Picture Proof

All right, I figured it's time to post a few pictures, just in case you think I'm sitting in my basement in Illinois eating Cheetos and laughing while I make this all up. No, I didn't actually forget my camera as originally feared and written. It turns out since I bought a few new bags for this trip that I had no idea just how many pockets and crevices each of them contained. My camera somehow packed itself into such a deep and hidden crevice within a secret pocket that it wasn't discovered for a week--I've very rarely ever been so glad to be wrong. I have lots of other things I'd love to update you on, but I'm afraid I don't have time today, so, insha'allah ("God willing"), I'll be able to tell you all about it in a week or so. But, for now, without further ado, here is your picture proof:

Considering the program is based in Rabat, here is a photo of Rabat's best-known landmark, the Hassan Tower. It was begun in 1195 by the Sultan Yacoub al-Mansour, and was initially intended to be the largest minaret in the world (it was so large that ramps were built into the sides for a muezzin to reach the top on horseback to call prayer). After the Sultan's death, however, work was discontinued, and it stands uncompleted still today. The Giralda in Spain and the Koutoubia mosque in Marrakech are direct replicas (though smaller and completed).

This is the terrace of the Center for Cross-Cultural Learning, CCCL, where I take classes everyday. It is a 19th century Andalusian house converted into a learning center with classrooms and cafeteria and such. The terrace overlooks the Medina, Rabat's Ville Nouvelle, our neighboring city of Salé, the Bou Regreg River, and the Atlantic Ocean (if we were to travel straight across the ocean from here, we'd make land somewhere in Georgia). Oh, and the weather is ALWAYS this beautiful--we've had three days of rain since I arrived in-country.

Yes, I had to include a picture of it written in Arabic. Don't be alarmed, I'm not suffering extreme culture shock and spending every night here (though the McFlurries are pretty darn good). Moroccans have certainly made McDonald's into a very different phomenon than in the States; first of all, it's a popular place to go on a date. People get dressed up to go to McDonald's, so if you want to see the latest Rabati fashion trends among teenagers, this is the place to be. Also, McDonald's in Morocco is usually two stories and the second is a karaoke dance party, and they have an employee act as a bouncer and restrict the number of people allowed upstairs at one time (no, I'm not kidding). It's a pretty amazing sight. Oh, I also had my first Big Mac in about 5 years the other night; the omnivore thing is working out pretty well, but I think I'll revert once I get home.

I had to include a bit of the beautiful and famous Moroccan zellij (tile) and calligraphy. This is at the tomb of Moulay Ismail in Meknés.

This is the town of Moulay Idriss, founded by the ruler of the same name. He was the first ruler of Morocco to bring Islam, and his mausoleum/mosque here is a very, very popular pilgrimage site. In my guide book, the authors mention a wooden barrier placed across the entrance of the Mosque to keep out "beasts of burden and Christians;" I just had to laugh at that wording. The town is nestled in the mountains and still feels somewhat isolated and charming despite its high tourist popularity.

See, I told you I was in Morocco! This is at the Royal Place in Fez, at the smallest of the seven doors of the grand entryway. This is the largest Royal Palace in Morocco, and it sits on grounds equivalent to 740 football fields. Fez is the third largest city in the country, after Casablanca and Rabat, but it is the most important city in Morocco's history. It was the capital for several imperial dynasties, and the Moroccan independence movement originated here in the 1940s and 1950s. Since so many important and educated people have come from Fez, rich or worldly Moroccans, regardless of actual heritage, are often called "Fassis."

This is a partial shot of Fez el Bali, or the Old Medina of Fez. This is the largest Medina of it's type in the world, over ten times the size of Rabat's and with over 9,000 streets. It is an incredibly touristy place, but it is also home to thousands of Fassis as well, which makes it a chaotic and breathtaking experience. Something worth noticing, if you can, are the hundreds and hundreds of satellite dishes peppering this picture. I would say the satellite dishes in Morocco per capita are about 1 to every 5 people. I swear, when you take the train to Casablanca, even in the bidonvilles (slums) before the train station, you will see satellite dishes on top of one room houses with tin roofs and dirt floors.

Speaking of breathtaking experiences, these are the famous tanneries in Fez--in fact, I think "tannery" is the only word the hustlers in Fez learn in 84 different languages to try and lure travelers. They have a viewing terrace (which is conveniently a huge shop filled with thousands of leather goods), and they hand you a sprig of mint to breathe into while you watch the men down below plunge and scrape hides into the large, pungent vats. They still use traditional dyeing materials for the majority of products, which means the vats are filled with bird poop and cow urine and all sorts of delightful combinations of organic material. Apparently workers aren't allowed to come in if they have any serious cuts or scratches, at the risk of staph infection.

This is the old Portugese bastion of El Jadida, known as Magazan until the Moroccans gained the territory in 1769 (El Jadida literally means "the new," which is about as original as city names in the US). It is the last city in the growing megalopolis along the Moroccan coastline from Kenitra (just north of Rabat) south through Rabat and Casablanca, but it still feels like a relaxed and quiet beach town.

Some fishing boats moored next to the Portugese bastion. Just before taking this picture on the wall, I had a group of small boys following me shouting, "Madame! Belly plun-gee?! Belly plun-gee?!" One of the ways little kids try to make money off of tourists here is to dive or jump from the walls down into the water for 5 or 10 dirhams--pretty creative, and probably more fun than selling lemonade.

The Hassan II Mosque in Casablanca, the world's third largest mosque after those in Mecca and Medina, Saudi Arabia. As I said in an earlier blog, a huge tourist trap, since it's one of two mosques in the entire country that allows non-Muslims entry, but still worth a visit. It was completed in 1993 at huge cost and heavily, grudgingly funded by non-voluntary donations (also known as taxes) from the Moroccan people. Regardless, it is now certainly an achievement to be proud of architecturally; it's absolutely stunning inside. Aside from the chandeliers and a few marble pillars, every building material is of Moroccan origin, and it actually has a retractable roof like a football stadium.

Yes, I know the picture is crooked; I did it for artistic merit, and because I was too lazy to back up any further to get a shot of the whole outside at once, haha.

In Marrakech on my 21st birthday, with my friend Kelci, who was incidentally celebrating her 20th birthday as well. We spent the morning at a beautiful public garden which had an entire section devoted solely to cacti. See, once again, I told you--cacti and palm trees just don't grow in Illinois. I don't have many pictures from Marrakech, unfortunately, but we will be going back this coming week, so I'll be sure to make up for the deficit.

An olive tree. Why? Well, one because they grow them everywhere here in huge groves or individually, two, because they are really beautiful trees with silvery leaves and interesting shapes, and three, because I really like olives. So, maybe you already knew this, but I'm going to share the fact I learned anyhow. So, when the olive first develops it is green in color and can be picked and cured to get, green olives. If you let the olive ripen longer, however, it becomes purple and can once again be picked to get, purple olives. If the olive is allowed to ripen to its full potential, it becomes a...can you guess? Black olive! At this point, the olives are picked for curing or for pressing of olive oil. To get extra virgin olive oil, the olives are pressed and as much oil as possible is extracted solely through crushing. To get virgin olive oil, a second pressing is done, adding hot water to aid the extractment. As the oil is pressed, it and the hot water trickle into the collection vats together, but since olive oil is lighter than water, they naturally separate themselves and the olive oil is skimmed from the top. Now, you know that there are no such things as purple olive trees and green olive trees, and that olive oil extraction is more or less still done today as it was thousands of years ago. Thanks for humoring my little factoids, as always.

This is Mohammed V Boulevard in Rabat, the main artery of Rabat proper, running through the Medina and the Ville Nouvelle. At night, particularly during Ramadan, the street packs with people, strolling or sitting at cafes (or, when it involves a pack of teenage boys, prowling for catcall victims). The 27th night of Ramadan was the Leilat al-Qadr, or holiest night of the year (it celebrates the night when the entire Qu'ran was revealed to the Prophet Muhammed), and it is a huge holiday in Morocco for parents with small children. On this day, many kids fast the first day of their lives, and then are all dressed up in little traditional Moroccan outfits and shoes and hats, made up like little beauty queens (if they are girls, of course), and then placed on elaborate couches/thrones and photographed ceaselessly. These couch/thrones were set up all along the boulevard and we walked up and down just to see all the adorable kids fidgeting in their dress-up costumes.

Waiting with a group of patriotic Moroccans outside of Parliament on Mohammed V Boulevard (or "Barliman," as it reads in Arabic), for King Mohammed VI to show up. He was supposed to arrive at 3:00, but didn't show until about 3:45 (shocking, I know, a government official arriving late for something). In the meantime, we listened to traditional Moroccan music as provided by a band of sorts, and jostled in the crowd to hold on to good vantage points. Before the King showed, the police forced me to put away my camera, something about pictures of the King being forbidden for a variety of reasons. We did get to see him, however, because when he finally showed, he went up to the balcony and waved to the crowd. In Morocco, though unoffical pictures are forbidden, official pictures of the King are everywhere; I believe they are actually required in all businesses, so upon entering most buildings, you will see one of about 7 sanctioned photos of the King. It's always interesting to contrast the business with the photo they choose to hang; in some, he is wearing a western suit and tie, and in others he is wearing the traditional jellaba.

Yes, this is Barbie...in a headscarf. Now I feel like I've seen everything. It would be impossible to grow up in Morocco without heavy American influence upon your toys and entertainment options. Yet, like McDonald's, these imports are restructured to fit the culture. Much like the women here though, Barbie doesn't always wear a headscarf; sometimes backpacks will have images of two Barbies, one with a scarf and one without.

Part of the enormous stray cat population in Morocco. You see them everywhere, and on my walks to class or my house, I've come to associate certain cats with certain spots. This one cat hangs out in the exact same spot under the same butcher all day long (smart cat), while another sleeps amongst the shoes at a clothing shop.

At the ruins of Chellah in Rabat. It was originally a Roman settlement, built along the Bou Regreg River, but was later reconstructed and remodeled as an Islamic funerary site. This is in the ruins of the former mosque/mausoleum, and many people still pilgrimage here to visit saints' tombs. Visiting one of the saints here is said to bring fertility, so you will sometimes see women come to visit bringing hardboiled eggs to the altar.

This is my homestay family, plus one. We had two other American students come to stay with us this weekend from their study abroad programs in Sevilla and Madrid, Spain. I took advantage of the fact that they were already asking for pictures of my family to get my camera out and ask for one, too. Sitting in the front is my sister Sabah, and the girl on my right is Widad. I wish the quality was better, but I'll have more opportunities to take other pictures later.

Ok, so those are some of my pictures, for now. Hope you enjoyed them, and I promise to update with more soon. This Tuesday, we will be leaving Rabat for a week to visit the south of Morocco, so I'll have plenty to include after that. Thanks, as always, for reading, and I'll update you again soon!