets leading to the PCV's home. I thought to myself, “Wow, in just one day I went back in time imaginingthe days of the crusaders, had some mouth-watering kenafa again, learneda little about the community dynamics between some Christians and Muslims inthis small corner of Jordan, and got to see and hear verses from an Arabiclanguage bible.”

I would have to agree with a quote I read awhile back from Saint Augustine that said, "The World is a book, and those who do not travel read only one page." I probably gota few pages worth that day. Even thoughI was tired, I laid awake in bed as my mind raced to process, categorize, andarchive all of the experiences. I finally drifted thinking tomorrow would undoubtedly bring even more surprises.

In Jordan: Umm Qais

2011-07-22T23:24:00.006+01:00

Umm Qais Main Street

Sometimes I travel for a change of scenery and other times I travel to be transported in time. The great thing is that in Jordan you can do both or as some animal cruelty perpetrators would say "kill two birds with one stone." On my last blog I wrote about my trip to the Dead Sea, a place with no equal on the planet, certainly a change of scenery. When I took a trip to Umm Qais, one of the ancient cities of the Roman Decapolis (Ten Cities) also known as Gadara in Jesus's days, walking through the ruins was like stepping into another time period. The architecture, the layout, the Corinthian columns, the intricately carved stones, the grand plazas, the remains of their paved roads, and the living quarters were all so different from their present-day surroundings in Jordan.

I presume that their architecture stood out in quite a contrast back then as they do now, and it makes me wonder why the architectural elements of these microcosms of Roman life took little root in this region of the world. For instance, did the people of Palestine have so much pride in their culture and past architectural accomplishments that they saw Roman architecture as inferior or too foreign/western? Or maybe there were building codes that prevented the occupied to emulate the architecture of the occupiers? Or perhaps the most interesting question would be, did adding Roman architectural concepts to your home make you a sellout?

It's interesting that to this day in Morocco (who also had their fair share of Roman ruins), when distinguishing between what is "originally" from the country and what is from the western world, people use the term “beldi” and “roumi(a)” respectively or sometimes gharbi(a) derived from gharb for west. For example, when deciding whether to install a western or turkish toilet, the plumber asks, “Wech bghiti toilette 3adia wlla roumia?” [Do you want a normal or western toilet?]. I didn't find out if Jordan also used roumi, but I'm guessing that it makes a clear distinction between what is Jordanian and what is western.

Personally, I enjoy visiting the ruins of old cities because it reminds me of the transient nature of societies and civilizations--how quickly power comes and goes, how cultures clashed or adapted to one another, how people organized themselves in terms of social hierarchy, and what those individuals way back when valued. One can draw a lot from the architecture. For example, the many theaters, the administrative centers, and the paved roads that facilitated commerce can give you a glimpse of what was important to the Romans. Some of these values were not welcomed by the host country and hence the Romans' control of this strategic and symbolic corner of the world was short-lived.

To me, these relics of the past are a cautionary reminder of how western experiments exporting western values can go wrong. Yet despite these glaring examples, contemporary western powers continue to pry, prod, nudge, and in some cases take complete control through force as the Romans did. I make no judgement on whether one should let things be or work to influence others to one's frame of mind. I think that these interventions and invasions are part of the human experience with one idea replacing another and old ideas re-emerging as novel.

Stone-carved theater seats

Time will tell if our new experiments will be embraced by the host countries. I guess if not, someone else a thousand or so years from now will be writing another reflection about the ruins leftover from our contemporary world and will perhaps wonder if their new endeavors in this region will be successful.

See links on Umm Qais with up to date travel details and other interesting historical facts :

http://www.kinghussein.gov.jo/tourism3b.html

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Umm_Qais

http://www.visitjordan.com/default.aspx?tabid=176

Safe travels! Thanks for reading.

While in Egypt...

2011-05-24T01:47:00.000+01:00

In Egypt

My blog stories are still in Jordan, but my pictures are moving ahead to Egypt. In this album, you'll find pictures of Dahab, Mt. Sinai, St. Catherine's Monastery, Cairo, Pyramids of Giza, Aswan, Luxor, the Nile River, and without a doubt some shots of some delicious Egyptian food. Stories are sure to follow. Stay tuned!

In Jordan: Journey to the Dead Sea and Back

2011-04-25T04:19:00.005+01:00

After a few days chilling out with Peace Corps volunteers in Jordan's shamal (north), I headed south to Amman for what would be an extended stay filled with a number of memorable day trips and some surprisingly fun nights. When I was scoping out couchsurfing opportunities, most of the couchsurfers recommended using Amman as a base for checking out some of Jordan's most famous tourist attractions like the Dead Sea. Transportation to those destinations was readily available and pretty cheap, and if you wanted to go in comfort, you could always hire a private taxi.

It was kind of strange that almost every other taxi driver no matter where you hopped on in the city was ready and willing to go all the way to the southernmost or northernmost point in the country at a moment's notice. That was in stark contrast to Morocco where most taxi drivers had to get permission from gendarmes (rural police) if they were to transport anyone outside of their assigned route. Moroccan taxi drivers still pitched driving tourists to far-away destinations, but those hagglers were limited to the grand taxi (old-school Mercedes Benz) that generally hung around the airport and train stations. Morocco's city taxi drivers on their miniture Fiats rarely left the city limits. However, in Jordan, nearly all taxis were new model Toyota Corollas equipped with meters, leather seats, power-windows, AC, and totally ideal for those long hauls.

Determined to travel on the cheap, I relied on locals, travel blogs, and a Lonely Planet guidebook appropriately titled Middle East on a Shoestring for information on public transportation, directions to and from stations, and pricing estimates to avoid getting ripped off. Not surprisingly, you got conflicting information wherever you looked or whoever you spoke to.

Getting sugar cane juice in Amman

Asking locals for information was quite entertaining. When I asked one person, another individual perhaps a relative or friend would inch closer as the conversation progressed and then later added his two cents about the information. When one of the individuals thought some of the information was incorrect or could be improved, the other individual began raising his voice until he drowned out the other and then touched my shoulder to direct my gaze towards him. If the other thought that the new information was worse than the original suggestions, he would raise his voice even higher and began flailing his arms to explain his point. Sometimes a collegial Hmar (donkey) name calling was exchanged with smiles and laughter. Naturally, all this commotion attracted other people, nearby shop owners, customers from their shop, and even passersby. Before I knew it, my one-on-one exchange turned into a group counseling session.

Some individuals did want to help while others who expressed a desire to help were also in the business of helping themselves by offering you transportation, hotel stays, and packaged tourist trips for a handsome price. Each one would say that the other didn't know anything, so most often than not you left more confused than when you first started. After the dust settled though, my brain would start to process the info, I'd jot a few notes down, and then proceed to matching some of the advise to the info in the guidebooks and on the blogs. Eventually, I would develop a rather loose outline of what my next few days would look like.

Another memorable taxi ride

As you can imagine, doing all the research and asking the locals got a little tiring, and I was tempted to just hop on a taxi to the next destination. In one instance, one taxi driver proposed taking me to the Dead Sea and back for 15JD (Jordanian Dinar). Not a bad price considering that the hostel I was staying at, the Farah Hotel, was charging about the same for a small minibus transit for groups of 5 or more. As we drove to the Sweimeh transit bus station from the hotel, the taxi driver insisted that he take me to the Dead Sea. I conversed with him in a mix of Fusha and Moroccan Arabic. His English was pretty rough so he appreciated my effort to converse in Arabic and said that because of that he would lower his starting price from 30JD to 25JD. He then asked where I had picked up my Arabic. I told him Morocco and he gave me a hearty ahalan wa sahalan fik, a pat in the back, and then said, “Welcome to Jordan”. He said that because I lived in Morocco that he would give me the Arab price of 22JD. I tried to tell the taxi driver that I was not a typical tourist and showed him my knockoff second-hand clothes and tattered plastic bag where I was carrying my swim trunks and towel. I told him that I couldn't afford 22JD. He followed up by asking me where I was from because I looked Arab. I told him Venezuela and he became ecstatic. He told me how much he loved Chavez and because I was from Venezuela he would lower his price from 22JD to 17JD.

He shared that his assl (origins/roots) were Bedouin and that he was not like other Arabs from the city who only care about money. He reiterated as he had done in previous offers that he couldn't go any lower. I told him that 17JD was a good price, but still too expensive for me. As we drove into the Sweimeh transit station, he presented his final offer, “Okay, 15JD, excellent price!” I said, “Thank you, but no thanks.” The meter said .600 pistares or just a little over half a JD. He said that I owed him 2JD. I told him that he was crazy and gave him 1JD and asked for the change. He repeated that I owed him 2JD. I repeated that I wanted my change. He told me to xrrj (get out)! I repeated rather sarcastically and mimicking his accent, “Welcome to Jordan.”

Onto the Dead Sea (Bahar Meillet or Mayit)

I asked a few gentlemen leaning on one of the transits doing their customary chain-smoking if their transit went to Sweimeh. They grunted, which just like in Morocco means yes. The money collector on the transit asked if I was going to the Dead Sea and I grunted back. He then asked me for about .600 pistares, and once the transit was semi-full, we took off. We winded through Amman picking up passengers on the road. We got out of the city limits and went into smaller towns on the outskirts. About 30-45 minutes later, I was dropped off at an intersection with the Dead Sea Highway and not in Sweimeh where supposedly, according to the Lonely Planet book, there would be transportation in the form of private transits or taxis to the Dead Sea. The driver told me to talk to some gentlemen leaning on some other smaller transits and taxis. I told some guys that I wanted to go to the bHar meillet (Dead Sea). They asked me where I was from. I said that that wasn't important. I was trying to use my Moroccan Arabic and several of the gentlemen murmured that I was Arab. Another guy approached me speaking fluent English and said that he could take me in his private car for 5JD. I said I'd go for 2JD. He laughed and said 4JD. I told him 3JD and he finally obliged at 3.5JD.

We were on the Dead Sea Highway for about 10 minutes or so before we swooped into the Amman Beach entrance. I wanted to go to the people's beach that Lonely Planet said would cost 4JD, but the driver said that this was the only option for tourists--another lie. The Amman Beach Resort was super clean, with a sparkling pool, nice tables and lounge chairs, equipment rentals, shops, and food and beverage stalls, but there were very few if any Jordanians. I wanted to go elsewhere, but I had a taxi driver who was probably getting a kickback for taking me to this particular resort telling me that there were no other options and front desk personnel confirming what the driver was saying.

By the time I arrived at the resort, the sun was at its peak. Not willing to endure a sun-scorching walk on the Dead Sea Highway, I budged and paid the extravagant 15JD sticker price intended for foreigners; Jordanian citizens paid only 4JD for use of the same facilities. Later on back in Amman, hotel staff later told me that the Jordanian government had just begun to raise prices on all their main tourist attractions and I had arrived on the second wave of increases.

Dropping 15JD hurt, but I was consoled by the fine state of the facilities and the cleanliness of the place. There were no hotties at the pool. In fact, the place felt more like a South Florida retirement community center. Lots of pensioners were basking in the sun soaking up the rays and enjoying the therapeutic benefits of this one of a kind natural wonder. Various waves of tour groups seemed to come and go. There were a few young couples here and there, but in terms of solo travelers, I think I was the only one.

These two are either related or in the same tour group

I quickly changed into my swim trunks, went down the steps leading to the Dead Sea, and parked my belongings next to a plastic lawn chair provided by the resort. It was funny to look out and see people completely covered from head to toe with the dark blue Dead Sea mud. It was as if the Blue Man Group had come to chill out on the beach. A couple of gentlemen were manning a stand next to the on-duty lifeguard that sold the full-body mud treatment for 3JD. Family members and friends helped lather each other up. I went up to get my treatment and paid the 3JD, but I was told to take a dip first and then apply it.

I didn't run into the water because Dead Sea water is not the type that you want running down your face. With roughly 30% salinity, a little drop in your eye could turn things ugly. I had also shaved that morning, something my guidebook advised against. So I walked out treading ever so slowly to a depth of no more than 4 or 5 feet deep. Once I reached a location away from the commotion of the various tour groups, I reclined back slowly and lifted my feet off the ground. As I fell back, it was as if the water pushed back and propped my feet and legs up, a water Lazy-Boy that engulfed me, but held me in suspension. I had read about the amazing buoyancy of the water, but to feel it was like something completely out of this world. The water was warm and the sun's rays were dispersed in the haze that hovered over the water. I took a deep breath, took in the surroundings, relaxed my muscles, and just floated.

Dead Sea mud treated

After a good 20 minutes in the water, I went to get my mud treatment. Coming out of the water was really interesting. The water was so thick and slimy that exiting was like emerging from a vat of egg whites. No matter how much you shook, a clear, thin film stuck to your skin, but the slime was exactly what was needed for a smooth application of the Dead Sea mud. I grabbed a couple of handfuls and began applying it making sure every inch of my skin was covered. With no partner in crime on this leg of my journey, one of the attendants applied the rest to my back. I was told to let it dry so I went back to my plastic lawn chair and finished a couple of articles from an Economist magazine a PCV had lent me.

Supposedly, Dead Sea mud is highly sought after for its healing mineral properties. The high concentration of calcium, bromine, and potassium are considered to be therapeutic for the skin and other ailments. Consequently, there is no shortage of companies extolling the mud's benefits. What I can say in full confidence about the mud is that after 5-10 minutes when the mud begins to dry various parts of your body will get itchy fast. Perhaps the itchiness is part of the healing process, but as soon as I felt it, I went back to the water. The last thing I wanted was to get some sort of allergic reaction. What's great is that if there is any hidden bacteria in the mud, a trip back to the water will undoubtedly kill it. I took off the mud and then proceeded to recline back to my gravity-defying Dead Sea rocking chair.

I got out of the water when my fingers and toes had turned to raisins. I stepped out for a while, took some more deep breaths, and chilled out on my chair. Within 15 minutes, the transparent film that coated my body turned pasty white. I went straight to the outdoor sprinklers to try to take off some of the salt and sand and then afterwards took a long dip in the resort's pool. It was around 4PM when I decided it was time to leave. The facility had nice showers where I was able to soap it up and take off more salt.

The taxi driver that dropped me off told me to call him when I got out, but as I soon as I walked out, there was a gentlemen chilling by his car that offered to take me to Amman for 10JD. He said he had finished work and was heading back home. I told him I just needed to go to the bus stop to Amman. He said he could take me there for 5JD. I told him 3JD and he agreed.

Now, Lonely Planet and the Rough Guide claim that hitchhiking back to Amman is pretty easy from the Dead Sea. I think that's probably true if you're a white Westerner and more so if you're a female, and I'm guessing most of the travel writers are one or the other or both. Other couchsurfers I spoke to experimented a little by having either a guy or girl flag down cars. Another American traveling through Jordan with ethnic roots from Iran said that people would just honk at him to tell him to scoot off the road. While his travel partner, a tall, blonde female, could have a car stop at will--this may not be just in Jordan, but probably worldwide other than maybe Nordic countries where every other girl is a tall blonde.

If you look Arab, like I do, and wear the same second-hand clothes that the locals wear and carry around a tattered plastic bag like others do, some people just think that you're just another local trying to get a free ride. I got many free rides in Morocco and I figured Jordanians would probably be just as generous. The difference between hitchhiking with a white Westerner or a foreign female rather than alone is that instead of riding shotgun, you're told to jump in the back of the truck with everyone else, sheep and chickens and all. In some cases it's nice to get that star treatment, but in others, it's nice to blend in. Normally, I wouldn't object to riding with sheep and chickens, but I had just showered.

I got to the bus stop on the opposite corner (northbound side of the Dead Sea Highway) from where I was dropped off earlier. I paid the bus driver 1JD, and he gave me .600 pistares back. The bus ride back was no more than 20 or so minutes. On our way to Amman, we rode a pretty scenic four-lane highway overlooking a number of parched valleys with isolated plots of vegetation. By the time I got back, it was already dark. The bus dropped everyone off at the North Station on the outskirts of Amman. From there, the usual scammers were there offering to take people downtown for 7JD. The taxi cab that had overcharged me 5JD to take me to my hotel the first time around recognized me and offered to take me again for 5JD, but I told him I'd go by the meter. He explained to me that the meter is nothing. Another taxi driver walking down from a little snack shop approached me and told me that he would be willing to take me downtown for 2JD. I said, "Yallah (Let's Go)!"

By the time I got into the hotel, I had dried up and felt some white residue behind the ears, around the back, and my hair felt like it was moussed up. I took one last shower, scrubbed well, washed my hair, and then promptly climbed into bed. The next day I would be headed to Kerak to check out the famous Crusader castle and to get another taste of village life with another PCV.

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Before you rush into buying the Dead Sea mud or salt, be mindful that although it is "all-natural", excessive exposure to high levels of certain minerals could be toxic. The National Institutes of Health National Library of Medicine has several research studies on the Dead Sea mud. Some highlight its antimicrobial agents and its effect on alleviating rheumatoid arthritis symptoms, but it also has another study that does not recommend a high percentage of the mud in everyday hand and body lotions. Read them before you buy.

Anti-microbial properties of Dead Sea black mineral mud

Mud pack therapy in rheumatoid arthritis

Low levels of toxic elements in Dead Sea black mud and mud-derived cosmetic products

On a side note, I ran into some Spaniards at the Dead Sea resort who said that they had come from Madaba. The Spaniards had a lot of good things to say about it and it is fairly close, so it's worth doing the day trip to the Dead Sea from there if you prefer a smaller town feel rather than the sprawling Amman metropolis. Plus if you're big into checking out Byzantine-era relics, chapels, and cathedrals, Madaba has a large number of fine mosaics.

Referenced Reads:

I followed both books fairly closely, but bear in mind that the shoestring budget hotel recommendations can land you in some pretty dank places. The regular Jordan guidebook offers accommodation options at varying prices, so it's worth moving up a notch if you can afford it and for a bit of peace of mind. Like any advise, compare and contrast it with other info and then if you want to make it even more interesting, ask the locals :-).

Updated and Revised Jordan Travel Photos - Check 'em out!

2011-03-24T01:25:00.001Z

In Jordan

Is Your RPCV Exhibiting Errant Conversations Syndrome?

2011-03-15T19:44:00.012Z

Just recently, Peace Corps released the latest in a string of public service announcements (PSAs) commemorating the agency's 50 years of service to the United States and many parts of the world. One PSA in particular captured my attention because it did an excellent job of portraying the random anecdotes I've been sharing with friends and family when I come across something that reminds me of my time in Morocco.

When greeting people here in the states, I shake a person's hand, but then proceed, as I did in Morocco, to place my right hand near to my heart to show my respect or to express how dear that person or that encounter is to me. In Morocco, it was second nature to follow the handshake with a tap to one's heart, and despite being back home with old friends and in a completely different setting, my mind almost involuntarily follows the same process. Sometimes I catch myself in the act or others point it out, and explaining the gesture is often a topic of an errant conversation.

As far as language, I miss speaking darija. The Moroccan Arabic dialect was fun to speak. Phonetically speaking, it was a challenge to sound off the "ع" (aain) or "غ" (ghain) or the back of the throat "ق" (qa) or even the emphatic D, T, or to differentiate between the airy "ه" (similar to the 'h' for hello) or the raspy "ح" (similar to the sound you make to check if your breath smells). During the first few months of service, combining some of these sounds seemed impossible, but after some time my tongue somehow came to accords with the sounds my ear was finally able to recognize and distinguish and began to mimic them 'to the t'.

Even more challenging was understanding the hidden or indirect messages in Moroccan speech. During training we were told that Moroccans used a ton of what our cultural and language facilitators called "God phrases" as part of their everyday language. So instead of saying goodbye, they would say 'llah y3nk' (God help you). Or to thank someone for a good deed or to ask for a favor, they could say '3afak' (the equivalent of please), but in most cases they would say 'llah yrHm l-walidin' (God bless your parents) and my all-time favorite, preceding or following any statement calling for or mentioning any future action, 'inshallah' (God willing).

When I first arrived in site all 'gun ho' about starting a new project and building community support for it, I spoke to a number of people and tried to persuade them to join me in addressing some of the expressed needs of the community, but towards the end of our meetings, a large number of people would simply finish off our conversations with 'inshallah'. While it is true that we do not know what will happen tomorrow and we have little control over the future, being told that it was all up to God's will seemed a little fatalistic to me. Later on though, I learned that the use of 'inshallah' was not only a way to show respect to the all-knowing God, but it was also used to say 'no' without offending the other person or to express that something is unlikely to happen.

Later on when people recognized that my speaking abilities had improved and I had demonstrated some fundraising capacity, some of the same people that had 'inshalla-ed' me before began proposing their project ideas to me. Unfortunately, by then I had already made commitments to other groups and had enough work for the rest of service, so without offending them, I respectfully 'inshalla-ed' them back.

Back in the states, some people have proposed going to such and such an event or organizing something, and I've involuntarily blurted out 'inshallah' and I'm not doing it out of respect to God (although I respect It greatly), but mainly because the event or the activity does not appeal to me. Sometimes I catch myself and sometimes others catch me and wonder what the heck came out of my mouth, but then I explain that I do not know if I can or will be able to because it truly is up to God. I say that I can't rule it out, but that I prefer to defer to God because no one really knows what the future may bring. Unfortunately, this answer does not fly with most of my friends who still interpret this answer as some sort of newfound religious piety--not at all consistent with my beliefs and lifestyle--and not as a cordial way to say 'I am really not that interested'. Then again, most U.S. Americans prefer directness, which is a cultural aspect that I've had to get readjusted to and that is often another subject of an errant conversation.

See the minute-long PSA titled "Conversations" below:

Errant Conversation Syndrome (ECS) is common among all RPCVs. Most exhibit symptoms throughout their lifetime. They speak about their projects, language challenges, cultural differences, past bowel movements, pros and cons of Peace Corps, and a host of other service-related experiences. At this time, there is no known "cure" (nor should there be) for this phenomenon, but I hear that active listening and a non-judgmental attitude are always welcomed. And who knows? You may learn a thing or two from all these random pieces of information. Thanks for reading.

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If you'd like to learn more darija, please visit the Friends of Morocco page on Learning Moroccan Arabic. I've also selected a few books on one of the recommended book widgets. BssHa to your learning!

To watch other Peace Corps PSAs, please visit: http://www.peacecorps.gov/index.cfm?shell=resources.media.psa

Back in Jordan: Holy Land Divided and Partitioned

2011-03-13T05:26:00.006Z

Yummy Falafel and Hebrew beer in Bayt She'an

After a few days in Jerusalem, I made my way back to Jordan. I had to go back the same way I went in by way of the Sheikh Hussein Bridge, but the second time around took a lot less time. Once I arrived in Bayt She'an, I grabbed a falafel sandwich and a kosher beer at a fast-food joint just down the block from the bus stop next to the McDonalds. The kosher beer was a decent pilsen, but nothing too exciting. After swallowing the sandwich and downing the beer, the restaurant manager asked if I needed a cab to go to the crossing. I said, "Yes," and within minutes the same cab driver that brought me to Bayt She'an a couple of days ago was there to take me back to the crossing. Whaddayaknow!

This time around, though, he said less offensive things about his neighbors on the other side of the Jordan and was mainly interested in how I spent my days in Jerusalem. Towards the end of the short trip, he gave me his business card and told me to call him next time I pass through so I can dine with his family. It was a nice gesture to leave on.

At the crossing, I paid my Israeli exit tax (98.50 NIS), and on the other side I paid for another Jordanian visa (10 JD). Knowing that I would now have this visa for the next 30 days, I decided that I wasn't going to rush my travels in Jordan. I called up my Peace Corps volunteer friends near Irbid. One of them told me that I could totally crash his pad for another night. Unfortunately, the only way to get out of the crossing station on the Jordanian side was to pay 19JD or a little over $25 for a 12km ride to the Jordan River Crossing taxi service, which in NYC would be a bargain, but in Jordan, it's highway robbery.

The dispatcher was trying to convince me to go all the way to Amman and pay 35JD for the trip, which was even more obscene knowing full well that a Hijazi bus from Irbid to Amman runs about 2JD, but it was a better value per kilometer nonetheless. This was one instance where traveling with someone else would have made the trip much cheaper. A lot of Jordanians at the crossing were already traveling in twos or threes and split the fares to their destinations. The few Israelis that had crossed over got into a tour bus that was waiting for them. Finally, the dispatcher gave up trying to convince me to go to Amman and made the call for a taxi for Irbid, and I reluctantly paid the 19JD.

Once in Irbid, my volunteer host told me that he was sightseeing in Umm Qays with another volunteer and some of his Jordanian buddies that I had hung out with on my first visit to his village. So from Irbid, I took a transit to Umm Qays for 1JD. Normally, it's about .500 pistares/half a JD for the 15 minute ride, but because it was still Leid Kbir /Al-Adha or the Grand Holiday Feast weekend, the unlicensed, private transits wanted a little extra.

Upon arrival, they told me that we were going on a little road trip. I hopped onto another passenger van, and instead of going back on the road to Irbid, we went the opposite direction, downhill from Umm Qays and towards a military checkpoint. Our driver and Jordanian friend asked us for our passports, they handed them to the guards, and then they went about asking the guards where they were from, what village, family names, and then told them that we were American tourists passing through. The guards took a peek in. Saw all three of us and none of us looked stereotypically American so he asked our guide again if we were indeed American. He confirmed we were, the guard nodded, and then signaled that we could proceed.

We went another mile or so until we reached another checkpoint. Now, I was thinking, "Maybe I should have asked where we were going before jumping onto this van." For a moment, I thought that maybe we were headed to Syria. Umm Qays is a stone's throw away so it wasn't too far fetched. At the second checkpoint, our Jordanian friend followed the same procedure, but this time one of the guards mentioned a village that one of our friends recognized. From there, they went back and forth dropping names of mutual acquaintances. That guard only glanced at our passports and then handed them back.

Golan Heights and Yarmouk River Valley

After that checkpoint, our driver cranked the car into second gear as we climbed a hill overlooking the Yarmouk River Valley sandwiched between the towering Golan Heights and the Jordanian east bank hills.

Sea of Galilee from Umm Qays

A few families were there picnicking. Our friend asked a gentleman that was laid out on a blanket on the hill's edge to point out some landmarks for us. The man pointed north to the Golan Heights, which is currently under Israeli control, but that he considered to be part of Syria. He pointed east and said that the olive-tree-dotted hills were part of Jordan and then pointed west and said that the fertile valley extending towards the Sea of Galilee/Lake Tiberias was Palestine. He then pointed specifically to a certain area in the valley and said that his family had lived there before the war drove them out. He said that he came to that hill often to gaze into Palestine and he hoped that one day he would be able to go back and live there once again.

The sun was setting quickly so our driver and friend told us to get back in the van. We descended down the same hill and got back on the road. We stopped at another military checkpoint. We showed our IDs and were flagged through. We stopped on the side of the road about 2-3K from the last checkpoint to see the Palestinian territory up close and the barbed and razor-wire fences on the other side of the river. We were told that this was the demilitarized zone and that entire stretches on both sides of the river were lined with land mines. One of our guides commented that it was like fillaha (agriculture/farming). Along with the land mine cultivation, there were some fancy irrigation channels with all sorts of tunnels going in and out of hillside.

After getting a few pictures, we made our way back to Irbid. It took me a while to process what I had seen. For so long I had heard about the tensions in this region of the world, had read about the Six Day War, and had watched one Al-Jazeera documentary after another about the Israeli occupation while living in Morocco, but now I had met someone, a Jordanian national of Palestinian descent, who was personally affected by the conflict. I had seen first hand how decades of unresolved border disputes had led to a buffer of land mines to prevent further incursions from either party. It was just hard to reconcile the land mines, military checkpoints, razor-wire fencing, every other young Israeli carrying assault rifles, and the animosity on both sides of the river with the messages of peace and compassion that I had read in the Bible, and I wondered whether, if ever, the message to love thy neighbor and to do unto others as you would like to have done unto thyself that is central to all Abrahamic faiths would ever be manifested in the very place where it was preached thousands of years ago.

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I think we are all guilty of dismissing every other beauty queen's wish for world peace. It seems preposterous in the face of the calamities this world has witnessed and the conflict-ridden state of affairs. I also dismiss it because it is hard to imagine what that world would look like. Are we to be holding hands and singing kumbaya? How do you begin? How do you sustain it?

In a follow up to her Charter for Compassion, religious historian Karen Armstrong talks of reviving the Golden Rule. She mentions in the TED talk below how doing so has the potential to turn us from an ego-centric mindset to a transcendent state, "an imaginative act of empathy, putting yourself in the place of another", which has the effect of making us value the life of another as much as we value our own life. Towards the end, she paraphrases a theme in C.S. Lewis's book Four Loves in which the author differentiates between erotic love when one looks deeply into another's eyes and friendship when two people stand side by side gazing out towards a goal. She says, "We don't have to fall in love with each other, but we can become friends....and when people of all different persuasions come together, working side by side, for a common goal, differences melt away. And we learn amity. And we learn to live together and to get to know one another." It's a thoughtful response worthy of some serious consideration. See the full TED Talk below:

In Jerusalem/ Al Quds Pics Revised

2011-03-07T05:16:00.001Z

In Jerusalem/Al Quds

My Unfinished List of Moroccan Culinary Treats: Mint Tea, Marinated Olives, Pure Olive Oil, Chebekia, and Harira

2011-01-31T19:51:00.013Z

Moroccans are proud of their cuisine and they should be; it's some of the most tasty, best seasoned, and diverse in the Mediterranean. Sometimes you need to take a drive to experience the diversity, and if you do, you'll certainly be rewarded. Below is just one list of many lists to come.

I actually did not cook a lot of Moroccan food while in service, but was a happy recipient of a lot of home-cooked meals. In most cases, the kitchen was off-bounds for me so I had to ask other female volunteers or search the web for insight into the magic that was taking place behind closed doors. As I sit back and reflect on my two years of Peace Corps service, the cuisine is something that I'll surely miss. However, now that I am back stateside, there's no reason why I shouldn't try to recreate the magic. I'm going to give it my best shot. Some of the items listed have links to recipes and preparation videos so I invite you to do the same. Enjoy the read and enjoy the food!

Aatay b na na (Moroccan Arabic name for their sweet-as-molasses Moroccan mint tea) a.k.a. "Le Whisky Marocain"

A little aatay at the Cascades of Ouzoud

Moroccans cannot be separated from their tea. If the price of tea were to go up or if the government were to impose a tax on the consumption of tea, without a doubt there would be a massive revolt. It is a Moroccan staple that is unlikely to change for many years to come.

No matter where you go, there will be countless invitations to share a little tea. In the cold winters, there's nothing better to warm you up or to give your body a sugar jolt. At first, I was really turned off by all the sugar, but then I began to miss the taste of their tea and towards the end I would get on the garçon's (waiter) case about skimping on the sugar.

The distinct taste is a result of two main factors. Unlike the American or British tradition of pouring hot water over the leafs or herbs and letting it brew in the mug, Moroccans brew their green tea leaves in their ornamental teapots, they then add a brick of sugar and brew it a little longer, and then they turn off the gas and add fresh mint (naa na), verveine (luiza), or other seasonal herbs like chiba. All three varieties are super delicious. I invite you to try them all.

You may also find that many Moroccans don't blow on their tea to cool it; instead, they slurrrp it. I found it rather comical to hear so many people slurping away at your typical cafe so much so that I wrote a blog entry on it (Click here to read it). It took me a while to master the technique, but essentially you breath it in as you drink it and it has the same cooling effect if you do it right. BssHA (To your health) on your tea drinking!

Mountains of Olives

Morocco is blessed with the perfect climate to produce some of the finest olives in the Mediterranean. Their seasonal winter rains and clear, blue summer sky are ideal for the sun-loving olive groves. For someone who was a fan of olives already, arriving in Morocco and seeing mountain peaks of olives at the souq (market) was an overwhelming experience. What's even more mind-blowing is how great each variety tastes and even more amazing than that is how cheap they are. Your typical U.S. supermarket stocks various sizes of green Spanish olives or bland black ones. In contrast, most Moroccan markets showcase their largess in rows of olive peaks of light and dark green olives marinated in a mix of red peppers or lemon and parsley, purple olives, and the bitter, but flavorful black olives.

Fortunately, Moroccan cuisine incorporates olives into their meals quite well. I remember one day during my Community-Based Training my host mother marinated a whole chicken with onions, peppers, lemon rinds, and a dash of saffron and other spices, placed it in the oven with all the seasonings and then brought out a golden brown chicken that was surrounded by a moat of tangy chicken broth on an innumerable amount of green olives bobbing in suspension just asking to be devoured. I had this meal over two years ago and I can remember it as if it was yesterday. What a delicious feast!

Unadulterated Olive Oil

Unfortunately, I don't have a picture of Moroccan olive oil. In terms of appearance, it looks a lot like the olive oil from Spain or Italy. Some oils are filtered more than others. Personally, I liked the strong bitter taste of some of the country-pressed oil that had undergone less filtering.

A typical breakfast in Morocco consisted of fresh out-of-the-oven bread that was then broken up and dabbed over olive oil. Not what you would typically eat as breakfast in the U.S., but oh was it tasty. The hot, toasty bread dunked in a little oil would simply melt in your mouth and the aroma of the oil was so wonderfully pleasant.

With such a large supply of olives, olive oil can be found everywhere also for much cheaper than you would find at U.S. or European stores. I am surprised that Moroccan olive oil has not made it to U.S. stores yet. According to the latest "Free Trade" deal between the U.S. and Morocco, olives and olive oil were going to be one of the few commodities that would start flowing to the U.S. I hope it does, and I hope it does soon.

Ramadan Sweet Treats: Chebekia

Even the bees are crazy for chebekia

When I arrived in Morocco back in September of '08, I got in about mid-way through Ramadan, a month characterized by the dawn to dusk no food or drink fast and more religious observance. As you can imagine during the day, most people in the streets deprived of any liquids or food are moving in slow-motion careful not to exhaust their reserves. When I first heard of Ramadan, I wasn't aware of the liquids ban and thought, "Now that's extreme." Then, later on I was invited to break the fast with my host family and tasted my first chebekia and thought, "Now that's extreme flavor!"

These golden brown rolled and folded fried cookie dough treats smothered in honey and sprinkled with sesame seeds were a wake-up call to my taste buds. No MSGs necessary to go on a binge. These confections are naturally addicting.

Sometimes I think that I should go on an anthropological expedition to find out how different foods came about. Is there a National Geographic show or something on the Food channel on this? Well, if there is, the next episode should focus on these crunchy, sweet hard-to-put-down confections. Until a show reveals the history and evolution of this delicious Moroccan delight, I will thank the culinary God(s) for giving my fellow Moroccans this bit of divine inspiration.

In my old town of Sefrou, I could buy about a quarter kilo for 5DH (less than $1) from a old medina hole-in-the-wall Hlwa hanut (sweets vendor), and I would typically finish it in one night. If I wanted some with real honey instead of syrup or gourmet style, I would shell out about twice as much at a fancy patisserie for about the same amount. It's a dieter's worst nightmare. Mountain Dew wouldn't stand a chance against these guys in jacking up your blood sugar so unless you're going to expend the calories, eat responsibly.

Click here if you wish to see a recipe. Fortunately, if you're on your way to Morocco, no need to wait until Ramadan; most patisseries and some old medina Hlwa street vendors carry them year-round.

Harira

A bowl of harira in the Sefrou medina

Whenever someone utters the word harira, my mind automatically drifts to my first bowl ever where I learned the art of eating it with bowl in hand, swishing it around in circular motion, and then giving it a hearty slurp. In the cold Moroccan winters, it was a lifesaver. When I was broke, it would stave off a growling stomach without breaking the bank (2DH or 25 cents for a bowl).

Tomato serves as the base, but with cilantro, parsley, ginger, onions, chickpeas, lentils, carrots, celery, and a handful of vermicelli all mixed in, it's much more than a tomato soup; it's a bonanza of flavor that is full of substance.

Harira is also very common during Ramadan. Generally, families break the fast with a bowl of it before moving on to other life-reviving foods. Not to worry though, harira can also be found year-round at most restaurants, hole-in-the-wall harira vendors, and a lot of families make it to survive the winter. Some will add a bit of harsha (the equivalent of American corn-bread) to it or will break apart a chebekia on top. Others that like the sweet and salty combination will simply eat some dates while slurping a mouthful of harira. There are many ways to experience this hearty soup. If you're unsure how to approach it, try them all!

Do try this at home! Click here for the recipe.

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Before I wrote this entry, I thought about ranking the items, but then I thought about how silly rankings really are. I mean how do you compare chebekia to couscous; they're in two different playing fields and my rankings were in constant fluctuation as one couscous tasted better or different in someone's home than it did in someone else's. Also, every region in Morocco prepares things slightly different depending on the availability of ingredients. I still have a lot more food items that I need to write about. This list is bound to grow in the coming months.

Thanks for reading and again BssHa (To your health) on your culinary endeavors.

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I found a few bestselling books on Moroccan cuisine on Amazon. According to one reviewer, Paula Wolfert wrote a textbook-like guide to Moroccan cooking back in the 1970s that is still the authoritative book. Some of the newer ones have better pictures, but may not be as authentic. Check them out! I'm in the market for one so if you have personal experience with one, let me know.

So You Want To Join Peace Corps

2011-01-26T19:00:00.004Z

I just had to pass this along. I haven't laughed this hard in I don't know how long. An RPCV put together a brief YouTube video of a conversation between a young man who just finished his Peace Corps application and a parent or friend who is all too aware of the cultural misunderstandings and frustrations and the emotional and physical challenges the young man may encounter during his service.

The various bits on the gastrointestinal issues, picking out "worms like zits", the local, organic foods myth, experiencing what winter is really like without any heating, the occasional hermit phase that we volunteers go through, and the case of the overbearing and bureaucratic supervisors are so spot on. I had first-hand experience with a few of these and others were expressed by fellow volunteers. So many memories flashed through my mind with each exchange.

Some people may feel that this video discourages anyone from joining, but I would beg to differ. I think a dose of reality is necessary, and I think glossing over the difficulties or side effects of serving is worse. I think a lot of young people need this sense of idealism to get through the rough patches, but they shouldn't be naive. Then again, perhaps it is this quixotic idealism that prompts volunteers to help build a school where there was no school, set up a computer lab where there was none, foster the growth of a small business despite its many naysayers, or raise the self-esteem of young women in a society that does not value their input.

Let's say hypothetically that I was able to go back to the past on a Back to the Future's DeLorean Time Machine (Wow, this is old) knowing what I know now about my Peace Corps experience to the time when I decided to go. Would I still go? Absolutely! I had a blast. I was challenged mentally and even professionally. I'm not sure how you can measure personal growth, but I do agree with French novelist Marcel Proust who said, "The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes but in having new eyes.”

Living in Morocco and traveling through the Middle East and Europe have exposed me to different ways people have decided to carry out their lives, and the journey has obliterated the notion of what we Americans consider to be the normal, usual, or customary way of life. I think it's difficult to understand another vantage point unless one is fully immersed in another, but it doesn't take a trip or an extended stay overseas to notice differences. The U.S. is fortunate to have little pockets of people from all over the world that have established restaurants, businesses, and places of worship that reflect their values where one can get a taste of that culture. And I guess if one is still wanting more, then of course, one should head out and plunge in to get the full experience.

So you want to join Peace Corps? If you have the time and the financial means to do so, do it. Beware of the hardships. Then, when you've had time to reflect a bit, come back to tell us what you've learned and seen. Enjoy the video and go ahead and finish your application already!

More travel quotes at: http://thinkexist.com/quotations/travel/

Is There Enough Milk and Honey for All?

2011-01-24T04:46:00.002Z

So I got up early in the morning and my couchsurfing hosts in Israel dropped me off at a nearby bus stop where I was then able to take a bus to the central bus station where I was then able to hop on an Egged bus to the Sheikh Hussein Bridge. The bus ride from Jerusalem to the Sheikh Hussein Bridge was 40.50NIS, same as last time, and the trek was about 2 hours or so.

East of the Jordan River Valley

The environs just north of Jerusalem and towards Bayt She'an are a stark contrast to the city of Jerusalem. In the city, you get the sense that water is not in short supply given the manicured lawns in some parts of town and grassy knolls south of the city, but as I moved north, I realized that much of what I had seen in Jerusalem was far from the norm.

The area north of Jerusalem resembled the dry desert wilderness that I had seen on my trek from Errachidia to Ouarzazate, Morocco. There were many dry river beds and plains scarred by precipitation and flash floods. However, unlike Morocco where the only patches of green could be found in the lush palmeries sprouting from the river beds, the north of Jerusalem had quite a large number of vegetable and fruit plots and an acre here and there of neatly lined palm trees in the middle of their pale, sun-scorched shrubbery wilderness. There were countless greenhouses and some plots even had black or clear plastic coverings for each row of whatever was growing underneath. The highway we were on was running parallel to the Jordan River Valley and you could see more green when you looked east, but it seemed like the farmers were trying to stretch out that green as far as possible and it looked like they were using the latest in irrigation know-how to make that happen. Even with all the technological advancements though, it appears that all the countries relying on the Jordan River Valley and Sea of Galilee are headed to another standoff, not so much about the land, but about the lack of water. Here's a brief excerpt from an Inventory of Conflict and Environment(ICE) study from American University titled Jordan River Dispute:

The consequences of unilateral action by each riparian [countries with water sources that feed the Jordan River] has been that both the aquifers and surface waters suffer from overuse use due to the large-scale diversion projects. The National Water Carrier and the East Ghor Canal almost dry out the Sea of Galilee year round. Diversion projects have also lowered the level of both the Sea of Galilee and the Dead Sea. This has caused aquifer levels to drop and has increased their salinity levels. Both Jordan and Israel have also over pumped their fossil (nonrenewable) aquifers. On top of these projects, the population growth in both countries is raising the demand for water. Israel has attempted water conservation in agriculture, where most water is wasted, through introducing the drip irrigation system and recycling of sewage water. This has helped save water in the area while at the same time irrigating more land with less water. It does not make much impact, though, without any joint conservation. Therefore, conflict under these circumstances is highly likely, and these depleting factors have in fact led to conflicts in the past.

Source: http://www1.american.edu/ted/ice/westbank.htm

Sea of Galilee

I also read that Israel has plans to begin building settlements in the Negev Desert (Here's a short article from Newsweek calling to question David Ben Gurion's dream to see the desert bloom: http://www.newsweek.com/2008/06/28/the-myth-of-water.html). While I sympathize with many Jews and their desire to move back to the land of their forefathers, after taking that drive up and down from Bayt She'an to Jerusalem and back, I wonder whether they're even considering the environmental impact of their decision.

Israel is a leading innovator in irrigation and water management and with good reason--nearly half the country is semi-arid desert. (Here's an achievements-filled and rather optimistic outlook titled Israeli Agriculture: Coping with Growth) They're also leading the way in building state of the art desalination plants that will hopefully supplement their unreliable and dwindling supply.

Mines are cultivated along the Jordanian/Israeli border

I applaud their efficiency and I think many countries should adapt some of their techniques even those that have ample supplies, but I wonder how far technology can forestall what seems like an inevitable water war much like the ones we're already experiencing in Nevada and Colorado and to some extent in Morocco between the urban and rural farming and cattle ranching communities. At least in Morocco and in our Western states, it appears that people can still gather at the negotiating table. For Israel and its neighbors, setting a date to meet at a table requires an entire diplomatic corps, months of wrangling about preconditions, and then, even if it is set, not all stakeholders are present.

It is presumed that when Moses spoke of a land “flowing with milk and honey” that he was gazing out towards the Jordan River Valley, and that valley is certainly a beautiful fertile oasis in the midst of an arid wilderness, but I wonder how far can that milk and honey be stretched for everyone that wishes to live out their dream of living in the Promised Land.

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Other Reads

Timeline of Water Conflicts in the Levant: http://www.nad-plo.org/nego/permanent/water/related/Howb.pdf

Walk the Abraham Path and Then Couchsurf It!

2011-01-09T01:00:00.005Z

Couchsurf host near Petra

A dear friend of mine sent me an interesting TED Talk, which focuses on the need to build upon the speaker's idea of what he calls "The Third Side". Mr. William Ury said that in conflict there are always two sides and the third side is the one that we all share--our common humanity. He speaks of how Abraham exemplified hospitality and the unity of us all and proposes that people retrace the steps of Abraham from cradle to grave to understand and to connect with the people of this region who to this day display the same hospitality that Abraham showed thousands of years ago. Ury adds, "Abraham is not just a figure in a book for these people; he is a living figure."

Couchsurf hosts in Israel

I agree with Mr.Ury and his belief that traveling, touring, and walking alongside others on the Abraham Path or any other corner of the world has the potential to reduce the hostility between us. As Mark Twain once said, "Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness" and in the words of French novelist Marcel Proust, "The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes but in having new eyes."

Couchsurfers in Amman

I would take Mr. Ury's idea a bit further and urge people to invest a little time in getting to know the region and the people you plan to visit. Just knowing to how to say basic greetings in the local language however choppy or mispronounced they may come out, brings smiles to people's faces. The locals will appreciate the effort and most likely reward you with an invitation for coffee or tea.

Being treated to mglouba in Kerak

I've been fortunate to experience the amazing hospitality that Mr. Ury spoke of. Throughout my travels, I couchsurfed with Jordanians, Bedouins, Israelis, Moroccans, Spaniards, Italians, Dominicans, and lots of fellow expatriate Americans. Some gave me a place to stay and others took me to their favorite hangout spots. Those that I stayed with gave me the best that they could offer and made me feel like family and others introduced me to their circle of friends. Time after time, I was blown away by this gesture of kindness and goodwill offered to a near complete stranger.

Couchsurfing in Spain

Late last year, I hosted a number of couchsurfers in Morocco. I had a great time hosting people from around the globe with such different points of view and experiences. I learned a great deal about myself from our exchanges and made great friends in the process. Couchsurfing is a wonderful experiment that falls in line with Mr. Ury's idea of turning "hostility to hospitality" and "terrorism to tourism".

I hope that wherever I end up that I can continue to host more couchsurfers. If you've never heard of couchsurfing, take a moment to check it out. Host, couchsurf, or simply meet folks for a little drink. I and other couchsurfers will be eternally grateful, and my hope is that you'll learn from me as much as I hope to learn from you. Hope to see you in my next couchsurf search!

Good luck and bon voyage!

Jerusalem - On Holy Ground

2011-01-08T01:42:00.010Z

So much could be said about the Holy City and I guess a lot of what has been said is probably framed by one's religious fervor or indifference. For many Christians, going to the Holy City is not a requirement of their faith, but many dream of going there. For Muslims, it is recommended that they perform a hajj (pilgrimage) to al-Quds al-Sharif (Arabic name for the City of Jerusalem meaning “The Holy Sanctuary”) or more specifically to the Al-Aqsa Mosque and Dome of the Rock to pray at the site where the Prophet Muhammad, peace be upon him, ascended to heaven. For many Jews, it is the site of the Holy of Holies.

I've never been big on visiting museums, monuments, statues, and other still-life objects; instead, I've always found it more interesting to observe how people interact with one another, the power dynamics, the social structure, to learn a bit about the history and the expectations of the people, to understand the meaning behind their choice to attire, and to get a glimpse of what they value the most. So when I walked into the Holy City, I wanted to see what made this city so special, so sought after that epic battles were fought to gain control of it with every group believing that they were "in the right", that the city needed to be rescued or saved from the others, and that it needed to cleansed, restored, and revived under the new group's perceived rightly guided leadership. I thought to myself, "What is it about this city that in the process of reclaiming it from another group drove men to slaughter thousands of others? Was it its geographical location, the surrounding natural resources, or commercial or economic interests? Or was it simply symbolic?"

In my reading of The Bible and that of other religious books, I don't recall any passage mentioning how important Jerusalem was in terms of its geographical location. The New Testament does speak of how Jerusalem once was and to some extent still is a major commercial center in the region. As far as natural resources go, Jerusalem doesn't have a large body of water to draw from, is inland about 60km from the nearest port in Tel Aviv, and relies upon the Mediterranean winter rains to restore some green to the countryside after their hot and dry summers. So if I was to launch a campaign to take over the Holy City (not that I ever would, but hypothetically), I wouldn't have much of an rallying call if I based it simply on geography or economic data, and I am pretty sure when the Jews, Crusaders, and Muslims alike called out the troops that none of them yelled out, “Let us march into the city and take over that commercial center and decent, but not all that great geographical location!” Nah, it was all about taking control of a city that was the site of the Holy Temple, the City of King David, and of King Solomon. To Christians, it was the place where the patriarch of their faith preached the gospel truth, and to Muslims, the City of All The Prophets. The history and events that had transpired in that small enclosed fortress city and the close affinity people felt to the stories that had served as a guide to their lives and gave their lives an identity and meaning were the very thing that motivated them to give up everything and risk their lives.

To this day, I believe that much of that religious zeal still remains. Fortunately, when I visited, the various groups exhibited their passion for their faith peacefully through processions and re-enactments, by reciting holy scriptures at the Wailing/Western Wall, celebrating bar mitzvahs, praying at the Al-Aqsa Mosque, paying homage to the various saints and prophets, retracing the steps where Jesus walked, preached, and later carried his cross on the Via Dolorosa, and visiting the many sanctuaries, chapels, churches, and synagogues.

I saw Muslims visiting the Holy Sepulcher, the place where Jesus was laid until he was resurrected alongside Eastern Orthodox priests and believers. I walked through the catacombs of the Holy Sepulcher. Some of the bling that adorned the walls of the Holy Sepulcher seemed out of place in this sacred temple, but perhaps the Eastern Orthodox and other Christian groups that share responsibility for the upkeep of the church believe Jesus likes a lot of bling.

I went over to the Wailing/Western Wall and uttered a little prayer with many others who were reciting the Torah. Hassidic Jews with their side-burn dreads, black suit coats and pants, and black, thin-brimmed sombreros, and Jews, it seemed, from all corners of the world were there getting their arms strapped and their heads fitted with a custom-made rubber head-bumping protector before their praying marathon would ensue. The wall's many crevices were stuffed full of snippets of paper.

Opposite of the Wailing/Western Wall, there was singing, clapping, and ululating as young boys and young men carried scrolls to wooden compartments throughout the entire Wailing/Western Wall. Men and women were segregated, but they interacted and celebrated together. Further down the Western Wall inside the tunnel, older gentlemen sat and recited scriptures. There was a small library that had countless volumes of what I presume to be religious scriptures or commentary from prominent rabbis.

I walked from one end of the city to the other, north to south and east to west, going in and out of the Christian, Muslim, Armenian, and Jewish Quarters. There were countless boutiques selling all sorts of artisana from the various communities that inhabited the city. I really liked the burgundy and black used by Palestinian weavers and the Armenian ceramics was exceptional. I found it odd to see Arabs selling Crusader memorabilia, but maybe they were Christians.

Other stores sold a host of Jewish menorahs, horn trumpets, woodcarvings of the manger, Mary and Baby Jesus were on mugs, t-shirts, and anything imaginable, crosses, Stars of David, and crescent moons of all sizes were everywhere. Most of the bazaars were run by men in pretty much every quarter, who displayed their superb linguistic skills. I heard them switching from one language to another in seamless fashion using Arabic, Hebrew, English, French, Spanish, and even some Russian. The call to prayer was loud and clear and the church bells were also ringing. It seemed like pilgrims from every corner of the world were there. Some were just walking around like me, a lot were in organized tours, and others were deep into their religious procession stopping at different stages of the Via Dolorosa only to be interrupted by kids and other ambulant vendors attempting to sell them postcards and other memorabilia at every stop.

My only regret in coming to Jerusalem is that I only spent two nights there. While I got to walk through the Holy City and to witness the religious passion displayed by the many acts of faith from the various groups, I did not have a lot of time to talk to people or to get to experience the culture of the various groups and sub-groups that make Jerusalem their home. I was fortunate, though, to find an Israeli couple on http://www.couchsurfing.org that opened their home and allowed me to stay with them for a couple of nights. They identified themselves as secular Jews. Both of them had traveled to various parts of the world and we shared photos and travel stories, but never spoke about the politics or what being a secular Jew meant.

The couchsurfer and the few locals that I spoke to all had a story to tell about how they or their family had come to Israel. My couchsurfing host was a first generation Israeli whose family had migrated from Argentina. From an early age, his family had spoken Spanish to him so he had a very good grasp of the language. We spoke in Spanish as much as possible and switched to English from time to time. He showed me around town a bit. He took me to the main market in the new city where we had some coffee at one of his favorite cafes.

At the market, you could hear a mix of Arabic and Hebrew, salam wa leikums and shaloms were exchanged. The Mediterranean produce was the main supply, but they also had a great variety of imported tropical fruits. He then took me to a place that was selling all sorts of delicious fruit shakes from a self-professed medicine man. The shakes were awesome. I asked the medicine man if I could take a picture of him and he obliged, but not before spraying my face with one of his all-natural facial rejuvenation toners. It caught me by surprise. He also pulled my host and sprayed his face as well. He told us to massage our face so the potion would be absorbed faster. The spray felt refreshing, but as the liquid seeped into the corner of my eyes, it began to burn. He told me to keep my eyes shut, he pulled my host next to me, and said that I had good energy and that I had the potential to be a great healer. I thought, “Hmm, I'm unemployed right now. I hadn't thought about being a medicine man...new career path maybe.”

I also met an older gentleman who said he was born near Guercif, Morocco, and that his family had lived there almost their entire life before migrating to Israel. He had a lot of fond childhood memories of Morocco and of Moroccans. He asked me if I enjoyed living there to which I answered, "Eeh, mrra mrra." We communicated in a mix of Moroccan Arabic and English. It was quite a thrill to find another maghribi.

I had a great time in Jerusalem so much so that I hope to return again. I didn't get the chance to couchsurf through the Palestinian territories so I hope to do that next time. I think Jerusalem can mean different things to different people and I think a lot of it depends on how closely people feel to their faith. Those individuals that were in the middle of their processions on the Via Dolorosa would squint or close their eyes as they touched every place where Jesus is said to have fallen or stopped, and those that swayed back and forth in prayer in front of the Wailing/Western Wall would probably have a different take on their visit. Possibly during their prayer and recitations they enter a meditative realm that is perhaps giving life to what seems like inanimate buildings, streets and alleys to me. When I showed some of my Jordanian Muslim friends my pictures of the Dome of the Rock, they gasped in admiration. They certainly would tell a different story had they been there. But even if one does not partake of the processions, the energy, the passion, and the devotion of the believers is felt all around. To me, people were the thing that gave the city and all its holy sites their life. Without them, it would be just another city. With them there, I got the sense that I was walking on sacred ground.

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http://www.goisrael.com

To view my entire photo album of pictures of Jerusalem, please scroll down to my last blog or click here.

There are a few books that I was lucky to read in college and on my own that expand on the three Abrahamic faiths and provide more context on the historical significance of Jerusalem. If you have the chance, pick 'em up at your local library or add them to your personal collection.

Jerusalem - Photos in and around the Holy City

2011-01-01T15:55:00.005Z

Here are a number of snapshots of the Holy City. The religious fervor that is felt all around is tough to capture on camera. Even for someone that is not very religious, you can't help but get caught up in the atmosphere. Unfortunately, because I was there on a Friday, I could not enter the Al-Aqsa Mosque, but I think this trip to Jerusalem was just one of many to come.

In Jerusalem/Al Quds

Helpful links:

www.goisrael.com

I found that most young people understood and could speak English pretty well, but sometimes some things were only written in Hebrew so having a Rough Guide or Lonely Planet for Israel is still nice to have. I regret not having enough time to explore other parts of Israel. There were a lot couches available on http://www.couchsurfing.org both in Israel and the Palestinian territories willing to host or to meet up for a drink making an extended stay more possible. I guess one could just get a Rough Guide or Lonely Planet guide for Israel, but for your money and given how easy it is to traverse these small, yet treasure packed countries, you might as well go for a Middle East guide and make sure to include other Middle Eastern countries in your itinerary.

Crossing the River Jordan and onto Jerusalem

2010-12-30T11:56:00.006Z

Sometimes I regret not having researched my travels well, but then other times, I am glad that I don't. The moment I arrived in Jordan I began asking the locals, fellow travellers, volunteers, and anyone in the know about crossing over to Israel. I read a few blogs prior to starting my trip and every single blog spoke of the tediousness associated with crossing into the hotly contested and disputed land west of the River Jordan. When I asked Jordanians, they gave me a lot of contradictory information. The volunteers I was with had heard of the various crossings, but had not crossed personally so they weren't really sure what was the best way to go.

Most of the blogs I read spoke of the King Hussein Bridge or Allenby Crossing west of Amman. Lonely Planet and the Rough Guide also had a lot more to say about the King Hussein Bridge than the other two crossings. They all said that crossing through the King Hussein Bridge normally is an entire day ordeal. I personally did not want to throw away an entire day crossing into Israel so I thought I'd go where others don't generally go. Plus, I was only about 15km from the Sheikh Hussein Bridge already so I figured I'd just go through it and hopefully shed some light on the process.

At the time I was staying with a Peace Corps volunteer near Irbid. Because it was still L3id Kbir in Jordan, there were fewer buses running to Irbid so I woke up a little early in the hopes that I could catch an early morning transit. The transit dropped us off at the Moujemma Shamal Bus Station. The volunteer I was with was told that there were taxis that took off from the Moujemma Amman Bus Station to the border crossing so we headed over there only to find out that indeed there were taxis that would go there, but not legitimate/licensed ones and they were asking for 15JD to go there. We were told that it would be around that amount, but the illegal taxis looked more suspect than usual so we asked a policeman. The policeman told us to head back to Moujemma Shammal and to take a legit taxi from there to the border. He told us that the price would be from 12-15JD. So we went back to the station, my PCV friend looked up a friend of his that worked at a cell phone boutique, and his friend pointed us to a taxi that was chilling next to a snack shop. He inquired for us about going to the border and the taxi driver offered to take me for 12JD.

The taxi cab ride was rather interesting. For the next 15 minutes or so, the driver went on to talk about all his sexual exploits and his disdain for Israel. Of course, none of this was said in any sort of descriptive way. When speaking of Israel, he would make a spitting sound and he said he prayed for the day when Israel would not exist. When talking about all his sexual encounters, he would simply say how good or bad the sex was with different nationalities from a scale of bad/ugly, good, and to wonderful/beautiful fcuk. He had a lot to say about Russian girls, which kind of took me by surprise, but later on I learned that many Russian girls travel to Jordan to work in strip clubs or to work as escorts. A fellow couchsurfer also pointed out how it is usually Russian girls who are dancing in the disco video recordings that I would see on the street or at various cafes. Supposedly there are other neighboring Arab nationalities that work at these clubs, but usually if they do, the girls are "Christian". During a lull in his sexual expletives, I asked him about his family. He said that he had 3 boys and one wife. He said he wanted another wife, but could not afford it. He did say that he was very happy with his family and his wife and that he no longer smoked marijuana or had sex with other women because he said that doing so would be haram(prohibited)--figures.

At one checkpoint, he handed over my passport to a guard. The guard wanted to ask me something, but the taxi driver yelled at him that I was American and asked him, "what's the problem?" The guard smiled and returned my passport and we were on our way. After driving out for about 12km, the driver made a right turn towards another checkpoint. The guards asked for my passport. He handed it over and then they told the driver to pull over to the side of the road. I thought there was an issue, but there wasn't. That was simply as far as my taxi driver could go.

As he began unloading my baggage, another taxi pulled up with some tags on the sides that said Jordan Border Crossing. I gave my taxi driver the 12JD we agreed upon, shook hands, and said our m3a slamas (Go in safety). I hopped onto the other taxi and we headed towards the next checkpoint. Once there, I had to take my luggage through a huge scanner. This thing was massive. My luggage went through without any problems. I then picked up my backpack and got back on the Jordan Border Crossing taxi. We went another kilometer before I was dropped off at the customs office. I paid the taxi 1.10JD.

At customs, I told an officer that I was coming back to Jordan after a few days. He said, "Good," that I needed to pay an 8JD exit tax, that my Jordanian visa would be "no good", and that I would have to pay for a new one to get back in. I didn't ask about the exit stamp, but a tour group on a pilgrimage through the Holy Land that was ahead of me told me that they were going to have their exit stamp on a separate sheet of paper. They had some cards filled out with their name and other information. As soon as my passport was stamped, I was ready to cross over.

Due to the tight security, I couldn't just walk over to the border. I had to exit the customs building and walk back out to the Trust Intl. Transpo kiosk right behind the Duty Free store and purchase a bus fare for 1.30JD. The distance from the customs building to the border was no more than a couple hundred meters, but it was forbidden to walk to it; you absolutely had to take this bus to get there and the buses only left at certain times. Unfortunately, I had to wait over an hour for the next bus to go out.

Crossing the River Jordan

Right around 1:30PM, I and a whole bunch of Chinese tourists hopped on the bus. It took no more than a minute to get to the final gate on the west bank of the River Jordan. Once there, a guard came through to make sure all taxes were paid and everyone was stamped out. He then gave the okay to the driver. We crossed the once mighty River Jordan and then proceeded to the Israeli side.

We were dropped off at the Israeli customs entrance. It was interesting to see such a stark difference in administration. On the Jordanian side, I dealt entirely with older mustachioed gentlemen, some in formal military or police uniforms, and everyone appeared to be disgruntled about something. On the Israeli side, I was greeted by a bunch of twenty-something-year-olds, male and female, in polo shirts and cargo pants and had a much more relaxed vibe to it. I walked over to the scanners, handed over my bags, and gave an attractive female guard my passport. That guard called over another very attractive female guard. I was hoping for a frisking, but unfortunately they just tagged-team on the questioning. I was asked what was my purpose for coming to Israel, info on my passport, who my parents and grandparents were, and if I had been to any other Arab country besides Jordan. After the quick interview, they smiled and said, "Welcome to Israel." I picked up my bags from the scanners and then walked over to a customs window. I gave my passport to another female guard who was being supervised by another young men. She asked me a similar round of questions and then asked if it was okay to stamp my passport. The same group on the Holy Land tour was also in the customs lines in the process of getting their entry stamps on a separate sheet of paper. After taking care of the stamps, I was given another nice cordial "Welcome to Israel" and just like that I was through.

Now, the challenge was how to get to Jerusalem from there. I asked a couple of customs reps if there were any transportation options from this crossing and they said that maybe, just maybe there would be some taxis waiting outside that would go the nearest town called Bayt She'an about 6km away. They also said to ask the tour buses if I could hitchhike with them. I thought I'd give it a try so I went out and asked a number of them if they had room for one more. I asked one driver who said "no" rather frankly. I asked some people who were awaiting to board another bus and their driver gave me the "I'm not in charge" line. Another driver said he could get in trouble. I got tired of the rejections pretty quick so I decided to get a taxi.

Outside of the gates, there were a number of cars waiting to get through and a couple of taxi cabs on the curb. I went up to one who told me that there was no transportation available from Bayt She'an to Jerusalem so he offered to take me to Tiberias for 200 shekels(NIS) (about $60) where transportation would be available for sure. Tiberias was a good 40 kilometers away going northwest. I only had about 60NIS, which I had gotten from the last $20 I had on me so paying out 200 something shekels was out of the question. I walked over to the next taxi, I asked him about Bayt She'an and if there was transportation and he said there was and that he would drop me off at the bus stop. When I asked him how much, he told me he would go for 60NIS. I liked that this guy was at least willing to take me to Bayt She'an, but 60NIS seemed outrageous. After some light negotiating, we finally settled on 50. With not a lot of other options and with the sun setting, I still felt I was getting hosed, but I had little choice. I shelled out the 50NIS and we drove off to Bayt She'an.

Bayt She'an McDonald's

The winding road to Bayt She'an was short and sweet. When I told him that the other taxi driver wanted to charge me 200 shekels to go to Tiberias because transportation was not available in Bayt She'an, he made the same spitting gesture that the Jordanian taxi driver had made and said, "Arabi". He said in a choppy English, "Those Arabs all they want is money; they don't care about people." The whole time I was thinking, "...and this is from a guy that wanted to charge me about $17 for a 6km ride. He asked me where I was from and I told him I was from the U.S., but had lived in Venezuela. As soon as I told him Venezuela, he switched to a rough, but less choppy Spanish. We spoke in Spanish for the rest of the trip. He mainly went off about how much he hated Arabs. The taxi driver took me to an ATM to get some cash and then he dropped me off at a bus stop on the side of a four-lane road that ran north to south close to a McDonald's.

At the bus stop, I asked a few young guys in military garb in English if they knew which bus was going to Jerusalem and they said that the 966 Egged makes the north to south journey everyday. I went over to the 966 bus stand and put my behemoth bag down and finally took a look at my surroundings. The infrastructure difference from Jordan to Israel was night and day. The roads, the signposts, the paint on the roads, traffic lights, and the buildings were in order and well maintained. Not to say that Jordan does not have things in order; it's just more chaotic and spaces that are well maintained and free of trash are like little oases in the midst of the disorder. Like Morocco, the fancy esplanades and promenades that are meticulously maintained mainly to draw tourists are the exception and not the norm. Just across the river, there was significantly less trash on the street and more trash cans available. It felt a little unsettling to be hopping on a bus to Jerusalem with about 20 uniformed young men carrying automatic rifles, but after a while I got used to it and found it odd when I didn't see some young person with a gun slinging from their neck. They were probably wondering why I wasn't carrying one. As I got on the dark green 966 Egged bus, I told the driver, "Jerusalem," and he said, "40.50NIS". I handed him a huge bill and he didn't even flinch; he gladly took my money and gave me the exact change. Even just an instance like this would have caused a heap of drama on most buses on the other side who always seem to be out of change. I thought the 40.50NIS was a little steep, but perhaps that's exactly why the same ride is cheaper on the other side of the river; perhaps the convenience or the proper and functioning administration hasn't been priced into the system.

It was a breath of fresh air to be in Israel and here I was on my way to the city that all three Abrahamic faiths call their own. Soon I would be walking the streets and on my way to witnessing the grandeur and the mystery of this old city. All in all, it was an easy and somewhat entertaining crossing. In the end, all I could say is gracias a Dios, hamdullah, and thanks be to God and/or the cosmic forces of the universe for allowing me to be where I was.

---------

Please note that if you exit through the Sheikh Hussein Bridge and you wish to come back to Jordan from Israel, you will need to come back through either the Sheikh Hussein or the Wadi Araba crossings. Likewise, if you cross through the King Hussein Bridge, you will need to return through there. Reason being that Jordanian visas cannot be issued out from the King Hussein Bridge, but the Jordanian authorities can at the other two crossings. Basically, according to Jordanian border policy, you are not leaving the country when you cross into the West Bank (formerly part of the Transjordan territory and currently in geopolitical limbo) and as such they do not ask people to pay an exit tax and do not issue exit stamps. The con is that the King Hussein Bridge is perhaps the busiest crossing of them all, and from what I've read or heard, it can take an inordinate amount of time to get through.

If you're crossing back through Sheikh Hussein, please note that there are few transportation options available on both sides of the crossing. Only private taxis run by the Jordan Border Crossing Company are available, which can take you to almost any major destination in Jordan, but for a pretty hefty price. I paid 19JD to make it back to Irbid. Knowing I had made the same journey for 13JD, I tried to bargain, but the dispatcher would not budge from the posted prices. A taxi to Amman was around 35JD. I don't think it is a matter of not enough demand because it appears that there are plenty of people crossing through on a regular basis, but perhaps it's a tolerated monopoly.

So as far as convenience and less stress, I would cross through Sheikh Hussein again, but if I did not want an exit stamp from Jordan and/or to pay the 8JD ($12) tax, then King Hussein is the way to go.

For more info, visit the following links: http://www.visitjordan.com/default.aspx?tabid=105
The exit tax info on the website says 5JD, but it is 8JD now.
http://www.kinghussein.gov.jo/facts2.html

Also, visit the Israeli side of the web at: www.goisrael.com

Bon voyage everyone!

In Jordan - A Taste of Life In Jordan's Shamal

2010-12-22T23:49:00.003Z

I arrived in a town close to Irbid on November 15 and learned that the following day would be the start of L3id l-Kbir, the grand feast celebrated by the sacrificial slaughtering of a sheep. Because of L3id, I would be spending at least a couple of days in a volunteer's village. I was looking forward to the experience. One of the reasons for traveling through Jordan and Egypt was to get a different taste of the Arab/Muslim World. I was curious to see what if any similarities there were between the peoples of the Maghreb(West) and the Sarq l-Ousad(Middle East). In Morocco, there was no question that they identified themselves with the Muslim World in terms of their faith, but when it came to ethnicity/heritage, some Moroccans were extremely proud of their Amazigh roots and saw the Arabization of the educational system as a continuation of Arab imperialism. I had read in Peter Mansfield's A History of the Middle East that the Arab World was by no means a homogeneous bloc. Political and cultural differences had existed for centuries. Islam had unified the various tribes, but many of the cultural traditions that distinguished one tribe from the other continued. I was hoping to see or experience these small subtleties. I was also hoping to see how much of an impact Turkish rule had on the region.

Attempting to speak with the locals

I arrived in Jordan hoping that I could put to use a bit of the Moroccan Colloquial Arabic I had learned. When I arrived, I was happy that I could pick out the numbers, but even the numbers sounded differently. The "t" for "Tom" used in tlata (three) or tlatin was now replaced by the "th" for "think" and was now thlatha or thlathin. The Moroccan juj for the number two was now thenayn. I heard more "g"s in the place of the hard back-of-the-throat "q" sound. Instead of kif dayr for "how are you", I was now being greeted with a kayf f Halk or an even shorter kayfak. Words like nishan for "straight" or aji for "come here" that have Amazigh/Berber roots were completely absent.

At the cafe and restaurant, I wanted to order a ns ns or half and half (Moroccan cappuccino) and some aatay (tea), but Jordanians would ask me, "What is it that you want half and half of and there is no such thing as aatay, but we do have chay". For coffee, they either had 3adi (regular/normal) or wasit (medium) and those two designations only applied to the amount of sugar. I had to stick to root words and the few words of Fusha that I knew to get around, but even my pronunciation of those standard words was off. When I asked for sugar (skkar), they would correct me saying sukkar.

When addressing someone, I had used khouya (my brother) or sidi (my dear sir) to get someone's attention. In Jordan, I heard more sadiqi (my loyal friend), sheikh (chief), and the Turkish basha (a title for a distinguished govt.official).

When scoping transportation options, telling someone maHtta (Darija word for station), I was told, will get you to the police station not the bus station. For the bus station, I had to use mujemma. And to find out how much anything was, shaHal got me blank stares, but gddesh got me the price. Chnu for "what" was just chu. Sometimes some people noticed my delayed reaction to their price offer and were kind enough to write the price out for me, but they would write it in Arabic numerals, which I never used in Morocco. Saying the French tren for train, tobis for bus, or tomobil for car that are commonplace in Darija had to be replaced with the Fusha equivalents except for bus, which was just bus. I could go on forever on how the dialects differed. It was interesting because I could halfway understand what people were saying, but only a few could understand what was coming out of my mouth. Fortunately, volunteers were there to fill in the gap and I am sure the exchange baffled Jordanians. Here was this Arab-looking guy asking someone who was clearly a foreigner to speak on his behalf.

A volunteer I had met in the city the night before and I left Amman sometime late morning and took a Hijazi bus for less than 2JD to head over to Irbid where I would be meeting two more Peace Corps volunteers. We got off at Irbid's Amman Station and hopped on one of the many passenger vans/small buses that circled the city. We got off at University St, which was home to a long strip of restaurants, cafes, cybercafes, and shops. It looked like if anything happened in Irbid, it probably took place on this strip. We chilled out at a snack shop while the other volunteers arrived. I tried a few of the snack's specialty mojeena, a baked pastry with a variety of different fillings. I got a cheese one, one with meat, and another with spinach.

Gender Expectations: Similar and Different

The volunteers filled me in on their experience. It was nice to a get a female perspective on the topic. I was curious to find out how conservative Jordan was in comparison to Morocco. Attire-wise, I did see more burqas and more niqabs than I had seen in Morocco, but I also saw a great number of ladies strutting their stuff with form-fitting western wear, high heels, full-on makeup, and a classy or flashy color-coordinated headscarf. I told volunteers that I had worked primarily with women during my service and they were surprised that I had that much freedom to interact with the opposite sex. Then I asked them about their service and all of them told me that they were working as TEFL Teachers or as Special Education Counselors, but I was surprised to learn that all their classrooms were segregated and that in some cases girls and boys went to different schools. That certainly was not typical of Morocco; most classrooms were integrated.

What took me most by surprise was our goodbyes. I was ready to shake the hand of the female volunteer who had made all the initial contacts with other volunteers and had given me a wealth of travel tips, but when I extended my hand, she left me hanging and just waived goodbye. Apparently, even a friendly shake could be misinterpreted by the locals. That incidence, though, was indicative of how my experience in Jordan would be. This moment where we exchanged a friendly conversation with a female was a rare moment; most of my time would likely be spent in the company of men.

Mi casa es su casa Jordanian style

So I arrived in a male volunteer's village later on. We were invited to several households to have coffee and tea. In one instance, we were invited to a colossal feast featuring Jordan's famous mansef. The dish has an unleavened bread base that is then covered with a layer of a saffron-flavored rice-n-roni that is then topped with a seasoned, baked chicken with roasted peanuts and then doused with a tangy, yougurty broth. I gorged on the food and exhaled a hamdullah(Thanks be to God). It was a feast to remember.

I wanted to thank the cooks who had made this fabulous meal, but this was out of the question. Even in Morocco, I sometimes did not meet the female members of the family until the 3rd or 4th meal(Three Meals Later) so I wasn't taken aback by it. It was interesting, however, that in the few days I spent in the shamal (north) and visited a couple of homes,one in particular twice, I had no interaction with females. That in most parts of Morocco would have been rare even for a foreigner.

Our male hosts treated us wonderfully. I felt welcomed and I learned a great deal about the male side of Jordanian culture and etiquette. They shared their love for football and we exchanged tid bits about our respective life experiences.

They were curious to hear about my two years in Morocco: if it was nice place to live, climate, food, how were the people, and if I had enjoyed my time there. They were also eager to learn about Venezuela and my opinion on the controversial Venezuelan President, Mr. Hugo Chavez, a darling of the Middle East. We spoke in a mix of English and Arabic. Fortunately, the volunteer's friends were all sympathetic interlocutors.

I must say that after spending a few days in a village in the shamal when a Jordanian would tell me marhaba (welcome) or ahalan wa sahalan fik (Loosely translated, it means, "May you arrive as part of the family, and tread an easy path (as you enter)*, I felt that they really meant it and they went to lengths to show me that they did. In terms of hospitality, Moroccans and Jordanians are neck and neck.

To some, chilling out in a village may seem like a waste of time given all the amazing sites and natural wonders in the world, but to me, observing the dynamics of village life, tasting the homemade cuisine, and talking with the locals is immensely satisfying and absolutely fascinating. I've been fortunate to be the recipient of some of the finest hospitality imaginable both from Jordanians and from volunteers. Their insight, connections, and assistance in helping me with the rest of my trip was invaluable. I hope I can one day return to the favor to fellow sojourners.

*Translation source: http://forum.wordreference.com/showthread.php?t=170419
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My journey through the Holy Land continues. Next, I'll share a bit of my experience walking through the Holy City of Jerusalem. A guide is a nice handy reference, but I got tons of info from Jordan's own tourism site:

http://www.visitjordan.com/Default.aspx

They also have a lot of great pics and pdf files you can print out.

In Jordan - Reaching Amman and Tasting Nirvana

2010-12-05T13:58:00.005Z

I arrived in Amman, Jordan, on Saturday, November 14, after taking red-eye flight from Casablanca on Egypt Air. Without even planning it, I and three other volunteers were on the same flight out of Casablanca. They were on their way to Cairo; I was making a pit stop in Cairo before heading to Amman. Before our flight, we scoured all the money exchange bureaus at the Mohammed V Casablanca Airport and none had Jordanian Dinars or Egyptian Pounds to exchange. Knowing that I was going to come back to Morocco after my Middle Eastern trek, I kept my funds and hoped that 25 Euros that I had kept stashed from my last trip to Europe would be enough to get through customs and to get to the nearest ATM.

I blogged earlier about my arrival to the Holy Land and the great experience I had with Egypt Air. I was fortunate to get a window seat, which allowed me to take in the scenery as we descended into Cairo and in the departure and arrival to Jordan. I'm a big fan of the window seat. Like the experience I wrote about earlier about the mountains and plateaus making me feel insignificant or being humbled by the sheer breadth and size of nature's wonders, I feel the same when staring out from my tiny window in the sky. Ironically for me, every flight is a grounding experience. It just makes me realize how inconsequential my problems are in the scope of time. What I begin to understand is that many of these landscapes are indifferent. Men and women have come and gone and yet they are still here changing and adapting to the elements. On my way in to Jordan, I saw various shades of sand, the blue of the Nile and the Red Sea, the Sinai Peninsula's mountainous wilderness, dunes, plateaus, rocky hills dotted with olive trees, and a few lush valleys.

The flight from Cairo to Amman was about 40 minutes. Counting our ascent and descent, we probably had about 20 minutes of coasting, and in that brief lull the flight crew scrambled to give everyone their complementary drink. It was a nice surprise to be able to walk directly onto the terminal rather than taking a shuttle or walking to it like you often do when travelling outside of Europe or the U.S. The causeway takes you straight to customs where an Arab Bank money exchange branch is at the center of the hall ready to exchange almost any currency to Jordanian Dinars. I found it interesting that a money exchange branch would be situated in the middle of the customs hall, but I guess a lot of countries do not carry Jordanian Dinars, Morocco being one of them (Actually, I didn't check if they would exchange Moroccan Dirhams so it could very well be that they only exchange major currencies). I exchanged my 25 Euros and got 22 Jordanian Dinars(JD). I knew coming in that the Jordanian Dinar was an expensive currency, but all the blogs I read said that most things are nowhere near U.S. or European prices. So it's little startling at first to get less money for your dollar or euro, but once you get out, you realize that a JD can be stretched out pretty far.

It was 10JD to get the visa. Some of the blogs I had browsed through before coming said that the visitor's visa was for two weeks so I was surprised to hear that the visas were now good for an entire month, which makes a lot of sense. You could traverse the country in two weeks. It's not very big and transportation to the main touristy sites is readily available, but for those who wish to take their time to meet people, taste the cuisine, and ponder the meaning of life in nature as I do, two weeks goes by in a flash.

Once I passed through customs, I went down to pick up my luggage. At the luggage carousels, I found some stands with maps and guides in various languages to the main sites in Jordan. It was a great find since all I had to go by on this trip was a Lonely Planet guide titled Middle East on a Shoestring Budget published in 1997. I was planning to travel on a shoestring budget, but after checking out some of the hotels this guide recommended, I decided to upgrade myself from shoestring to clean. I stayed at one hotel called Jerusalem Hotel in Aqaba, and it literally was the nastiest place I've ever stayed at with roaches crawling around and crummiest bed sheets I'd ever seen, but the guide was spot on with the price. It was the cheapest of all the "budget" options. After one night in that hole, I moved next door and paid 5JD more for a bigger room, hot water, and peace of mind.

The Amman Queen Alia International Airport is about the size of your regional airport in the U.S. Once you get past customs, you walk out into the arrivals waiting hall, which has a number of snack shops, car rental stands, banks and ATMs, and a couple of cell phone boutiques. If you plan to spend some time in Jordan, I strongly encourage purchasing a SIM card from one of the boutiques. They run anywhere from 4-6JD from Orange, Zain, Umniah, and others, and the purchase generally includes 1 to 2JD of credit, which is more than enough to make initial arrangements with friends and hotels. Also at the airport is a bus shuttle company that travels back and forth from the airport to Amman. I forget the name of the bus, but it's something Express and they are big yellow buses or transport vans. They have a stand at the airport and an attendant is outside asking any confused-looking tourist if they're going to Amman. It cost me 3JD and it dropped me off at the North Station also known as either Abdali Station or in Arabic as Moujema Shamal. As the bus begins to park, taxi drivers arise from their slumber and prepare to pounce on the fresh-off the plane tourists. I told one gentleman my destination and he offered to take me for 12JD. I told the guy in all honesty that I did not have 12JD and immediately he lowered the price to 7JD. I told him to lower it some more so he lowered it to 5JD and said in English, "Final price."

King Hussein St. Amman, Jordan

The guy took me through a touristy route, which allowed me to see the Roman fortress and auditorium. A ride through Amman is much like your typical roller coaster ride. The taxi drivers go just as fast as they wind up and down the countless hills and valleys of the city. My first impression of Amman was not a memorable one. I thought the city lacked color, but then later I heard that it's by city mandate that the buildings use the local white and beish stone for the exterior. I don't know how legit that statement is, but it certainly seems like most people are adhering to it. The only contrast to the vanilla cream buildings are a few skyscrapers in the new city.

Upon arriving at the hotel, I asked the hotel receptionist about how much it costs to get from the North Station to the hotel to which he said, "Oh about 1.5JD to 2JD." I was hosed, but fortunately it was only for 3 or so dinares. Oh well, it was a lesson learned. From there on, I didn't hop on a taxi unless they had their meter running.

I checked into the Farah Hotel, which I had made a reservation on www.HostelWorld.com. I paid 5JD for a shared accommodation for one night. The rooms were clean, the bed was soft and sturdy, and the bathrooms were well-tended too. The lobby was also nice with plush decent couches, a TV and DVD player, a couple of large dining tables, and a couple of shelves full of board games, books, and bootleg movies.

When I checked in, I saw a guy chilling out on one of the couches. After I dropped my stuff in my room, I asked him about his travel plans. He told me smilingly that he lived in Jordan. Immediately I asked him if he was a Peace Corps Volunteer and he said yes. I told him that I had just COSed a couple of days ago and then he asked me if I was Jonathan and I said yes, and then I followed asking him if he was Torin and he said yes. We had exchanged a few emails prior to arriving. He had said that he was likely going to be busy touring with some friends. It so happened that he was at Farah waiting for his friends to arrive from Palestine. We had exchanged emails earlier and had plans to meet up later on in the week. I was exhausted from the red-eye flight, but I had a lot of questions about travel options and sites and then we spoke for a while about his Peace Corps experience and he gave me his lowdown on Jordan. I also shared a bit of my Peace Corps Morocco experience and gave him my lowdown on travel, food, and culture. I was fortunate to have found him and to have had this exchange on the first day of my trip.

We decided to meet up later on in the evening. I ran into him at a small fast food joint and joined him for a shawarma. The shawarma was not that great, but it was dirt cheap at 1.50JD for the plate. I was more impressed by the size of the meat spikes rotating in the fire. These spikes were probably about a meter and a half long and about half a meter wide. Some of the guys tending to it had to climb a small step ladder to shave off the meat and some used a long knife to cut the meat and others used what looked like industrial size hair clippers.

After the shawarma, we walked over to Habiba, a confectionery shop preparing Jordan's famous kenafa. This delicious sweet treat should rank pretty high in terms of the world's greatest inventions. The scrumptious treat has a mozzarella cheese base, a thin crunchy cake layer or stringy top that is doused in a honey or sugar-based syrup, and topped off with pistachios, cinnamon, and nutmeg on top. Every bite was like reaching taste-bud nirvana.

After Habiba's kenafa, we moved on to a cafe right on the main strip of King Hussein St. called Eco-Tourism Cafe. It was a scruffy looking place. About the only thing “eco” about it were the plants that the owner had throughout the cafe. There I got my first taste of Jordanian coffee. It was a contrast to Morocco's fancy coffee presses that squeeze out the coffee from the coffee grounds. In Jordan, you get the coffee and the grounds. Moroccan coffee also seems lighter in comparison to the almost syrupy makeup of Jordanian coffee, but as far as sugar is concerned, they're neck and neck. The coffee's bitterness is offset quite well by the generous amounts of sugar in each cup.

It was a nice first night in Amman. The following day I was to head out to Irbid with Torin to meet a couple of other volunteers. Upon arrival I had heard that L3id Kbir would most certainly fall on Tuesday, November 16. When I was drawing up my initial plans, I was hoping to avoid another sheep slaughtering, but it looked like I would be witness to yet another. I felt bad for the sheep, but at the same time I was thinking that I wouldn't object to some slow-cooked or grilled sheep meat. I was looking forward to meeting up with more volunteers and was even more excited about the opportunity to experience village life with one of them.

It had only been two days since I had checked/stamped out of Peace Corps. You would think that I would be running towards the comforts of Western amenities, but here I was wanting to experience village life in Jordan, and here I was in the hands of volunteers that were making it possible for me to do so. I felt blessed and fortunate to be part of this select group of people who have invested so much time and energy to get to know the people around them and their surroundings and who are so willing to share the little bit they know with me.

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Some Travel Details

Farah Hotel

Amman Al-Hussein Cinema St.

Behind Arab Bank

Downtown

+962-6-465-1443

Email: farahhotel@hotmail.com

www.farahhotel.com.jo

One of the best state-run tourism websites that I've seen to date:

http://www.visitjordan.com/

Hinajen Elementary Belated Back to School Project

2010-12-03T13:01:00.003Z

Hinajen kids with their game face on

Early in service I visited a small primary school about 5 kilometers from Sefrou. The teachers and I had a little pow-wow, and they spoke to me about some of the challenges they faced in teaching the kids. They mentioned one problem that is all too common in many rural schools: the lack of plumbing or restroom facilities. For many boys, it's no big deal to irrigate the nearest tree, but for girls it's a whole 'nother issue. The really young ones don't mind squatting out in the bush, but once they reach 4-5th grade, they as well as their parents feel that doing so is no longer appropriate. They also said that they lacked school supplies and sports equipment. I wrote down their information and said I would look into funding opportunities for building restroom facilities or basic latrines, but also told them that the community would need to contribute at least 20-30 percent of the grant amount. I also told them that they would need to identify an association that I could send the funds to. After that visit, I heard very little from the teachers.

I still remembered the kids and I relayed some of the information to my friends and family. I told them to wait until the teachers identified an association, but unfortunately they never did. The teachers were in agreement in terms of what they wanted, but not in how they wanted to carry out the projects. I still remembered the kids and I still wanted to do something for them even if it was just helping out with school supplies.

Over the next year or so, I kept an eye for things that the school could use. Luckily, Peace Corps Morocco got a donation of sport jerseys from the U.S. that our Youth Development(YD) Volunteers began to distribute at various language and summer camps. I emailed the YD Program Manager about my little Hinajen Elementary School project, gave him the approximate number of students, and shortly thereafter, he sent a box full of jerseys. Then, as my sitemate was in the process of getting rid of all his worldly possessions before returning to the U.S., he offered to give me an unused soccer ball and a basketball that was in pretty decent shape. A few months later, Peace Corps sent out a notice to volunteers that they had received a donation of reams of printer grade color paper. I petitioned for a few boxes and during one of my program manager visits, they dropped off about 10 reams and several rolls of butcher paper. Then finally, last summer a group of young kids from a gap-year program called Where There Be Dragons led by couple of Morocco RPCVs stopped by Sefrou to take part of a number of cultural exchange activities. Towards the end of their visit, they learned about the Islamic tradition of zakat or almsgiving. They decided to take a portion of their travel funds and to donate it to a worthy cause. The volunteers contacted me about their donation and I told them that I would be able to find something to put their money to good use. In total, the group collected about 1,200DH or roughly $160. It was a nice chunk of change.

I spoke to one of the teachers about the donation and he immediately drew up a list of items. We then set up a tentative date for some sort of back-to-school event. We bought a whole bunch of rulers, markers, scissors, notebooks, pencils, pens, etc. We then applied some of the funds towards a purchase of about 40 school uniforms. Together with the school supplies, uniforms, and the in-kind donations from Peace Corps and my sitemate, we had a good trunk full of stuff. I was really excited about the event and told a few volunteers in the region about it. I was hoping to have games and a big couscous lunch for the kids.

I left it up to my school contact to arrange the transportation and was hoping that the school district would pitch in for at least that. A number of weeks went by and I heard very little. Then, later on, I learned that the school director said that he would need to be present at the event because they feared that I and the volunteers were perhaps going to give out some Bibles and other Christian paraphernalia along with the gifts. When I visited the school last year, there was no mention of this, but this time the schools were on alert given a recent event that received wide media attention that exposed a group of Americans who were running an orphanage in Ain Leuh and were allegedly proselytizing the kids, which is strictly prohibited under Moroccan law. I chuckled when I heard this.

So I had to call off the event and instead scheduled a drop-off for late October. I hired a small pickup truck. My school contact followed me and the driver behind in his sputtering lawn-mower-propeller moped, and when we arrived at the school, we immediately began unloading all the goodies. I made a pit stop at a small shop and bought some sweets for the kids. We took a few shots with the school supplies and then I left. Later on, the teacher used his digital camera to take shots of the kids with the jerseys playing a little soccer.

It was disappointing that I couldn't put on the back-to-school event; even so, I was happy that the kids got a bunch of stuff that will hopefully make their school year a little bit more enjoyable and make their recess a whole lot more fun. Please take a moment to take a look at the pictures

Rural areas of Morocco are still very much in need of assistance. If you're interested in donating, I encourage you to browse through a list of community-based projects posted on the Peace Corps Partnership Program page or look into projects being funded through the High Atlas Foundation. Once again, thank you for reading and thank you for donating.

Hinajen Elementary School

You Can Dream. Stories of Moroccan Women Who Do.

2010-11-30T21:12:00.000Z

A fellow RPCV produced an amazing video of six remarkable Moroccan women who have overcome all sorts of odds to succeed and to share their knowledge with other women. One of the women profiled is my counterpart, Amina Yabis, President of the the Cherry Buttons Cooperative. Her story and that of all the other women are truly inspiring. They exemplify grassroots development at its very core. Please share with friends and family and spread the word that women's empowerment, as Amartya Sen would likely say, is one of the many if not the most effective tool for alleviating poverty for women and their children, reducing infant mortality, reducing the number of births, improving the health of women and their children, and creating more accountable and representative governments around the world.

You Can Dream. Stories of Moroccan Women Who Do from cortney healy on Vimeo.

For more stories on Women in the Muslim World, please visit: http://womensvoicesnow.org/

Arriving in the Holy Land

2010-11-20T21:43:00.002Z

pilI arrived in Jordan around 10AM local time on Sunday, November 14, exhausted from a red-eye flight from Casablanca-Cairo-Amman.  It's been a while since I flew into the future. Last time I did that was exactly 27 months ago when I swallowed the red pill and began my Peace Corps journey through the land of the far west. Having experienced the mix of cultures and traditions and seen first hand the practice of Islam of the Maghreb, I was curious to see another part of the Arab and Islamic World and to carry out a little pilgrimage of my own; so I embarked on a journey through the Holy Land. As I wrote in an earlier blog [In Matters of Faith: Minding My Own], I feel that it is extremely important to contextualize the Holy Scriptures. I don't consider myself to be a religious person and it may sound strange to my friends to hear that I am going on a pilgrimage, but truth is that despite not being a pious individual, I find it amazing how the tales and stories, oral traditions, and culture of this region of the world have resonated throughout the world and to some extent are still changing the beliefs and conduct of isolated pockets of the world that are just beginning to hear about the Abrahamic faiths.

I find it interesting walking through this rocky Mediterranean landscape that people in the tropics could still relate. The environments are so different. As I flew into Cairo, all I saw was a vast open expanse of sand and arid hills up until one reaches the Nile, but even the mighty Nile looks puny in the midst of the wilderness. From Cairo to Amman, we flew over the Sinai Peninsula and there I saw the wilderness that the Children of Israel supposedly wandered around for 40 years for punishment for disobeying the God of Moses. Well, after flying over it, I would say, "Dang, God, did you have to go that far? I mean, really?" As we flew into Jordan, it was more of the same except perhaps a little more colorful with some red sand hills in the distance. Upon arrival, I thought I would be greeted with a cool winter breeze, but instead I got a big waft of summer.  It was such a change from the low-50s temperatures I was already dealing with in Morocco.

Supposedly according to the locals, the temperatures have been unusually high for the month. We'll see if it cools down at all while I am here. However, even it cools and rains come, it would revive the hills and turn them green, but just for a brief moment. Irrigation is helping to create more arable plots, but there's only enough water for isolated oases. It's tough to say why the stories stuck, but I believe one way of getting a better understanding is to do as the locals do or as we say "walk a mile in someone else's shoes". That I will do and will soon share those insights.

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Some Travel Details

I flew on Egypt Air. The flight took off at 12AM from Airport Mohammed V near Casablanca. The airline served us a meal at 2AM Morocco time and then an hour and half later gave us a muffin and a choice of beverage. The meals were delicious, one of the airline hostesses was extremely HOT, and the seats were decent.  The flight took off a little late due to some baggage mishandling problems, but they were forthright about the issue. Due to the delay, I arrived in Cairo with only 30 minutes prior to the departure of my connecting flight to Amman.  Thankfully, the airline did an amazing job of fast-tracking all individuals going to Jordan through their connecting flights lobby and they also got my luggage transferred in time. I recommend the airline.

For my return trip to Casablanca, I am going to try out UAE-based discount airline Air Arabia. Their rates are the lowest I've seen for travel through the Middle East. For instance, flights from Casablanca to Alexandria will run about $140 one way. Egypt Air flights are marketed through major online travel websites like Orbitz, Expedia, et al; Air Arabia flights are not. I have heard some stories of subpar service from Air Arabia from other volunteers.  We'll see if their stories are isolated instances or the general rule. For the price though, it's tough to complain when most everyone else is charging 30-50% more for the same route. Who knows? Perhaps the service will be so good or so bad that it may merit a blog entry. Stay tuned.

Amoebas No More, Inshallah

2010-11-09T16:28:00.004Z

In one of my last blogs, I spoke about how insignificant I felt walking in the midst of towering mountains and plateaus that have been carved and molded over millennia by the chaotic cosmic forces of the universe. Well, there happens to be something else that has also been around for millennia that has also made me feel completely insignificant and powerless, yet their size is microscopic at best, but the havoc they can wreck can render the healthiest and the most fit completely useless. Yet, I don't think they have ever made it into a snazzy National Geographic documentary perhaps because they don't shoot out any venom, have sharp teeth, or strike at lightning speed; nonetheless, they should be given a show of their own and be recognized as a force to be reckoned with. I speak of none other than the tiny, yet almighty amoeba.

On two separate instances, amoebas have invaded my stomach. You would think that with all the gastric acid sloshing around that these little critters would never have a chance to survive, but somehow they do. According to the authoritative Wikipedia, the name amoeba comes from the Greek work amoibe, which means change. Before the word amoibe came about, Wikipedia says, "Early naturalist referred to Amoeba as Protus animalcule after the Greek God Protus who could change his shape." And indeed, they do. They expand, shrink, and form protective sheaths around themselves. These critters are the shadiest of characters lurking in what appears to be refreshingly clean spring water, coasting on the surface of what looks like well-cooked and certainly appetizing street food, or hiding within what seems like healthy looking fruits and veggies. It's impossible to tell when they arrived or from whence they came because they often forgo duplication until the environment is just right for them. Oh but when they do, be ready for the gastrointestinal fight of the ages.

Within the volunteer community, conversations about our bowel movements are as common as speaking about the weather. We have come to regard a solid stool as something of a novelty and reminds us of better days. Those fond memories help us weather the days when it feels as if all your internal organs are being liquefied and being expelled with the force of a cataclysmic volcanic eruption that is then followed by tremors, murmurs, and subsequent explosions that leave one feeling completely helpless and subject to the will of your stomach.

During these recurrent blasts of liquid fire, your stomach becomes a prima Donna of sorts rejecting anything that it deems unworthy of its peculiar taste, and sometimes it rejects any food or beverage outright. Fortunately for these moments, our Peace Corps med kits are stocked with sodium and electrolyte packets that when mixed with water are the equivalent of chugging a full glass of ocean water. Yum, yum! Naturally, without any food or calories to burn, your body goes into hibernation mode. The common saying ‘I feel empty inside’ voiced by many seeking some sort of spiritual transcendence or satisfaction in their lives takes on a literal meaning.

After a day of violent convulsions and eruptions, your stomach now purged of the foreign invaders begins to tolerate some simple starches. From there, we begin our BRAT diet regime, which includes bananas, rice, apples, and tea. It's a rather bland menu, but flavor is the last thing on your mind. With every bite you take, you utter a prayer in the hopes that your inflamed, hypersensitive, and enzyme depleted stomach will accept the tiniest of morsels.

Little by little, your stomach returns to normalcy, but unless you’ve undergone treatment to eradicate the versitile amoeba, the Hindenburg style bloating, napalm spewing anus, and magma churning stomach are bound to return. The PC Med Team is well versed on amoebas, giardia, food poisoning, and other symptoms of gastrointestinal warfare. Over the course of my service, I’ve been on an intensive three-day as well as a seven-day treatment of Tinidazole and/or Intetrix. Upon taking the drugs, you may think that all will be fine and well from henceforth, but that path to recovery is a long and troublesome road. In some cases, the drugs can be just as debilitating as the amoebas. The medicine kills all bacteria even the good guys leaving your stomach devoid of the normal flora needed to break down food.

In the absence of your normal bacteria, sometimes yeast can multiply uninhibited giving you more gas and other strange symptoms. In such cases, you scrap the BRAT diet and introduce a more complex diet of cooked veggies, proteins, yogurt, and some friendly probiotic treatments like Ultra Levure.

When I get back to the states, I’m totally auditioning for the Bio Activia commercials. My dialogue with that of another volunteer would go something like this:

Jonathan: [Casually with an empathetic smile] Hi, Mary, have you been spewing fire from every orifice again?

Mary: [Sighing] Oh, thank goodness that’s over, but I’ve been bedridden for the last few days ever since taking my anti-parasite medicine and my stomach can’t digest worth a crap. [Ha ha]

Jonathan: Been there. Have you ever tried Activia?

Mary: Activia?

Jonathan: Yes, that’s what I said.

Mary: Why no? What is it?

Jonathan: It’s a magical yogurty concoction that contains Bifidus Regularis.

Mary: What the heck is Bifidus Regularis?

Jonathan: It’s friendly bacteria that can help in the digestive process after your typical Mt. Saint Helen’s-esque eruptions or whiplash-like convulsions.

Mary: Why Jonathan, I’m just gonna have to try it!

Jonathan: You won’t regret it, but if you still have excessive gas, constipation, diarrhea, and other abnormal symptoms on a frequent basis, check with your doctor because the parasites must have really done a number on you and you may be in need of a complete revamp of your diet that may or may not include Activia to avoid the onset of other chronic gastrointestinal disturbances.

Mary: Wow, Jonathan. I knew I could count on you to provide me a prolonged explanation that is only slightly comforting.

Jonathan: Hey, that’s what I’m here for.

I’m going to pitch it to Danone when I get back. I’m sure it will have to go through legal and their med unit before it’s approved. I’ll keep you posted.

The road to recovery is one that needs to be reassessed on a continuous basis. The PC Med Team has already confirmed that I will have health vouchers so that I can conduct all the necessary tests and trials to ensure that traces of parasites are absent from my fragile and sensitive system, which may entail a government-funded colonoscopy. Bring it on!

Amoeba Action Figure

As you may know, I am all about full disclosure--sometimes full exposure. I knew quite well that coming to Peace Corps, inherently, carries a number of risks. I think the number one cause of death amongst volunteers is transportation accidents, which to some extent is out of your hands. Anti-parasite meds usually take care of amoebas, but the after effects of the damage and the side effects of the meds can last for a brief moment or could develop into something else more long-term. But unlike transportation accidents, you can reduce your chances of an epic bout with amoebas to nil. When I first arrived in

Morocco

, I criticized Moroccan cuisine for their propensity to cook their veggies to a mush. I cried, “Oh where, oh where have all the raw veggies and salads gone?” Now I understand why. They know all about amoebas and wisely pressure-cook their veggies until they resemble a dilapidated, torn, and strewed figure of their once wholesome selves. Now, I say, “Bring on the mush.” I scoffed when other volunteers living in urban sites like mine would boil their water saying, “Why do you waste precious buta gas on treated water?” Now, after learning that even in my own town of Sefrou treatment capacity is compromised after heavy rains, which happens quite often during the winter months, I boil my water religiously. As far as street food is concerned, I said a sorrowful goodbye. Our PC Med Team did share a lot of information at Pre-service Training, but I think my youthful naiveté of invincibility clouded my thinking, and as such, I learned a very important lesson: that even the most fit is no match for the itty-bitty, teeny-weensy yet all powerful amoebas.

Not surprisingly, even poets acknowledged the magnificence of these little creatures. Here’s a witty tribute by Arthur Guiterman:

"Ode To The Amoeba"

Recall from Time's abysmal chasm

That piece of primal protoplasm

The First Amoeba, strangely splendid,

From whom we're all of us descended.

That First Amoeba, weirdly clever,

Exists today and shall forever,

Because he reproduced by fission;

He split himself, and each division

And subdivision deemed it fitting

To keep on splitting, splitting, splitting;

So, whatsoe'er their billions be,

All, all amoebas still are he.

Zoologists discern his features

In every sort of breathing creatures,

Since all of every living species,

No matter how their breed increases

Or how their ranks have been recruited,

From him alone were evoluted.

King Solomon, the Queen of

Sheba

And Hoover sprang from that amoeba;

Columbus, Shakespeare, Darwin, Shelley

Derived from that same bit of jelly.

So famed is he and well-connected,

His statue ought to be erected,

For you and I and William Beebe

Are undeniably amoebae!

(http://www.blueridgejournal.com/poems/ag-amoeba.htm)
----------

Given that over the course of the last two years taking care of my stomach has become an obsession, I read a number of excerpts from a book titled The Second Brain by Michael Gershon. It talks about how your stomach and brain are interconnected and how the well-being of one has direct effect on the function of the other. It adds a scientific basis for the common saying "you are what you eat."

Camp GLOW Morocco 2010 Pics Are Up!

2010-11-03T01:55:00.004Z

Camp GLOW 2010 pictures are now available for all to see. Thank you for your patience. I added them to the general Camp GLOW picture file on Picasa. Amina Yabis, the principal organizer, and PCV Rachel took all the photos at the event so a big thanks to them. I want to thank everyone once again for your financial support and for spreading the word. Camp GLOW Morocco is one of the few projects in Peace Corps Morocco that is still ongoing. I was fortunate to be involved in the project, and I learned a great deal from it. Based on the feedback from the PCVs that were at the camp and hearing from Amina, there were certainly some highlights and areas that should be improved. The camp organizers overcame a huge financial obstacle to put the camp together borrowing from friends and family until the funds from the embassy, our primary funder, finally arrived. Also with the main organizer away on travel up until a week prior to the event, a lot of key decisions were put off until she arrived, but fortunately Ms. Yabis's perseverance brought the camp through.

I sat down with Amina to discuss fund-raising options for future camps. She will likely pursue funding from the embassy once again, but I'm hoping that she will also pursue opportunities with the Global Fund for Women, African Women's Development Fund, MEPI Small Grant Assistance, USAID's Projet SANAD, and even from Soros's Open Society. She has personal experience with Projet SANAD and has been briefed on others.

Ms. Yabis and I filled out the Projet SANAD grant last year. We did not win financial assistance, but she received an invitation to participate in their capacity building workshops. Unfortunately, those workshops all took place via webcast making it nearly impossible for a lot of semi-urban or rural associations who have unreliable internet or not enough bandwidth or who are not the most tech literate to participate. I'm sure the webcasts were great and I'm sure a lot of people benefited from them, but whoever thought of the idea clearly did not have rural people and their challenges in mind.

We knew going in that it would be tough to win given that Amina's association organizes only one large-scale event per year compared to other associations who have year-round programs. We still gave it a shot. I thought that simply going through the process and drafting the Camp GLOW goals and successes in Standard Arabic was a huge step. She said that this was the first grant she completed on her own and applied to directly. All others have been filled out by PCVs and with assistance from artisana delegation folks. I'm hoping that she will apply again this year and draft a more sound budget with a series of camps and other training sessions that will hopefully get some consideration.

The association needs to apply for other funding outside of embassy funds so that the facilitators and other association personnel can get paid for some of the work they do. All of the last four camps have been volunteer-organized and executed. While it's great that these host country nationals have given of their time free-of-charge, expecting people to volunteer year-in and year-out is simply not sustainable. There needs to be a core group of individuals who can organize and plan. In the past, volunteers have filled this role, but given Peace Corps's two-year rotations and constant change in leadership and priorities, it's not certain that the Peace Corps will be there in the future and it really shouldn't be expected to be there indefinitely. Sources like Global Fund for Women and I believe African Women's Development Fund permit the recipient to allocate a portion of the grant towards labor unlike a lot of other sources that forbid it. Amina has never budgeted for labor so it'll be something new for her, but I think it will be something she and the current facilitators will gladly welcome. Fortunately, the Global Fund for Women provides their grant applications in Arabic and French. A couple of weeks ago when we met, she said she would look over the forms. I'm hoping she does and applies. Even if she doesn't win, she and her association will learn a great deal from the process.

All in all, I'm happy that the camp took place despite the financial hurdles. Amina heard my feedback as well as that of PCV Marian and Rachel who were present at the camp on enhancing the structure of the camp. The young women learned a great deal and made lasting friendships. I do hope that the next wave of volunteers will participate in future camps and that Amina and the Golden Buttons Association will continue to learn from each event.

Once again, thank you to all who donated and for telling everyone and anyone about this great event. Here's a brief photo compilation of what you helped to bring about:

Camp GLOW - Girls Leading Our World

Introducing Mouhsine Khadira, Woodcarver Extraordinaire

2010-10-28T17:02:00.005Z

One of my woodcarvers at the Sefrou Artisana finally agreed to have some of his work showcased to a wider audience. He is little apprehensive about publicizing his work out of fear that others could copy his ideas. I find that some of his work is so unique that it would be very difficult for someone to be able to do that, but according to Mouhsine, he has seen it happen with frequency. He said that he'll go to an artisana expo one year and then see some of his models replicated by other woodcarvers the following year.

Mouhsine is one of the most chill individuals I know. I enjoyed hanging out with him, drinking tea with him in his boutique, and just talking about anything that came to mind. From my travels through Morocco, I would have to say that out of the countless thuya-woodcarving shops I walked in and out of in Essaouira, one of the biggest woodcarving centers, his creativity and attention to detail are unparalleled. I have had the chance to watch him create a piece from conception. His careful planning and solid execution are admirable.

Mouhsine finally allowed me to post some of his materials because he would like one day to travel abroad to other woodcarving or contemporary art expos. Off the top of my head, I don't know of any expos in the U.S. or in Europe that would welcome his work. If you do, please send them my way. Like many artisans in Morocco, much of their amazing work goes unnoticed. We hope this site will get Mouhsine a little attention, which will hopefully lead to more opportunities in the near future.

The site was created with the intent to promote his work and not necessarily to sell (an e-portfolio of sorts); however, if you're interested in purchasing one of his sculptures, you can contact him directly if you speak French or Arabic or visit his boutique at the Ensemble Artisanal Bab El Mkam in Sefrou. For more info, please click on the Contactez-moi page .

At the moment, he does not have a catalogue available. Some of the pieces in Mes Sculptures have names. You could use those names to inquire about a price. If you'd like to have an item shipped, DHL and FedEx service is available, but they run about 750DH a kilo or nearly $100 p/kilo. Poste Maroc, the national postal service, is fairly reliable and will run about a third of what DHL and FedEx would cost you, but will take 2-3 weeks time to deliver anything and there have been instances where the delivery never arrives at its destination. For a list of their rates, please visit and search under the "Vos Envois des Messagerie" @ http://www.bam.net.ma

http://www.wix.com/khadira/sculptures

Free website - Powered By Wix.com

P.S. I copied and pasted most of the text on the site from an old brochure that the previous Sefrou PCV made for Mouhsine. My French is such that I can understand what the brochure is saying, but I can't tell you if it's grammatically correct. For all you native French speakers, if you see something out of place, please let me know. I and Mouhsine will be extremely grateful and as we say in Morocco for all good deeds done out of the kindness of your heart, llah yrHm l-walidin (May God bless your parents).

Traversing the South: Tinejdad, Tinghir, and the Todra Gorge

2010-10-28T04:10:00.004Z

It's amazing how even within the same country just 8 or so hours away from my site that the surroundings can be so remarkably different. In some places you feel as if you were walking on the Red Planet. The people also dress a little differently and speak a completely different language. It almost felt like I was starting my Peace Corps tour all over again.

View Larger Map

After the camel ride to the desert and back, I continued my journey by grand taxi from Errachidia going east to Tinejdad, another oasis village with a stunning mud ksar, lots of small vegetable, fruit, and wheat and corn plots, and palm trees all bordering the winter rain stream that snakes through town. The mud ksar is like a little mud piste fortress castle with corner towers with beautiful overlooks molded in classical Amazigh form. Like the mud piste castle out in the middle of the desert, this ksar was also a good 20 degrees cooler.

Tinejdad Laizars

Tinejdad is not shy about its Berber/Amazigh history. As I walked up to and through the ksar, the free-man Amazigh insignia was proudly displayed on the ksar walls. The Amazigh pride symbols could also be seen in the laizars that the women wore. These thin sheets of fabric that women wrap around themselves on top of their djellaba or niqab had all sorts Amazigh designs in bright neon threading over usually a black cloth. As far as language, about 45 or so minutes before I arrived in Tinejdad, I was speaking Darija with folks in Errachidia, but in Tinejdad, you best be ready to bust out some Tashelheit - another Amazigh/Berber dialect. Darija is spoken, but I got the feeling that it's mainly done to appease the passersby. Right next to the ksar, I saw some signs for some swanky looking maison d'hôtes and there were plenty of restaurants on the main road. I think if I was looking for a nice pit stop before heading to the desert, Tinejdad would be at the top of my list.

Tinghir Kasbah

From Tinejdad, the next stop was Tinghir and the magnificent Todra Gorge. The sight of mud villages on the fringes of the palmeries sprouting from the Todra River against the backdrop of a dry, barren, and rocky mountainside is something that is indelibly imprinted in my mind.

It is so different from anything I had ever seen.
From Tinghir, we took a grand taxi to the Todra Gorge. We walked around a bit, hiked up the road some, and then headed back. The Todra Gorge is essentially a narrow passageway carved out of a mountain plateau by the Todra River over a millenia.

Todra Gorge Entrance

It's another one of those natural wonders where the sheer size of it makes one feel like an insignificant blip in the space of time. I like this feeling. As I stare at layer upon layer of rock and sediment dating back to who knows when, my preoccupations of daily life seem to wither away and I think to myself how silly it is to be worrying about leaving a legacy or something for people to remember me by.

I was encouraged by the bit of farming at the base of the gorge. The green stood out in such contrast to everything around it. I also found an interesting flower that I think depicts the area well. This spiny, thorny flower is not really inviting; in fact, it's a little harsh and hostile, but nonetheless it's beautiful to look at.

More pictures and stories about the rest of the trip on the next blog.

Trip Essentials:

Lodging
We camped out the night at the Todra River Valley amongst the palm trees in a campsite right on the edge of the river stream. We stayed at the Camping l'Auberge Atlas (ph: 212-524-89-50-46). It was 100DH for their basic room. They also had ponjs out in the terrace for 30DH.

Food
Dinner can be expensive. Clarify the pricing before ordering especially if you order the tagine special. We ordered the special thinking that the 60DH covered the entire tagine; when in fact, it was 60DH per person. Ouch! The place was no hole in the wall. The food was delicious and had a cool ambiance. The whole road from Tinghir to the Todra Gorge is replete with hotels and restaurants catering to foreign tourists. You have a lot of choice so use it to your advantage when bargaining.

Transpo:

Once again, CTM bus service is available leaving out of Errachidia, Marrakech, Ouarzazate, and other locations. By grand taxi, I think I averaged about 25DH per leg from one town to another.

Traversing the South: "There Is No Paradise Without the Desert"

2010-10-26T03:47:00.018Z

The other day I was watching an interesting interview on Riz Khan's One on One program that airs on Al-Jazzera English. The guest on the show was Nacer Khemir, a famous Tunisian cinematographer and writer. In the interview, he spoke about the importance of the desert in Arab culture. He said that without the desert, there would be no paradise and "this quest for paradise is the true essence of Islam." He added that Arab civilizations are "constructed around a void." He pointed out that The Kaaba in Mecca, considered to be the center of the universe for Muslims, is an empty cube, good calligraphy is judged by the void, not the full, the desert is often described as both full and empty, and lastly he said that the word for the number zero also means empty, which explains why some people shout a number of obscenities at me from time to time and then finish by uttering the number zero. He tied it all in by saying, "It's the creation of emptiness inside you so that something can come. And if this emptiness is essential, the Divine arrives." See the full length interview below in which he also speaks of other challenges facing Arab culture and identity and Sufism. He provides a wealth of insight in just 20 minutes.

As I write this blog about my travels through the vast, sun-scorched wilderness of the south of Morocco, I can't help but think of some of the imagery Khemir mentioned. I often wonder if the Holy Scriptures would have been significantly different if the prophets and apostles had lived in the tropical rainforests of my native Venezuela. Would Moses have relayed the message to the Children of Israel about going to a 'land of milk and honey' if say they were already enjoying sweet and tangy pineapples, fat and juicy mangoes, mouth-watering papayas, just-like-butta avocados, fun-to-munch-on sugar cane, and getting their fill of the hearty cassava(yuca) and a host of other tropical fruits and veggies? Would Moses have had to strike a rock if say the Amazon and Orinoco River and their many tributaries were already providing for their water needs? Would there be so many references in the Qur'an about paradise if say they already lived in one? I doubt it.

Prior to coming to Morocco, I would say that I could sympathize with the Children of Israel, but I couldn't really empathize. I just didn't have any real context to go by. Growing up in Venezuela(politics aside), I thought I was already living in the Garden of Eden: rivers flowed, green all around, food was plentiful, animals were prancing in the forest, etc, etc. When our family moved to the U.S., I lived in areas that were also blessed with frequent rains that kept the lawns and the agricultural fields green, and in Oklahoma and Indiana, deers were literally prancing around in the forest. I had seen some dunes here and there, but they were mostly isolated patches of sand. I once traveled through Arizona and Nevada and saw a bit of their deserts. I was told that the wandering-through-the-wilderness portion of the epic Ten Commandments movie was filmed there, and I can see why they chose that location. When I drove through, it certainly looked dry, rocky, and devoid of life as some parts of the south of Morocco do. However, what the Arizona and Nevada deserts don't have is the striking contrast of a lush, green palmerie against the backdrop of a barren, rocky hillside. Naturally, as you look out your taxi window to allow your mind to escape the cramped and smelly confines you find yourself in, your eyes gravitate to these clusters of green out on the plain, sprouting from a river bed, or wedged in a mountain ravine. As you reach these oases and palmeries, you do get the urge to say "hamdulillah" (Thanks be to God) or to thank the cosmic forces of the universe for creating this small haven or paradise in the middle of this unbearably hot and hostile terrain.

While traveling through the south of Morocco, I guess you could say that I experienced somewhat of a revelation or better yet a grand clarification. True, Morocco is really at the fringes of the Sahara and granted I only spent a total of 3 hours on a camel and took a bus to jump from one oasis to another, but I think that even this brief exposure gave me more context than I ever had about the realities and the dynamics at play in a harsh desert environment.

For instance, I can understand why some would be skeptical of people who live out in the desert wilderness and then come to an oasis city yelling that the end is near. I would have probably handed that person a pitcher of water and then asked, "Now, what was it that you were trying to say?" Or, I can empathize somewhat with the Children of Israel's reluctance to leave the fertile Nile Delta for a journey through the desert wilderness in order to reach the Promised Land. I also understand why the Three Kings traveled by night. They used the stars as their compass, but probably and just as important was their desire to avoid the heat. I cannot imagine rocking back and forth on a camel in 100 degree plus heat. Let's just say that after this trip, the stories in The Scriptures began to make a little more sense.

I'm actually heading to Jordan and Egypt after Close-of-Service or as Peace Corps now defines it, "Continuation-of-Service". Starting November 14, I'm going to be retracing some of the steps Joshua and Moses took in leading the Children of Israel to the Promised Land, but I'm doing it all backwards. I'm going to Jordan, maybe Israel, and then onto Egypt. I first thought of going from the land of bondage to the Promised Land, but my frequent flyer miles and flight deals are forcing me to go the opposite way. Is this a sign? I should know when I reach Mt. Sinai.

I'm going to be visiting some Jordanian volunteers, crashing some hostels, and couchsurfing some of it. I hope my Moroccan Arabic will help me get through the trip and allow me to understand a tidbit of what people are saying. The sites I'm visiting are sites that I have read about ever since I was a kid. Perhaps, when I arrive at the various sites I will receive another revelation or grand clarification. Rest assured that if I do, I'll be sure to post it.

In a future blog, I will expand on the rest of the places I visited on my southern trek with photos, hotel stays, travel tips, and all. Thanks for reading.

Traversing the South: Into the Desert

2010-10-15T02:43:00.007Z

Last Spring, I had the chance to take a week-long excursion through the south of

Morocco

. When you visit the south, you get the sense that you're finally in

Morocco

. When I left my hometown in April, the temperature was hovering just above 50F. After a nine hour CTM bus ride from Fes, I arrived in Erfoud early in the morning and immediately began shedding my many layers of clothes to enjoy the balmy 80F weather. By the time, desert trekking company picked up us around noon, it was well over 90F and by the time we got to the edge of the Sahara, it was easily over 100F, but the air was so dry that it felt like every bit of moisture in my nostrils was being sucked out.

After a 30-minute 4x4 ride through the rocky, arid desert wilderness on the way to the Erg Chebbi dunes, we arrived at a mud piste auberge where we all went into hiding from the blinding and unforgiving sun. The mud-kasbah, though, was amazingly cool. We decided to order lunch. The kasbah had about everything one could find in your typical Moroccan restaurant. The server told us that they had some of the best Kalia in the region. I'm not even going to attempt to describe it so I'll just borrow from others. According to Morocco.com, it describes Kalia as "...a mutton or kid stew flavored with over 40 spices served with egg, vegetables and parsley" (http://www.morocco.com/meknes-tafilalet/erfoud/). Andrew Zimmern of Bizarre Foods also got a taste and had this to say about it:

I supposedly had Kalia in Erfoud, but my experience was not as unpleasant as Andrew's. I do remember thinking that the meat was extremely tender and well-seasoned. The server told us that the meat had over 40 different spices; he did not say anything about the meat being a mystery meat, marinated in animal fat, or that it was putrid. In retrospect, I'm glad he left those details out.

Shortly after lunch, we took a nap. Most of us had traveled overnight on a bus for 8 hours or more so it was nice to rest on a flat surface. Our guides told us that we had to wait a few more hours for other tour groups to arrive and for the sun to come down a bit.

After our nap, we went out of the auberge and walked a few hundred meters into the fringe of the desert dunes. The sky was mostly overcast with just a few rays of the evening sun sneaking through the clouds . The color of the dunes, mostly a pale orange hue at the height of the day, was now displaying a full range of rich orange shades. I felt like a little kid walking through this vast sea of sand. It was such a contrast to anything I had seen: the ripples in the sand, the sand hills and mountains, and the patches of desert grass at the base of these hills. The sand was coarse, but soothing to walk on.

As we wandered out into the fringe of the Sahara, our guides began assembling our camels. The camels grunted all the way to our docking station. We had two guides to our group; as such, they formed two caravan lines. Once everyone was mounted, the guides tugged on the rope and began walking ahead of the leading camels, and just like that, our journey into the Sahara had begun.

The hour and a half camel ride to our desert oasis was memorable in a number of ways. The slow pace of the caravan allowed one to take in the surroundings, the changing hues of the desert landscape, the towering sand mountains, their shadows, and the rolling hills of sand going as far as the eye could see, but the pace also made the camel trek seem like it was a never-ending ordeal especially for my groin region.

That's me second from the top

Going uphill on the camel was no problem, but going downhill put the pressure right smack on the gonads. Ouch! It was a relief to finally get off the camel, but right then I thought of our trek back. The camel ride at the break of dawn with the sun rising over the horizon no longer had the same mystical allure as I had once imagined.

At campsite, there were already a number of other groups in other tents. We saw a number of people climbing what looked like the knife-edge of a tall sand mountain overlooking base camp. I climbed up to catch a glimpse of the sunset and to get a few shots of the sea of sand that extended to the horizon. All the while, our guides were busy cooking up dinner. They served up a number of tagines and put on a full table spread with plates and silverware. Our group, already used to eating Moroccan-style, grabbed the xubz (bread) and began to chow using bits and pieces of bread with surgical precision to take apart the meat and grab the veggies that had, perhaps by God's will, fallen within our respective triangles of the tagine.

Once dinner was served, our guides and guides from other groups came by to put on a little drum and chant session to cap the night. The setting was definitely magical. The sky was pitch black, the stars and the constellations were brighter than ever, the desert air was cool, and the moon provided the only light in this remote landscape. However as soon as my mind was beginning to drift into the desert night, I was brought back down when a fellow volunteer asked our guide if there was a restroom or designated place for whatever to which he responded with arms open wide and a strong roll of the 'r', "The rrrestrrroom is everrrywherrre!"

The plan was to catch a few ZZZs and then get up before dawn to catch the sunrise. Our entire group of 11 slept in one tent. We spoke for a bit, but then crashed for the night. At around 5AM, our guides began banging their pots and pans to wake us up. A few us got up and climbed the sand mountain once again. I got to catch a glimpse of the sun as it rose over another tall sand ridge. The sun was almost completely white. It was beautiful. I don't think I had ever seen the sun this clear. I took a few shots and then scooted down the sand mountain to get a bit of breakfast--this time served inside our tent.

Soon thereafter, I reluctantly boarded another camel and just tried to focus my attention away from the ride and onto the beautiful scenery of changing orange and red hues as the sun began its ascent. After another torturous yet amusing camel trek, I arrived at our kasbah auberge bow-legged, but with all pieces intact, hamdullah (thanks be to God). Once there, we took turns taking a much needed shower and prepared ourselves for our 4x4 ride back to Erfoud.

On the way back, I saw a number of camels and herds of goats and some sheep grazing in the distance. I also noticed quite a few signs advertising all sorts of marine fossils mainly of the trilobite variety. Our drivers cautioned us that some of the shops rather than excavating in the harsh sun manufacture much of what they sell to unsuspecting tourists. We arrived in the palm-oasis of Erfoud, most famously known for its annual date festival celebrating the harvest of a wide array of tasty date varieties. This year the event got a major boost from the government who decided to capitalize on this abundant crop by putting up a highly publicized grand exhibition called SIDATTES 2010. The drivers dropped us off at the Erfoud bus and taxi station. From there, a few of us chilled out at a nearby restaurant, tried a little Kalia, and then went on our separate ways thankfully without any major bowel movement disruptions, l-hamdullilah.

Trip Essentials:

Price

The bigger the group, the better the discount. A lone trekker normally will pay between 400-450DH. Our group of 11 managed to get a flat 400DH per head. Bigger groups of volunteers have been able to go as low as 350DH per person.

What's included?

From Erfoud, you’ll take a 4x4 ride to the kasbah auberge in Merzouga, camel trek to campsite and back, dinner and breakfast, overnight stay in their tents outfitted with spongy mattresses and plenty of blankets, and use of kasbah facilities (showers and storage).

Who to call?

Pretty much every volunteer group has used a couple of guys who work with Sahara-Excursions.com. Our contact is Hamid and can be reached at +212-(0)666-76-63-51. If you tell them that you were referred by Peace Corps volunteers, volontaires du Corps de la Paix, he should honor the 350-450DH price range that he has extended to us.

How to get to Erfoud?

CTM departs to Erfoud from a number of major cities like Fes, Marrakech, and Casablanca. Supratours also goes out to Erfoud. They coordinate their departures based on train arrivals. For more information, visit www.oncf.ma

BssHa on your travels! Triq Slama!

In Matters of Faith: Introducing Salsism

2010-10-07T21:23:00.019Z

My relationship with organized religion has been a tumultuous one. I grew up in an evangelical home. I read my Bible often and I went to Bible school every Sunday. My parents did not dare miss a church service. When I broke away from organized religion, I didn't walk away from everything I had learned; I simply began to think more for myself rather than saying yea and amen to anything my church minister said. To this day, I continue to indulge in my spirituality. I seek meaning and understanding not just from scriptures, but from encounters with people, nature, and in music.

There have been many a great messengers who I believe spoke truth in their music sometimes in their lyrics or through their instruments. Some of these contemporary luminaries are the likes of Bob Marley, John Lennon, and Pink Floyd just to name a few. In the Latin world, we also have a number of musicians that in their devotion to perfect their music composed some tunes that resonated in the hearts of many and continues to influence one generation after another. They produced what I like to call Salsism or Salsianity, a non-canonical compilation of Salsa songs that speak to different people in different ways.

Salsism began spreading during the 60s and 70s throughout Latin and Central America and the Caribbean. The debate is still out on when or where the movement began gaining converts/dancers. Some say it originated in Cuba, others say it started in Puerto Rico, and another group claims that it finally came together as a gospel in New York City. Thanks to technological advances, some old songs are being restored that may point to a more definitive date and time, but that's for salsism theologians to grapple about. What's important is the message.

Unfortunately, because

Morocco

has a strict ban on proselytizing, I have only shared it with a select few; however, despite the ban, it appears that Salsism may be an unstoppable force. Ominous signs can be seen in Marrakech, which hosted the 3rd Edition of the International Salsa Festival late September.

Salsism from its inception has been a pluralistic tradition. In fact, if you were to ask most Salsism followers or as we call them in Spanish Salseros, they will tell you that they also subscribe to a host of different beliefs: Catholicism, Confucianism, Buddhism, Hinduism, Protestantism, and probably to a small degree at this present moment Islam. Like other faiths, its meaning is incomprehensible. You can devote time to unraveling the hidden messages within the lyrics, but it is not a requirement that you devote any time at all to that. Actually, some of our most fervent followers don't understand one word of what is being said, but they attend congregational meetings regularly and display their passion for what they can feel on the dance floor whether it be in Cuban, Puerto Rican, Ballroom, or pegadito (nice-n-close) style. It's more about what you do than what you believe.

One way we exhibit our zeal is to partake in general congregational meetings, where more often than not alcohol is served in abundance, to hear the gospel truth sung by a soulful sonero. The eclectic mix of African drums, indigenous chants, and the suave brass of NYC's jazz creates an intoxicating magical fusion of captivating beats and rhythms complemented with heartfelt lyrics that quite often leave people with the insatiable need for more. Dancing is not a requirement, but it is highly recommended for anyone wishing to experience the transcendence of moving in unison with the music and the partner of your choice--it is important to note that in this particular instance too much alcohol can work against you if you wish to reach this transcendent state.

On my last blog I shared a tidbit of my credo from one of the all-time great soneros of the 20th century, Hector Lavoe. He is one of the many soneros who we salseros believe to have searched deeply within himself and found some profound messages that were then delivered through Salsa. A lot of gospel truth emerged during the 60's and 70's in what many call the Golden Age of Salsa. Lavoe, Willie Colon, Ruben Blades, Celia Cruz, Tito Puente, Eddie Palmieri, Poncho Sanchez, El Gran Combo, Grupo Niche, and Oscar de Leon are just a few of some of the most prolific interpreters during Salsism's Golden Age. The songs they sung are so timeless that the studios continue to enhance them, new soneros like Marc Anthony remake them, and DJs continue to remix them. It's impossible to outline all the values of Salsism: first, because as I said, it's too encompassing to be narrowed down to a few phrases; and second, doing so would result in a biased, incomplete, and woefully inadequate interpretation. There's only one way to experience transcendence. You can't take my word for it; you have to go there yourself.

So without further ado, here are a number of songs from some of the most devout interpreters of Salsism:

1) "El Todopoderoso" by Hector Lavoe

A tribute to the All-Mighty, but cautions people to keep their beliefs to themselves.

2) "Todo Tiene Su Final" by Hector Lavoe

Sings of the bloom and withering of a beautiful flower and the rise and fall of a boxing champion to remind all that everything has an end.

3) "El Cantante" by Hector Lavoe written by Ruben Blades

Talks about the life of a famous singer who many envy and believe to be the happiest man alive. Yet, he says he is like everyone else. He suffers and has things that hurt deeply; however, no one asks or wants to know. He is told and he knows quite well that he is the singer. His role is to sing and to bring joy to the people.

4) "Plastico" by Ruben Blades (This video has lyrics translated into English and shows a number of congregational meetings)

Talks of rejecting materialism and the illusion of social class.

5) "El Gran Baron" by Willie Colon

"No se puede corregir a la naturaleza, palo que nace doblao', jamas su tronco endereza." (You can't correct/change nature. A tree born bent, never does it's trunk straighten.) It interprets this famous dicho(saying) by telling the story of the only son of a rich man who will one day be heir to his father's fortune. The young man is sent away to study, and while away from his father's constant gaze, he "comes out". The father decides to make a surprise visit to his son. The young man dressed in women's clothes and makeup greets his father on the street. The father is appalled and disowns his son. Years later, the young man dies all alone in the hospital. His father after so many years wonders about the fate of his only son and inquires about him only to learn that he passed away. Another famous dicho is divulged towards the end, "Si del cielo te cae limones, aprende hacer limonada" (If the heavens send you lemons, learn to make lemonade).

6) "Pedro Navaja" by Ruben Blades

In this song, Blades tells the story of a street hustler and a prostitute working the same street. The hustler decides to assault the prostitute. The prostitute is stabbed, but before she collapses she fires her revolver and shoots the hustler. Both die and then a drunk passes along tripping over them, grabs the revolver, a few coins that were on the floor, and then says: "La vida te da sorpresas; sorpresas te da la vida ay Dios" (Literally, life gives you surprises; colloquially, shit happens.)

As with any message that is being delivered, one should strive to understand the context in which it was written. Many Salsism gospel songs criticize or comment on the Latin American machismo, rampant crime, corruption, and a host of other societal ills. I have tried not to interject my interpretation of the songs because I think everyone should determine meaning for themselves. I have provided only a brief synapses of the lyrics, but even my translations or summaries should be examined closely.

I cannot tell you what to do with the gospel that has been shared. Some feel the need to tell all. As for me, I prefer to live by example attending congregational meetings on a regular basis and inviting anyone in search of truth and transcendence. Now that I am down to my last month of Peace Corps service, I can't wait to reunite with fellow salseros. Perhaps years down the road, I will return to Morocco to partake of the festivities of what I hope will be one of the biggest congregational meetings ever.

P.S. If you have other Salsism songs that have spoken to you, please don't hesitate to share.
---------

For the closest congregational meeting in your neck of the woods, check out Salsa Congress.com or http://www.salsapower.com/

Also, to continue to hear more gospel truth, these days you can stream live salsa from Live365 and Pandora. I have a widget on the blog's sidebar from Live365. The stations there are some of the ones I listen to and that are free. Unfortunately, more and more of the best salsa stations of what some term as Viejoteca or Salsa de Ayer are turning into Live365's VIP subscriber service. You'll also find that once you type in names like Hector Lavoe or Willie Colon on YouTube, the names of other salsa greats come up. Good luck in your search! Keep listening and keep dancing!

In Matters of Faith: Minding My Own

2010-10-06T15:55:00.009Z

Morocco

, religion is felt and seen everywhere. The call to prayer is loud and clear five times a day and especially noticeable at four in the morning. Every action, it seems, is preceded or followed by a God phrase. If a Moroccan happens to notice that you took a shower, got a haircut, got new clothes, got done exercising, or finished a meal, he or she instinctively blurts out a bssHa (To your health) to which one must respond with a llah y3tik sHa (May God give you health) . If you are about to start cooking a meal, eating a meal, about to walk out the door, jump in a car, or go anywhere in particular uttering a bismillah (In the Name of God) is necessary to bless the activity. If you're grateful about anything, you must throw in a hamdullah (thanks be to God). When you're about to walk out the door or leaving your circle of friends, you could say bslama, which according to our Peace Corps Darija (Moroccan Arabic) textbook is your equivalent of a goodbye, but most people use llah y3wnk or llah yfdk (God help you or God protect you). Lastly, if one is to mention anything that is likely to happen in the near or distant future, one should expect to be interrupted with a customary inshallah (God willing). I've gotten so good at this that now I insert preemptive inshallahs before I start any future tense verb. Some of my Moroccan friends think that I'm being really considerate of God's will by inserting inshallahs at the start, middle, and end of my future tense sentences, but truth is that I don't really like to be interrupted when I'm speaking. To a foreigner this can seem quite burdensome to have to remember all the applicable God phrases for various actions and to say all these different God phrases out of custom and respect, but for Moroccans, uttering them is second nature. They don't make distinctions as volunteers between tHalla f rask (take care of yourself) or llah yfdk; to them, they are one in the same. Allah (God) is intrinsically tied their everyday sayings and from what I've seen, God phrases are uttered no matter if he/she speaks Tamazight, Tashelheit, Tarifit, or Darija.

During Ramadan, people are a little more pious than usual. They attend the mosque with more frequency, read the Qur'an, and wear what some consider to be a more reverent attire. More men put on their skull-caps and dust off their ankle-length white tunics. People turn even more nocturnal than usual as circadian rhythms and blood-sugar levels are thrown out of whack by the sunrise to sunset fast and the late night meals. The other day as I walked around Rabat just before the break of fast, I was taken aback by how people sat in front of a hot, delicious serving of Morocco's famous harira, fat, juicy dates, sugary fried dough delicacies, and a glass of juice or milk, but none took a bite or one sip until the imam called out the end of the fast by proclaiming that "God is the greatest". It was remarkable to witness this degree of self-control.

Religious traditions also play a role in the family's finances. For every new child that is born, the father must sacrifice a sheep during its naming ceremony. For the grand feast of L3id Kbir/Al-Adha, the family takes out the savings to purchase one to two sheep depending on the size of the family. Every sheep can cost anywhere from 1,000 to 1,500DH or $120 to $180. This may not sound like a lot in dollar terms, but when the average salary for a day laborer is 50DH or $6.25 p/day; just imagine the effort families have to make to have the money for this must-do religious rite. Another ritual that all Muslims should do within their lifetime is theHajj or pilgrimage to Mecca, which can run between 50-60,000DH per person for an all-inclusive travel package. For many Moroccans especially here in the rural and semi-urban towns, having that much cash available is something of a pipe dream; however, that doesn't mean that they don't think about it. If the economic circumstances would permit it, they would most certainly follow through with it without any hesitation.

Religion can also be in your face, literally. During our pre-service training, we were warned that many people would approach us to speak to us about Islam with the goal of converting us. According to our cross-cultural presenter, he stated that the Qur'an speaks of a reward in paradise for those that bring someone into Islam. Most people have been cordial when speaking about Islam while some, perhaps by nature are belligerent and judgmental, speak about their faith in a forceful and absolutist way. Others are really sly and attempt to convert you by having you repeat the shahada, the declaration of faith, without explaining to you what you're about to say--I think most volunteers have probably inadvertently converted, but supposedly according to Muslim scholars, if one does not say the shahada knowing fully what one is saying and in earnest, then it doesn’t count. Most everyone asks if I fast and how many times I pray. When I tell them that in my old church we were not required to fast and that we did pray during church services and before meals, some have said that they like the prayer before meals idea, but found it odd that we were not asked to fast. What was absent in most of our conversations was the question of what I believed. In the U.S., there's such a variety of denominations that often what one believes is central to one's identity, but in Morocco, only a handful of people asked me what exactly did I believe. When I read Seyyed Hossein Nasr's Heart of Islam, I began to understand the questions or the absence of some questions from my Moroccan friends and colleagues. He said that Muslims are not concerned with orthodoxy, but rather orthopraxy. It's not about what you believe, but what you do. Hence, what they say throughout the day, what they wear, the number of times they pray, the slaughtering of the sacrificial lamb, complying with Shari'a law, fasting, making the pilgrimage to Mecca, and zakat(almsgiving) are a daily demonstration of their devotion and submission to God.

Having worked with previous volunteers, my tutor knew that I would be confronted about my Christian affiliation. He gave me some phrases that would help to diffuse the tension and would call to question the actions of the often self-righteous and presumptuous proselytizer. Basically, he told me to do the following: first, one shouldn't be speaking about Islam with complete strangers so one can call out people for being impertinent; second, once the person has apologized and invited you and your friends over for lunch or tea, but should they persist, one should tell them that should one decide to become a Muslim, one need not only to hear about the faith, but also to see living examples of the faith where the principles (mabadi), values (qiyam), and manners/behaviors (axlaq) are in full display; thirdly, if that doesn't prompt the proselytizer to reflect on their own lives and conduct, one can appeal to them to respect (Htrm) one's faith or call them out for being judgmental, which according to the Qur'an should only be God’s prerogative.

With religion being ever-present, it is hard not to think about one’s beliefs. Seeking to understand where people around me were coming from, I read a number of books that gave me some insight into my neighbors’ faith and how that faith shaped their values. I went through Karen Armstrong’s History of God, which chronicled the evolution of Abrahamic faiths. Ms. Armstrong’s detailed account of the birth, expansion, inner struggles, outside influences, and future challenges helped me understand the context in which the divine scriptures were written and how over the centuries different people in different regions with different influences read or heard the scriptures, which helped them determine a course of action for their lives and the lives of others. Long before coming to Morocco and before I even applied to the Peace Corps, a dear mentor of mine recommended Ms. Armstrong’s Holy War: The Crusades and Their Impact on Today’s World, which documented the interaction between East and West and Christianity and Islam crusade by crusade.

I also read Mr. Nasr’s Heart of Islam, which was written shortly after 9/11 in the hopes of creating an interfaith dialogue and to counter the media’s negative portrayals of his faith. It’s a contrast to Ms. Armstrong who as a religious historian attempts to remain objective in her narrative. Mr. Nasr makes no excuses about what he believes and has little regard for the work of Enlightenment scholars who first attempted to describe his faith. In fact, in his preface he goes on to say that the Age of Enlightenment was “an age of the darkening of the soul and eclipse of the intellect”. Like Ms. Armstrong, he compares and contrasts various passages in the Torah, Bible, and Qur’an to show how the scriptures resemble one another. He counters the media critics who allege that Islam is a violent religion or that it supposedly endorses violence by pointing to other verses in the Qur’an that speak of tolerance, forgiveness, and peace.

Later on, I came across a copy of Ayaan Hirsi Ali’s Infidel, a book that supposedly is banned in Morocco and in many other Islamic countries because of what some consider to be a poor depiction of Islam, but probably most importantly because she is a Muslim turned atheist. Ms. Ali’s struggles in war-torn Somalia, her brief stint in Saudi Arabia, living as a refugee in Ethiopia, her courageous escape to Europe, and her spiritual transformations make for an exciting read. Even if one objects to the characterizations about Islam, her life story is a remarkable journey. I found it insightful to read about how different people with distinctive cultural and socioeconomic backgrounds from the various countries she lived in, within and outside of the Abode of Islam, interpreted the scriptures and then applied them to their daily lives. Throughout most of the book I believe she is demonstrating how someone's culture can frame the faith, but then towards the end, she seems to forget that point and as a bold atheist resorts to gross generalizations about the role of the faith in various aspects of Muslim society. She picks and chooses verses to show that the Qur'an endorses oppression and calls out some Muslism for not being true Muslims because they don't adhere to a literal interpretation. While that may be, I can't help but think about the cultural and socioeconomics that have brought on oppressive regimes.

Just recently, I read a blurb on a recent copy of The Economist magazine about the curse of oil. According to the author, one of the reasons why the U.S. has made strides in gender equality is partly due to world events that prompted change. The world wars forced women to the workforce and in the process they gained skills and political clout in the dynamics of the family. Also, in our market-driven economy, we are constantly seeking new and innovative ways to generate domestic demand; therefore, ignoring the needs, aspirations, and ideas of 50% of the population would be bad for business. On the other hand, oil-rich countries who also happen to make up a large portion of Islamic World are export driven, state-controlled, so flush with cash that they don't feel the need to diversify their economy, and men earn enough to feed the family. As a result, women, aside from consumption, are nearly absent in many of those economies.

I think that logic rings somewhat true in Morocco. Because they lack the oil deposits, they have a much more diversified economy where women play a much bigger role in government and business. The dynamics in a family where the wife is an income contributor is remarkably different. When our CBT group asked a cooperative about gender expectations relating to work within Islam, they reminded us that the Prophet's wife, Khadija, was the head of a large caravan trade business. Thus, before I blame any scriptures, I'd much rather examine the environment where it is being interpreted and applied. I'm not saying that petrodollars are the cause, but they can certainly prop the ruling class. Towards the end of the book, Ms. Ali leaves us with some interesting questions about the role of Islam in a secular society. Ms. Ali believes they are incompatible; I don't have enough exposure or knowledge of the faith to comment on the matter.

After reading the Heart of Islam and Infidel, I felt I needed to formulate my own opinion about the Qur’an so I started reading it. As of November 5, I am only about a quarter of the way through it. It’s a tough book to read with a lot of complicated passages that I believe are lost in translation. Other passages are quite clear especially when speaking of the Five Pillars of Islam and I can see why many Moroccans feel comfortable telling me that I’m going to hell because I decided not to fast, but then again from what I have read, Surah 5 v. 47 of the Qur’an also states, “Let the People of the Gospel judge by that which Allah hath revealed therein.” Mid-way through verse 48 it adds, “Had Allah willed he could have made you one community. But that He may try you by that which He hath given you. So vie one another in good works. Unto Allah ye will all return, and He will then inform you of that wherein ye differ.” The first sentence of Surah 2 v. 256 says, “There is no compulsion in religion.” These passages I’m sure could be interpreted in a number of ways and should be read with as much historical context and commentary. For me, given my background, limited knowledge, and my miniscule capacity to understand religious scriptures, they mean that Allah has revealed Himself in different ways, He alone is the judge, and people should stop forcing others to do something in the name of religion. But don't take it from me. Read it for yourself!

Be mindful that even after reading through several Surahs, these were the verses and passages that stood out to me. Why did they stand out? Because these were the verses that my innately biased mind searched for. Back in college, we had a name for this bias. It was called selective attention. We all practice it, but few acknowledge it. My selective attention derives from growing up in an all-women household in Latin America under tough economic conditions in a conservative Christian environment where educating oneself was paramount to success. I also moved around quite a bit, and every time we moved, I heard from a different pastor who quite often focused on different passages of the Bible or interpreted various verses in his own peculiar way. Different people with different backgrounds read the Qur'an and other scriptures, and it speaks to them in different ways. They pick out verses that give them meaning or justifies their behavior and sometimes overlook or place less emphasis on other passages that may run contradictory to their absolutist or legalistic ideology. Some people are aware of their biases, but others are not. In an ideal world, I would have any would-be interpreter of religious scriptures add a disclaimer, similar to the pharmaceutical commercials, about their cultural and socioeconomic background and even the natural environment he/she grew up in before he/she utters one word of interpretation or offers a selection of verses. This would safeguard us all from that individual's deliberate and unconscious distortions.

Like I said, I’m only a quarter of the way through the Qur'an. I’m still making up my mind about what has been said. At the same time, I don’t think I will ever get to the point where I’ll have a clear understanding of anything written in any of the Divine Scriptures. Ms. Armstrong tells stories of scholars of the Abrahamic faiths who gave up trying to make sense of the Scriptures and just began to recite and sing them believing that their meaning was beyond human comprehension. I would agree with her. Unfortunately though, many are not humble enough to accept that. My prayer is that those who are aware of their inability to fully understand the Divine Scriptures will have the fortitude to stand up to those that claim to know it all or purport to carry out God’s will. In the words of one who I believe received a wisp of divine inspiration, Hector Lavoe says in his song “El Todopoderoso” (The All-Powerful).

Si viéramos bien al mundo

y a nuestros pueblos hermanos no existiera lo rotundo

ni existiera la creencia

cada cabeza es un mundo.

My translation with help from Webster’s:

If we would look deeply/well at the world

and at our people/nations, brothers, there would not exist the categorical/absolute

neither would there exist belief

every head/mind is different/a world of its own

Those lines along with a number of other passages from a number of other Salsa songs and other religious teachings form the creed that I believe today. I will expand on the Salsa bit on my next blog. Stay tuned. Until then, when it comes to matters of faith, I’m going to continue to mind my own.

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Here's a recent speech by Karen Armstrong on TED on her Charter for Compasssion:

For your viewing pleasure and to better understand Hector Lavoe's singing the poetry derived from the profound insight of his writer and composer Willie Colon, here's a YouTube of his "El Todo Poderoso":

Bridging the Rural and Urban Divide

2010-09-21T18:31:00.007Z

I've been lucky to have the chance to host a number of Returned Peace Corps Volunteers (RPCVs) that have served elsewhere over the last couple of years. We have had some very enlightening conversations. One topic that we always bring up is our respective tours of service. I am always curious to find out what other Peace Corps countries are doing and to hear about any successes and challenges they have had.

All of the Peace Corps Volunteers (PCVs) I've hosted have come from Sub-Saharan Africa. Most of these PCVs have had a much more challenging experience from the viewpoint of having to do more with less. The last RPCV that came through remarked about how impressive Morocco's transportation infrastructure was in comparison to her host country, which allowed her to travel with relative ease throughout the entire country east to west and from one of the southernmost cities on edge of the Sahara in Zagora to the northernmost city in the country Tangiers sitting right on Mediterranean coast . She was also astounded by the great diversity of food that

Morocco

was blessed with. She had mentioned that for the majority of her service she had eaten maize (corn) almost everyday because that was the main staple that was available. Other vegetables and fruit showed up at the market only on an occasional basis. She said that it was tough at first, but then she got used to just eating to subsist. It's refreshing to hear these sorts of accounts because it is very easy to focus on the negative or the things that frustrate me about my host country and I forgets how lucky I really am. It puts things in context.

Some RPCVs after having traveled through

Morocco

question why volunteers are here in the first place. Compared to their countries of service,

Morocco

is the developed world. When I arrived here, I and all my Small Business and Youth Development stagemates stayed at a very fancy star-rated hotel in the heart of the capital. We had hot showers, internet, buffet-style meals, comfortable beds to sleep on, and a nice balcony to ponder about what lay ahead in the mysterious land of the far west. When I took a stroll around the capital walking down the famous Mohammed V Avenue, I was impressed by the landscaping, the cleanliness, the well-kept French-style administration buildings, and even just how the roads were marked and curbs were painted. My initial impression was that it appeared that Morocco seem to be in better order than my native

Venezuela

. If I was to simply visit Rabat, Casablanca, and other major Moroccan cities, I would come to the conclusion that

Morocco

is developed and doing quite well for itself. It makes sense for many RPCVs to question Peace Corps' role in such a country, not to mention that Peace Corps Morocco is the second largest program in the world with over 200 volunteers year-round. When I hear their stories and their comparisons, it makes me question my role.

I live in what is considered a semi-urban site. The population ranges from 50-70K. The city is blessed with a river that runs through it, which irrigates the many farms that surround the city, and heavy winter rains and an occasional snow that keep the city looking remarkably green. I have internet in my home, running water, and reliable electricity. When I signed up, I thought that I would be hauling my water, lighting candles at night, perhaps performing rain dances with the locals, and then coming up with some development scheme, with input from the community of course, that would aid my community in some noticeable way. When it comes to governance, I would have to say that the Fes-Bouleman Province may be an exception to the norm. In just two years, they widened and repaved the main roads of the city, refurbished the old city, installed brand new street lighting and Christmas-like lights all over town, and built a few new administrative centers for various delegations. Also, right now the road to Fes is being widened into a four-lane highway, which will make the 30 kilometers to Fes a breeze. The municipality and provincial government are producing results. A few of my fellow PCVs that have visited have said that I am indeed not in Peace Corps, but Posh Corps. At the start of service, I did feel as if my experience was not the true, genuine Peace Corps experience.

So it appeared that my community had a lot going for it. They had easy access to one of the biggest tourist markets in Fes, reliable communication services, decent roads, public and private schools, and a delegation that seemed to be improving their lot. I was also the fifth consecutive volunteer in this site. I thought, "After so many cycles of volunteers, shouldn't these artisans be at a point where they don't need our assistance? Was PC just scrambling for sites? Am I not going to be competing with what appeared to be a city with plenty of university educated young people who also happen to be unemployed?" With so many resources, I asked myself the existential question, "Why am I here?"

It wasn't until my language began to pick up that I began to understand my role. Once I got to talking with people about their life, their challenges, their history, and the work of previous volunteers, a need began to take shape. I took a couple of trips to Fes to check out the artisana markets to see how well my artisans fared against what seemed, at first glance, like a saturated market. The quality of their products was just as good if not better than most, but they weren't selling a whole lot. The coops that I spoke to had no problems producing a large number of items on demand so production and quality were not the problem. Despite being 30k south of Fes, our city did not see a steady flow of tourist. Those that do come don't always stop at the artisana so location is an issue, but I thought, "Why not sell in Fe?"

When I asked, several artisans in my artisana complex unanimously chimed in that doing so would undercut their gains significantly. They explained how Fassi, Rabati, or Cassawi bazzarists have a practice of lowering their purchasing price with every buying trip and then they turn around and sell the product supposedly at five to ten times the wholesale price to tourist. Some of the weaving cooperatives in the region were formed for the specific purpose of selling at a higher price collectively.

Furthermore, they were also worried that some of the big-city bazzarist could potentially steal their product ideas and have some other coop or artisan produce the item at a lower price. When asked about any trusted retailers, most said that they preferred to sell directly to a customer and not a middleman. It was startling to hear these accounts. There was so much distrust in their fellow Moroccans who were just 30k away.

If they weren't planning to sell to Fassi medina shops, who were they hoping to target? Each coop I spoke to hoped to target the foreign market and wealthy Moroccans who in some cases are émigrés living or working abroad. They say that foreigners are usually the ones that value their handmade work and pay the prices they feel the product warrants. They told me stories about different artisans or coops getting linked with clients in Europe and how much money they had made. These opportunities also led to trips to various expos abroad. I looked up some Moroccan artisana retailers in the

U.S.

and told them that it was possible to link them with the Moroccan owners, but upon suggesting this option, one of my artisans told me that he did not want to work with Moroccans abroad. He feared that they would exploit his goods just as the middlemen in

Morocco

. I was reminded once again that I needed to bypass the middlemen and find direct selling options. Now, I was confused. It's not just big-city bazzarists from

Morocco

that they were afraid of, but Moroccan bazzarists in general or maybe just other Moroccans in general? Hmm.

Well, feeling the need to get going on something I endeavored to improve the marketing of a few individual artisans and one coop. Some friends with some fine cameras passed through my town and were gracious enough to take hundreds of product shots that I then cropped and modified for a catalog, website, and other marketing materials. A previous volunteer had done a similar project compiling products from all artisans at the artisana and of other PCV sites. The catalog ended up being a whopping 25MB in size even after compression. I wasn’t even going to attempt something of that scale; instead, I decided to focus on one particular cooperative.

I began work on an English-language website for the Cherry Buttons Cooperative. We first set up a number of services like Box.net, a few Picasa Web Albums, Google Docs, Skype, and opened a Wordpress account. I walked my counterpart through most of the services. She began to use Skype immediately alerting her son in

Belgium

to do the same. He installed it and from then on he became a fixture of our daily casse-croûte (evening snack). My counterpart would call just as they were about to start. They watched each other pour their tea, expressed how much they missed one another, and then spoke about their respective days. It was cool to see how this technology brought the family closer. For the Wordpress site, I interviewed Amina a couple of times and then spoke to past volunteers to get some content. We then launched it just before her departure in late June to the 2009 Santa Fe International Folk Art Market. I was happy to be busy, but the nagging question of sustainability was in the back of my mind the entire time.

I knew that a PCV or an English-speaking person would need to be responsible for the English version of the site, but I was hoping that with a French site I could begin to train someone on how to update, maintain, and respond to the inquiries that the site was generating. With the help of Fouzia Chkar, a very intelligent and talented interpreter, we translated the English text to French and then we launched a French language version, Boutons de Cerises, of the same site in December 2009. Fast-forwarding to September 2010, both the English and French sites were generating inquiries, but Amina had no one to respond to them. I sat down with her from time to time to go through the emails, which ranged from questions about prices, availability, production, shipping, the djellaba button-learning class we advertised, and about the coop's community outreach programs and trainings, but we often respond late because of schedule conflicts or lack of an internet connection or a working computer in her home. From the moment I began the project, I asked Amina to recruit someone that would have the time to be trained on everything I had done, but for a number of reasons, she was unable to. The website has the potential to do as requested, to reduce the dependence on a middleman, but without the administrative organizational structure, it's very hard to see it progressing.

For all the bad talk the artisana middlemen get, they play a vital role in the Moroccan economy. My artisan community only point to the large gains made by the bazzarist, but fails to understand the underlying reason. Most middlemen have as their lifeblood a network of producers, retailers, wholesalers, and direct buyers. They recognize the value of building a clientele, whereas most of my artisans are only concerned about making the present day sale. The smart Fassi middlemen creates a welcoming environment in his shop and invites you to tea to find out if your friends, family, or colleagues could be potential clients as well. They have control of at least 3-4 languages. They can speak Tamazight to their producers, Darija to their Moroccan colleagues, French, Spanish, or English to the tourists that pass by, and correspond in French or Fusha with international clients. In addition to being fluent in 3-4 languages, some are also tech literate. In contrast, within the artisan community, the illiteracy figure has to be above 60% (Here's an article on a recent move by the Moroccan government to eradicate illiteracy, "New literacy agency will target Moroccan women, rural dwellers"). If it wasn't for the bazzarist, artisanal products wouldn't move in Morocco.

When President Kennedy issued the call to establish the Peace Corps, it was with the intention of sending men and women to countries seeking technical and development assistance. In

Morocco

, I don't think this really applies. I don't think

Morocco

lacks in technical expertise; it's just that the majority have left or are leaving the rural areas for the big cities. There is certainly a need in my town for assistance, but it is partly due to the flight of young people or brain drain to Fes and other big cities. One of the reasons why my counterpart is unable to find a recruit is because that individual is likely to find a better paying or more prestigious job in the big city. Some of the young men nearing marrying age in my town have said to me that they have little time to do unpaid NGO activities. They're thinking about landing a secure job and accumulating some capital to build a nice nest for their future family. In my opinion, the technical expertise--although I think it could be fine-tuned a bit--is already here; it's just not in many of our sites.

My counterpart is not alone in this pursuit for talent. Even the government has problems keeping rural schools staffed. Part of the reason why rural schools are understaffed stems from the misguided attempt to import help from the cities rather than to develop it locally. Also, it could very well be that those students from the country, after getting a taste of the big city, vow never to return. The Maghrebia article goes on to speak about the hardships the families endure being separated. It also should note that another reason why teachers leave is due to the shoddy infrastructure in many rural sites. Taking someone from a cosmopolitan city like Rabat or Casablanca and then placing them somewhere where running water and electricity are a luxury can be a shock for many. These city-slickers can feel just as isolated from the community as a foreigner. Ironically, I've heard of some cases where the PCV who has been living in the community for some time is one of the individuals that helps the urbanite integrate and in some instances serves as a translator for the university-educated Moroccan who's been exposed to French and English, but never to a Berber dialect like Tamazight. Many Moroccans who take rural posts are doing so knowing that their appointment is temporary and much like volunteers begin to count the days till the end of their service when they may be relocated closer to family or to a more urban location. I believe that as long as infrastructure developments lag in the rural parts of the country, the cities will only continue to sprawl, the youth will continue to migrate to the cities, and the human capital will continue to go where it can yield the highest return.

This urban and rural divide is not unique to

Morocco

; it seems that many developing countries face the same dilemma, but why is this the case? Not long ago, I read an interesting account of how development funds from the World Bank, IMF, and other large loan-making organizations were issued to developing countries. John Perkins, a fellow RPCV, in his Confessions of An Economic Hitman shares hist personal story as that of a self-described ‘Economic Hitman’ who traversed the world selling massive development projects to Third World countries for the purpose of putting these countries in debt holes they would never be able to climb out of. He spoke of projects that were often constructed without a proper environmental assessment or without any consideration for those who would be displaced. He also said that it was quite often the countries’ urban business elite or foreign companies that benefited the most from the projects reaping windfall profits from the expansion of the industries they already controlled. From his insider’s account, it appears that the development schemes are also in the hands of middlemen/women. Some of these middlemen/women proposed development schemes that would increase the energy supply of the cities so that the urban factories could expand production at the expense of building a dam that destroyed the fishing and agriculture of the people living downstream. If infrastructure is largely a government initiative, could it be that the development monies whether through foreign loans or tax revenues are also being hijacked by urban middlemen/women who are widening the divide?

Morocco

is making great progress on meeting many of their Millennium Development Goals, which in its case mainly involves projects to reduce the urban versus rural infrastructure disparity. Since gaining its independence, the country has expanded the electricity grid and potable water availability considerably. On education, there are also positive marks on improving access by building more schools and dormitories for those kids living too far from the nearest school. On the flipside, I see signs of middlemen/women hijacking funds when I hear of water-usage showdowns between the farmers and the tourism lobby who wishes to divert more water from the low-yielding agriculture industry to the more lucrative golf courses, pools, and for the use of luxury hotels in Marrakech (USA Today "Drought, tourism endanger Marrakech palm grove"). The trade group argues that the use of water in the tourism sector yields more revenues than using it in agriculture and that may very well be, but the diversion would likely displace the farmers who will have no option but to move to the nearest city for employment. I also find it interesting to hear of the construction of a TGV like train line on the Atlantic coast when much of the Middle Atlas is connected by a skinny, pot-hole lined two-lane road. My hope is that the country's recent efforts to decentralize governance will help to bring parity between the urban and rural interests.

Diverting resources is not the only way to hijack development funds. Middlemen/women can also siphon funds through legal and illegal means. Corruption is a muskil kbir (big problem) in Morocco. In a country where the illiteracy rate is well above 50% in the countryside, it’s likely that only a few people understand where the money is going and how it’s been applied; the majority is completely clueless. Abdelrrahim El Ouali shares similar views in his article for Inter Press Services titled "Morocco on a slow march to literacy". The illiteracy rate is even higher for women so it’s likely that a female’s point of view is missing. When it comes to development dollars, it is quite easy to overstate expenses to a grant-making NGO that is on another hemisphere and that likely does not have enough on-the-ground experience to scrutinize the accounting or the delivery of the goods or project. Mr. Perkins is skeptical of the development schemes that are drawn up in boardrooms of the big grant and loan-making organizations for the very reason that quite often those development dollars or loans do raise GNP and per capita income, but in some cases do more to exacerbate poverty and, I would add, to displace people leading to the creation of large urban ghettos, favelas, and barrios.

So where do some volunteers fit in the large scheme of things? During our Pre-Service Training, we were handed a big, thick yellow manual titled Roles of Volunteers in Development along with our Participatory Analysis for Community Action (PACA) tool book that attempted to clarify the Peace Corps mission. Our program staff provided us with some insight of the artisana sector and previous volunteers shared their successes and challenges. One thing that we were told repeatedly was that our role was not that of someone that should be doing the work for the community, but rather enabling the community to carry out the work. We were told that we should view our role as a facilitator, someone that brings people and resources together.

Amina and Kawtar of Réseau d'Initiative des Femmes Marocaines

After a few months in site and after conducting some preliminary community assessments, a large number of volunteers realized how much power the middlemen/women had and decided to do something to balance the gains. Our method to diminish the power and control was to empower our artisans with information, trainings, financial resources, and if need be, to serve as a middleman/woman ourselves.

My counterpart has benefited from these trainings and financial resources. She said that the first volunteer, a fluent French speaker, helped her improve her conversational French tremendously, which opened other doors of opportunity. When volunteers approached her about working on Camp GLOW, she was smart to know that one thing could lead to another. This willingness to help led to meetings with prominent women business owners, gestures of goodwill from politicians seeking the support of her members, and an overall expansion of her business network. She's been to the

U.S.

twice to participate in the 2009 and 2010 Santa Fe International Folk Art Market. Through her masterful networking skills and because of her eagerness to learn, she has been able to cut out the middlemen from her business. She doesn't rely on others for invites to various expos; she gets invited personally. Had we not been there to provide the assistance (free-of-charge to her, but at the U.S. Treasury’s expense), I doubt she would have had this much success in such a short period time. Her coop still faces many challenges as any typical business does. Nonetheless, she's a great example of how grassroots development can take root in a community.

Volunteers across different sectors in health, environment, and youth development serve as facilitators as well. Many have organized health screenings and AIDS awareness campaigns and testings, have brought resources to improve irrigation or plant trees, or to support a local short-film festival, or have invited people versed in women’s rights to educate women on the recent changes to the family code (Moudawana). This year’s Camp GLOW was another good example of facilitators at work. I and a few other volunteers worked to secure funding for the organizing association. Once I linked the primary sponsor with the association, I stepped aside. The accounting and the logistics were in the hands of the association. The event had some successes and pitfalls. Despite going over budget, by managing the bookkeeping this time around they also learned how to price future camps more accurately and the association is now more aware of funding opportunities for future camps. I believe these efforts by various volunteers however big or small are making a difference.

Morocco

, PCVs are going against the tide. When a lot of young people are looking to move to the big city for university studies and work, volunteers are going the other way. When a lot of young people are looking to improve their French, Spanish, English, or Fusha to enter into a prestigious school or improve their employment opportunities, volunteers are learning the colloquial Arabic or Tamazight dialects. When a lot of Moroccan youth aspire to go to Europe or the U.S. to study, for employment, or better living conditions, a lot of us go to some of the most remote sites to endure the bitter cold, sweltering heat, blackout prone electricity, polluted water, stinky Turkish toilets, parasites, leaky roofs, and a host of other inconveniences that are normally not part of the climate-controlled and sanitized European and U.S. American lifestyle.

Most business meetings are preceded or followed
by a food-coma inducing meal

My mother shares many of the same sentiments that many Moroccans articulate. They ask, “Why would you leave the comforts of the U.S. to live in a sub-developed country and why would you leave your salaried job for an unpaid one?” Before I arrived to Morocco, I used to tell everyone, not knowing exactly what I was getting into and in true Peace Corps idealism, that I was going there to do my part to help people in whatever corner of the world I was sent to. Now with two years into my Moroccan small business development experience, I tell people that I’m doing my best to bridge the urban and rural divide. When I explain to my Moroccan friends what I do, I say something like, “Ana bHal kantara bin nas mn medina kbira wlla mn l-xarij ou bin nas f l3arobia”, which in my choppy Darija literally translates to 'I like bridge (kantara can also mean harmony) between people from big city or from abroad and people from the country'. To which they respond, “Oh, so like a middleman, right?” Right, but an unpaid one. Upon hearing this, they say meskin (poor thing) and then they offer me some lunch. I may not make money by linking people with resources, but I have had my share of couscous bribes. Fortunately, until the infrastructure rolls in, I and other PCVs will continue to be the beneficiaries of this lopsided ordeal. All I can say to all that are lucky to be chosen for this post is to enjoy it while you can.

Language and Identity: The U.N. Weighs In on Morocco

2010-09-08T20:06:00.005Z

There's been an interesting development in what I like to call Morocco's language and identity conundrum. The U.N's Committee on the Elimination of Racial Discrimination issued a statement calling on Morocco to recognize Tamazight as an official language. It's a remarkable piece of good news for the Imazighen. International recognition is sometimes needed to exert pressure on those who hold the purse strings or serve as the regulatory gatekeepers. I'm impressed by the Amazigh lobby's audacity to present its case to a much wider audience. This pronouncement may just be one of many to come and may not reach its full potential, but it is nonetheless noteworthy. Speaking to the "international community" may help recruit more advocates and funding.

The Kingdom seems to be in agreement with promoting Tamazight through the newly formed Institut Royal de la Culture Amazigh, but some within the Amazigh community may feel that progress is much too slow. From what I can understand, a number of recommendations were presented to the committee who then endorsed certain provisions. I mentioned earlier in my first Language and Identity blog that there were activists pushing for the constitution to be written in Tamazight. I don't think that option was presented, but the one granting Tamazight official status in the constitution was and the U.N. has agreed to back it.

Another issue that I have heard come up often among those closely aligned with their Amazigh roots is the restrictions on the issuance of names. Currently under Moroccan law, Amazigh names are not permitted because they do not fall within what a judge deems to be "Moroccan". The Amazigh argue that Amazigh names are Moroccan and that their names are more Moroccan than those sanctioned by the state, which tends to favor Arab names. Recommendation #7 addresses this issue, which should shine more light on the law and perhaps lead to a restoration of Amazigh names. It's bizarre to me that a government would burden itself over something like names, but it just goes to show how issues of identity are entrenched in Moroccan society and manifested in government policy. I have not seen an official response from the government on the recent requests on Maghrebia as of yet. I got the article from the Morocco Board News Service. It is still fairly new. Who knows? Maybe these recommendations by the U.N. will bolster their claims and accelerate a redress to their demands.

One thing is for sure. These "requirements" as the article states are bound to arouse a lot of debate about what Morocco,was, is, and will be. The conundrum continues.

U.N. URGES MOROCCO TO INCLUDE TAMAZIGHT AS AN OFFICIAL LANGUAGE

Washington / Morocco Board News Service - On August 27, 2010 , at its seventy-seventh session, the Committee on the Elimination of Racial Discrimination (CRED) examined the reports submitted by Morocco in accordance with Article 9th of the UN Convention.

The Committee on the Elimination of Racial Discrimination (CRED) of the United Nations has issued the following requirements from Morocco.

1 – To provide information on the composition of its population, the use of mother tongues, languages commonly spoken, and other indicators of ethnic diversity, and any other information from targeted socio-economic studies, conducted on a voluntary basis, in full respect of privacy and anonymity, so that the committee can evaluate the situation of the Moroccan population economically, socially and culturally.

2 – To enshrine in Morocco’s constitution the principle of the primacy of international treaties over domestic legislation, to allow individuals to invoke in Moroccan courts the relevant provisions of the Convention.

3 – Add a provision in the Moroccan criminal code for those crimes committed with a racist motive to be considered as an aggravating circumstance of racial discrimination.

4 – To step up its efforts to promote the Amazigh language and culture and its teaching, and to take the necessary measures to ensure that the Amazigh people are not victims of any form of racial discrimination.

5 – To consider the inclusion in the Moroccan Constitution of the Amazigh language as an official language and also to ensure that the Moroccan government literacy efforts are done in the Amazigh language.

6 – To put special emphasis on the economic development of the areas inhabited by the Amazigh people.

7 – To clarify the meaning and the scope in its legislation regarding the concept of " the Moroccan character of given names " and to ensure full implementation by the local administrations of the Moroccan Ministry of the Interior March-2010-circular relating to the choice of first names, to ensure the inclusion of all names, especially the Amazigh ones.

8 – To revise the Moroccan Nationality Code to allow Moroccan women to transmit their nationality to their foreign spouses on equal terms with men of Moroccan nationality.

9 – To take necessary measures to ensure the full implementation of the Family Code uniformly throughout the national territory and to protect the most vulnerable categories of its population, especially women and children living in remote areas, who can be victims of double or multiple discriminations.

Source: http://www.moroccoboard.com/news/34-news-release/1176-un-urges-morocco-to-include-tamazight-as-an-official-language

Language and Identity: Are Catalan and Tamazight in a Similar Struggle?

2010-09-06T03:20:00.007Z

Last week I wrote a bit about my journey through the maze of languages present in Morocco. I wrote about how moving from one language to another or incorporating, for instance, more French in Darija can change people's perception of you. As I reflect even more in these listless days of Ramadan, I realize that Morocco is not alone in this state of flux. The debate is out on whether encouraging or allowing other languages or dialects to thrive foments dissension. If the country's administration is a control-freak, then it can certainly look that way, but if it applies a more laissez-faire approach, it may find that it has more to gain culturally and economically in the long run.

In my last trip to Europe, I found out that some parts of Italy and Spain are in a somewhat similar predicament to Morocco. When I visited my friends in Italy, I found out that although Italian is the predominant language of all Italy, there are a number of dialects that are widely spoken. My friend had just moved from the south of Italy to Rome and expressed difficulty understanding the Romans who he said were not speaking Italian but some sort of Roman dialect. When I hopped over to Barcelona, I was greeted with a mix of Spanish and Catalan. I found Catalan written on all the buildings, street signs, city maps, and restaurant menus alongside the Castilian Spanish equivalent. At a party, I could speak Spanish to anyone there, but as soon as I'd finish the conversation, that person would turn around and speak Catalan to his/her friends. In Matarò on the Costa Brava near Barcelona in the Autonomy of Catalonia, I got to hang out with a Dominican family who had migrated there in just a little over 5 years. Their son who came to Catalonia at a young age told me that he was already fluent in Catalan. I asked him about his classes. I was curious to know about the effect of the reinstatement of Catalan as the official language of Catalonia on the educational system. He told me that he is taught every subject from math, sciences, and history in Catalan. He is taught Catalan as the primary language. Spanish still forms part of his core classes, but it is regarded as a second language only to be studied and used within that class. He also has the option of a third language as an elective.

His father who has been living there for over 7 years told me that he hasn't even attempted to learn it. His reasons are that everyone can understand his Castilian Spanish just fine and why would he learn a language that is only spoken in one region of the country. His sentiments sound similar to the Moroccans who can't understand why I have devoted so much time to Darija when it is only understood in the streets of Morocco and only vaguely understood in much of the Arab world. According to one of my Catalonian friends from Barcelona, he said that after the death of Franco--a fierce nationalist dictator who took over after the Spanish Civil War and went about repressing many dialects while making Spanish the predominant tongue--a lot of dialects have experienced a renaissance. It's unclear where this rebirth of languages will lead. It certainly changed my perception of Spain from a homogeneous Castilian Spanish speaking country as I was taught in primary school in Venezuela to what is really a linguistically heterogeneous country of many languages and dialects.

Flag of Catalunya

Like the Moroccans who feel more attached to their Rifian, Tamazight, Tashelheit, and other indigenous languages, many Catalans feel that it is imperative to speak the language, to promote its use, to teach the language in school, and to gain recognition politically because the language is not just a tool for communicating, it defines who they are, what they believe, where they come from, and how they perceive the world--for a recent article on language and perception, check out this link from NY Times, Does Your Language Shape How You Think?.

From an economic standpoint, one could argue that it is a waste of time and resources to learn a language that is not widely used. I remember thinking back in high school that I wanted to learn French rather than German because according to my textbooks there appeared to be more parts of the world shaded in as francophone countries than there were for German speaking. I justified my choice thinking that it would be more likely for me to use French than German in my future professional career or for traveling. If I was to look only through that lens considering only the present and disregarding the past and the future, I would posit to Catalans and to the Amazigh that indulgence in their respective languages is detrimental to their economic success. I would ask why they would push for use of a language when Castilian Spanish is the lingua franca in their country and in much of Latin America. I would ask some Moroccans why they would seek to teach Tamazight when nearly everyone around them speaks Darija and when the demand for French, English, or Spanish is growing as the country continues to liberalize their economy. From an outsider's point of view without much background on how Catalan and Tamazight had been suppressed, it would seem that those advocating the use of their language are living in the past. What is difficult for many outsiders to understand is that they have a different view of the future shaped by their native language that sees new economic opportunities.

Singing English with El Cuatro would almost be discordant

When I look at the debate through my own personal experience with my struggle to hold on to my native Spanish, I can sympathize with their feelings. When our family moved back to the U.S., I was eager to learn English so that I could make friends and survive in school. I was only ten years old when we made the move. Fortunately, my brain at that time was in absorb and repeat mode rather than in need of conjugation rules, and I was a lot cuter back then so mistakes were regarded as funny rather than potential offenses as they are sometimes perceived now. Consequently, as I learned more English and was surrounded by an Anglophone environment I slowly began to lose the fluidity of my Spanish and with it; I also began to lose a part of who I was.

One example that I think illustrates how my Spanish language upbringing shaped my perception is apparent in how I feel about the game of baseball. For example, when I first arrived to the U.S., I could narrate a baseball game in true Venezuelan fashion describing every movement and every finite detail in dramatic form giving every pitch, swing, steal, double play, and home run a plot that would crescendo to a climax and would conclude with commentary about the angst or elation that the player must feel at the end of the play. Bear in mind that all of this is spoken at spitfire, breakneck speed--if you have the opportunity to hear a Spanish language broadcast of a Major League Baseball game, you will see what I'm talking about.

This play by the great Omar Vizquel would
most certainly bring a shower of beer

The game of baseball takes on a different light in Spanish, and I was forgetting this. The Latin American Spanish narrating drives people to frenzy while the U.S. narration of the game is slower, relaxed, with lots of statistics, and definitely not as colorful. I totally understood why my girlfriend could not watch a game with me. In my mind, I still heard the voices of the broadcasters painting every play in typical melodramatic telenovela style. When I go to a U.S. ballpark, I always feel something is missing. People would drink their beers at U.S. stadiums; in Venezuela, you bought some beers to drink and others to spray the crowd after every big play, most certainly after every home run, and even more so after a win. Even today, if I have the choice of a Spanish or English broadcast, I would always choose Spanish. Why? Because to me, the frenetic Spanish language broadcast describes the game in such a way that it makes me reminisce to my days playing street ball in my old barrio neighborhood, gives me a sense of nostalgia, and gives the game more meaning. The baseball game is the same for both the Anglophone and Spanish-speaking public, but their views of the game, the passion, the anxiety, and the excitement are felt and exhibited in different ways.

I believe Catalans and Amazigh would feel the same way about their poetry, their music, and other means of artistic expression. Translating it would take away much of the beauty. Suppressing the language would be a form of suppression of expression. Having to describe their world in a language that originated somewhere else under a different environment and different social structure would perhaps distort, be insufficient, or incompatible with their current understanding under their native tongue.

When the repression of the Catalan language was lifted, Catalan re-emerged and its emergence did not dampen its economic prosperity; quite the contrary, Catalonia was and continues to be one of the most affluent of the Spanish autonomies. Catalan literature, poetry, radio, film, newspapers, and other forms of media came out into the open and were welcomed by the Catalonians. The absence of Catalan print was a suppressed demand. Could this also be for Tamazight language? It could very well be. So actually from an economic point of view, it may be that promoting Tamazight may have the effect of generating more domestic economic activity as the local population now has media that speaks to them and speaks for them.

If I had a vote in this matter, I would vote for both the Catalonians and the Amazigh to continue to promote their languages. Variety is the spice of life. I don’t think Tamazight is confusing the kids. It’s probably confusing them now because the pedagogy, still in its inception, is confusing, but in time, a sound curriculum will be developed, inchallah. Differing worldviews and forms of expression are needed and I believe there is plenty of room for them in our global village.

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Here's some additional reading from Maghrebia, a tri-lingual online news portal on everything Maghreb, that speaks to the struggle of Amazigh in gaining recognition.

Amazigh rights issue pits Moroccan Berbers against Islamists

Here's another article. This one comments on the drive to improve the pedagogy of Tamazight.

Activists call for qualified Amazigh language instruction

As for language resources, if you plan to be in Catalonia, picking up a few words will earn you some brownie points from the locals. Colloquial Catalan: A Complete Course for Beginners (Colloquial Series)

Lastly, just to give you a taste of Venezuelan narrated baseball, check out this YouTube video of a home run by another Venezuelan great, Bobby Abreu. Watch for the beer spraying on the replay:

The Shamal Series Honorable Mentions: Volubilis, Oulmes, Mehdia Beach, and Mouley Bousselham

2010-09-04T05:53:00.007Z

Continuing on with the Shamal Series, I'd like to present a few travel options that I think are worth a stop if you have the time. I write these entries to let people know about other places other than your well-known tourist-magnet cities like Fez, Marrakesh, or Essaouira, in the hopes that you may have the chance to have as good a time as I had visiting these sites.

1) Volubilis (To Moroccans, Walili)

Actually, this first site is perhaps one of the most popular spots in all of Morocco and draws thousands of tourist every year (The next site is out of the beaten path; I promise). Volubilis is one of the largest ruins of Roman civilization in the Maghreb. It is set in the middle of a wide open expanse of farmland consisting mainly of cereals. According to my Rough Guide to Morocco, the Romans chopped down the trees in the region to make room for wheat and the olive trees that border the hillside. The place is pretty big and you do get the sense that you are in the midst of what used to be a vibrant commercial center. I think what is cool about the place is how different the architecture and the layout of the city is in comparison to the medieval cities of Morocco. The Romans expressed themselves artistically through imagery and exalted their nobles; as such, they created some very elaborate stone-pixel mosaics to enshrine for centuries to come those they admired. A sharp contrast to the Muslim cities where Islam prohibited the construction of statues and mosaics of faces, bodies, or any figure. In their place, the medieval cities are adorned with intricate geometric kaleidoscope like mosaics and calligraphy.

Mosaic of the Athlete

The mosaics of the various city nobles are also impressive. I've been told that watching the sunrise or sunset over the ancient city ruins is amazing. For sure, don't go when I went at the height of the day when the sun is bearing down on you. There are only a few trees around for shade so plan accordingly. There is a nice cafe near the entrance with some trees, and across the street you can find a few gift shops and hanuts selling all sorts of snacks and even some ice cream.

To get there, go to Meknes. If you're arriving via grand taxi from Rabat or Fes, you'll be dropped off across the street from bus station (gare routière). If you arrive at either train station, take a petit taxi to the gare routière. Just below the gare routière (not the CTM one), you will find grand taxis that run to Mouley Idriss about 30k north of Meknes. Fare was 10DH last year for your typical one butt cheek sitting space. The grand taxi will drop you off at the city square where you'll find plenty of station wagon taxis with signs to Volubilis, which will be around 5DH. For the return trip, you could tag along with other tour groups back to Meknes. You could also trek back to Mouley Idriss, which is only about 5K, and from there, you can find plenty of taxis heading to Meknes. A lot of taxis frequent the road picking up passengers on the way back to Meknes. They'll beep you if they have room.

2) Oulmes

This little town is the site of one of the finest finds in all of Morocco: the Source Llala Haya, provider of the best tasting effervescent mineral water in all of Morocco. There are a number of ways to get to Oulmes. I went by way of Khemisset. From the main Khemisset grand taxi station, small passenger vans called (transits or stuffits--no kidding and they do stuff them to the brim sometimes) head out to Oulmes. The ride there is a little bumpy and curvy as the transits wind through the mountain ledges and plow through the hillside. Once out of Khemisset, all you can see is wheat farms, cows and sheep grazing, and rolling hills and mountains dotted with shrubbery trees. It took about an hour or so to get there. We chilled out with some fellow PCVs for the night and then headed out early morning to the source. We took a small transit that cost 4DH to get to the site of bottling facility.

From there it was a 3K downhill trek zig-zagging all the way on a paved trail to the source, and on the trail you get to see up close the shrubbery trees dotting the rocky mountainside. Upon reaching the source, you cross a river to what looks like a small shaded campsite facility. There are attendants there who welcome you and give you a 2-minute tour of the facility basically showing you where the water is coming from and the room where a couple of bathtub-size pits have been dug in to accommodate those who wish to experience the magical healing powers of the thermal waters of Oulmes. The water is streaming in and emptying out so it seemed pretty hygienic. I didn't take a bath because I didn't want to show off my tighty-whities, but otherwise I would have.

Jonhny performing a do-it-yourself baptism at the source

I did wash my head a bit, which was refreshing after the long hike. At the site, they got a few picnic tables overlooking the ravine. Later on, I was about to drink straight out of this water hose by the picnic tables, but the attendant told me that the water at the campsite was unfiltered and was kind enough to give us a couple of Sidi Ali water bottles free-of-charge. We then hiked up back to the bottling facility and from there we took the transit ride back to Oulmes.

The bottling company has a hotel offering thermal baths, and my PCV friends have said that the restaurant there is also very good. For more information, see the link below:

http://www.oulmes.ma/indexfr.htm

3) Mehdia Beach

As a Pisces, the ocean is my home. Luckily for me, the ocean is only about a three-hour train ride away. It's a luxury and one that I indulge in whenever possible. Every here and then I get the chance to go to Rabat for some official Peace Corps business and on such occasions I make sure a trip to the beach is on the agenda.

Mehdia Beach is the ideal spot if you want to get away from the hustle and bustle of the capital city and relax in the laid-back atmosphere of this beach resort/fishing town. The beach is fairly long, the water is calm although the surf can pick up later on late in the afternoon and onto the evening, there are plenty of cafes, restaurants serving a range of seafood and fried fish, and hotels and maison d'hôtes for every kind of traveler, and it is not packed with tourist, but mostly locals. The only down side is that it can get a little trashy from time to time, not people-wise per se, but just lots of litter.

Perhaps the reason why it is not tourist heavy is due to its somewhat remote location, but by no means should it discourage anyone from going there. It's actually very easy to get there. From Rabat, take the train to Kenitra Medina Station, the last stop on the urban rail lines that run every half hour from Casablanca. Upon exiting the station, make a right towards the stairs, climb up the stairs, make a right at the top walking down until you reach an Oil Libya gas station, from there make a left and walk straight past all the hanuts until you reach the end of the block, and then look to your right and the orange grand taxis should be there waiting for passengers. Normally, once you reach the Oil Libya gas station you should be able to see the taxis, but right now the square where they congregate is under construction. If anything, just ask the hanut owners for the mahtta d taksiyat d Mehdia and they'll point you in the right direction. Taxi fare is 5DH. Train ride from Rabat is 15DH, and all in all, it should not take you more than an hour from the Rabat Ville Station to the sands of Mehdia.

4) Mouley Bousselham

If you still feel like getting even farther away from the city, a trip to Mouley Bousselham can probably soothe the most erratic nerves. This town is almost exclusively a locals' beach resort. To the west is the beach and to the south is a beautiful lagoon and marshland called the Merdja Zerga that is frequented by a whole array of migratory birds, egrets, and even some flamingos.

The beach has some rough waves and strong undercurrents. It is closely guarded by lifeguards. I mainly saw some families playing near the edge of the water and a good number of fishermen laying out multiple fishing poles and then chilling back on a lawn chair. The lagoon empties onto the ocean so I imagine that it is safer to swim in or to just waddle a bit.

I stayed at Hotel Miramar on the oceanfront, one of the cheaper options in town, but I don't recommend it. The rooms are big. They have a bedroom and a salon with ponges ideal for a small family. They started at 250DH for the night, but we bargained down to 200DH. One could probably go a bit further. The hot water in the public bathrooms never worked morning or night and at night the terrace is used as pool hall with chabbi music blaring until 1-2AM despite requests to have the music lowered.

It was funny to hear the locals in the other rooms saying that there were foreigners in the hotel. Mouley Bousselham is one of many sites Moroccans make a pilgrimage to in order to honor their various saints and tribal leaders of the past. The Marabout of Mouley Bousselham rests prominently in the grand plaza on the oceanfront.

To get there from Rabat, take a train to Kenitra Medina Station and upon exiting make a left and walk towards the grand taxis going to Mouley Bousselham. The fare was 40DH and about an hour long. They ride the toll road to Tangiers for much of the way. You are dropped off about 1k from the oceanfront. As you get near it, you'll be presented with various maison d'hotes options from various faux guides that may actually be better than the hotel options.

Food-wise, many restaurants are serving all sorts of grilled or fried seafood for reasonable rates. One piece of advice is to stay near the oceanfront and away from the lagoon at night. Just moving out of the ocean breeze for a bit can land you a good number of mosquito bites. Overall though, a nice, clean, and quiet beach to calm the nerves.

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I think this about wraps up the Shamal Series. There are still a number of places in northern Morocco that are worthy of individual entries namely Chefchaouen. I actually went there, but just crashed the place for only one night. Inchallah, I'll have the opportunity to visit and hike a bit in the Rif Mountains. I've only included a few shots for each place I've written about. You can see more pictures by clicking on my Morocco photo slideshow on the side column or click on the following link:

http://picasaweb.google.com/yousefdalmagrib/Morocco?feat=directlink

I've yet to talk about my trips to the south of the country. I hope to highlight a few of the trips: the desert trek, the Todra Gorge, the palmeries, and some of the beaches near and around Agadir. It's been quite an experience to see so much contrast in the landscape from marshlands to a sea of desert dunes, coastal plains to towering mountains, and an oasis of palmeries in the middle of a desert wilderness. Moroccans are lucky to live in such a country. I hope everyone has the chance to see what I have seen and to marvel at the beauty that perhaps a deity or the cosmic forces of the universe have created.

BssHa (To your health) on your travels!