Moroccan the Boat--er--Ship.

I know this is late, but you'll all live, right?



No pictures this time... sorry.  Hopefully soon.  :(



As most of those who know me know, I was considerably excited to be going to Morocco. When I found-out that our ship would be arriving a day ahead of schedule, I was even more excited. When I found-out that, again, I would not be able to use my debit card for direct transactions, my enthusiasm was curbed, dramatically, whereas that meant I would not be able to purchase a plane ticket to my intended destination of Agadir. I will have to return for that, some day. So, I made do with a makeshift experience of Morocco. Roll with the punches.



Because Semester at Sea knew long enough beforehand that we would be arriving early in Morocco, they were able to schedule a few little day-trips to take place shortly after our landing. Because nobody had plans for a day that did not exist in our minds as being on-land, the trips went to lottery, and I was lucky enough to have gotten the chance to visit the SOS Village (orphanage) of Casablanca. Our logistical pre-port happened right after breakfast and those of us on day trips had to leave a bit early, but not so early as to miss comments made about dressing modestly and respectfully. Not everyone pays mind to the pre-port presentations, though.



I chose to spend most of my time off of the ship in Morocco wearing hijab (a headscarf). Morocco is an extremely liberal country, in regards to Islam, so whether or not a woman covers her head is her choice, as in the United States. I chose to cover my head out of respect for hijabis (women who wear hijab regularly as a part of their religious or moral lifestyle) and because I feel like I truly understand why women choose to be hijabis. The first reason women choose to be hijabis is to show deference to Allah (God), the same reason that Orthodox Jews cover their heads; the second reason is to show respect for oneself, the same reason that many people in the United States dress modestly. People can argue about whether or not hair is immodest or sexual, but I think that a lot of people on this ship will have a different view of it on Neptune Day, when a bunch of my female classmates get rid of theirs. The point is that there is a tradition of modesty in the culture, and I chose that as one thing I wanted to respect.



I felt like I had made the right decision when the orphanage director thanked me for covering my hair and told me that it is important in Morocco and would earn me more respect.



The children in the SOS Village (a non-adoption facility model originally created in Austria) knew Arabic, a good deal of French and a surprising level of English. Between different students and the children, we were able to have small, but meaningful conversations. The visit was intended to be a service trip, but we did not wind-up doing much work; we toured the facilities, but the visit ultimately digressed (or progressed) into private conversations and several games of soccer and basketball, perhaps encouraged by Professor Rohwedder’s donation to the orphanage of what is supposed to be an indestructible soccer ball, made from the same material as Crocs (Crocs was cofounded by an SAS alum, by the way).





The second day of makeshift Morocco, my friend Jeanette begged me (literally) to go on the Casablanca City Orientation with her. I am glad that I decided to go.



The orientation was a basic city tour with a lively guide-woman with a fire that I doubt many of us had expected. We saw the four major districts of Casablanca and heard a good deal about the multinational history of the country, as a whole. We visited the compulsory palace, but the main attraction was, of course, the Hassan II Mosque. The Hassan II Mosque was designed by a French architect and construction was completed in 1993. It is the third largest mosque in the world, smaller than only the ones in Mecca and Medina. Its most interesting feature, though, is the fact that a large portion of the floor is glass and two-thirds of the surface area people can pray on lies directly over the ocean. This is amazing, in and of itself, but it is extremely symbolic in Islam because the Qur’an states that the dwelling of the Lord is above the water, so praying over water is like trying to pray in an airplane: attempting to get closer to the source, or closer to the target of your prayers. Very cool.



I think that the best thing about the city tour, though, was being able to just witness people living their lives. Our bus stopped by a famous tourist beach for people to break for drinks and to use the restroom, where I saw a good number of families and friends enjoying the holiday (we arrived on the last day of Ramadan, the month when Muslims fast; the tour was on Eid ul’Fitr, the festival that ends Ramadan). I saw more men than women pushing strollers. I saw a hijabi walking with her arm linked to that of a girl who was dressed immodestly by American standards (spike heels, skintight clothing, low-cut top), but they were so obviously good friends. I doubt that I would ever see such a thing in the United States. We may have more ethnic and religious diversity than Morocco, merely because the United States is an immigrant country, but we do not mesh and bond as easily as Moroccans of different creeds seem to: Morocco is a nation with many cultures: Berber, European, North-African, Arab, Spanish, French, Portuguese, Muslim, Christian, Jewish. The United States is a country with many nations: whites, blacks, Asians, Hispanics, Christians, Jews, Muslims, Atheists. There is a monolithic difference.





Prior to sailing, I had signed-up for the overnight trip to Volubilis and Fes. The description piqued my interested because it said we would be visiting the oldest university in the world that is still functioning; said school is located in Fes. After having dealt with bank-related problems for all of Spain and the first couple of days of Morocco, I was ready to sit-back into a pre-paid adventure and not have to do so much with the SAS f-word (flexibility). But in the best laid plans of mice and men and me, and yes, SAS, as well… things are not always what they seem, and what is on paper is not always what is in store.



We all, including the three brave, young children of one of the ship’s nurses (with their parents, of course), hopped on a tour bus and headed out of Casablanca early in the AM. We had a few hours drive to the city of Meknes where, aside from being able to appreciate a community designed to have open spaces and let the sun in, I was able to withdraw cash from an ATM. I was relieved, and I happily meandered around the main loop of the city square, passing through a souk where people were peddling all sorts of things I had absolutely no interest in buying with my newly obtained dirham.



After returning to the bus, we made our way to Fes for a wonderful lunch tagine. A tagine is a unique piece of pottery used to roast and steam food at the same time; whatever is cooked in a tagine is also called a tagine. Ours was beef, potatoes, carrots and some other sort of vegetable I avoided because it looked like a nightshade, and I tend not to have a taste for them. Lunch was a great opportunity to get to know some of the Lifelong Learners, who really are one of the best things about Semester at Sea. Our lunch was quite long and leisurely; I think we were in the restaurant for well over an hour. But once we got back on the road again, it seemed like we had only broke for five minutes.



Morocco, and most other countries I have been to, in general, are very different from my part of the United States (the northeast) because they really do not have suburbs. Cities are dense and far apart, but the space between them is usually green (or whatever color nature or farms are in that area) and sparsely settled. Everything is shoulder to shoulder in Connecticut. I prefer the way things are in Morocco, especially considering that they do have railways connecting their cities.



We went out into the boonies. That’s fine, considering that we needed to get out there to see Volubilis. Volubilis is not a modern city, but, rather, a set of Roman ruins. Yes, Roman. Yes, as in the Roman Empire. Yes, as in the same thing as in Rome. They did not have a coliseum, but they had expansive houses and public baths. They even had a traditional fertility symbol used in marriage ceremonies; I did not photograph it, though a good number of the other people on the trip did. It was not the sort of thing I want my aunts and uncles to see when they look through my photo album. While it was not the most interesting thing to me, and it’s not why I signed-up for the trip, there were parts of it that struck me strangely. I have seen Roman ruins in other countries, and it is amazing that they are so similar. Why wouldn’t they be? They’re all Roman, after all. The Roman Empire, when it spread into new territories, did not adapt itself to the local culture in the way that the Persian Empire did. That is why the structures are uniform. I also found it interesting that our local guide for Volubilis (many countries require that a local guide be hired in certain cities, as an economic gesture, but in this case it was merely because the man is an expert) seemed to know Latin better than he knew English. He would mutter a lot in both Arabic and Latin, but he was a very knowledgeable and kind-spirited man, always looking to keep the children in the shade. Because the ruins are on the top of a hill and ruins, rather than full structures, they are in full sun, which is not the best in an arid climate after noon.



After trekking around in the heat, we were all very happy to get back to our bus and the word “hotel” sounded like… well, it sounded pretty darn good.



I was a bit disappointed with the fact that we were staying in a western-style hotel, but I realize that I signed-up for a tour, not a nomad camp stay or family visit. But when the guy in the souvenir shop attached to the hotel (exhibit “a”) just assumes that he should speak to me in German (exhibit “?”), I think that it’s a bit too distant from the local culture to be socially responsible, if we are supposed to be becoming better global citizens. Then again, because the hotel was western-style, it had a great pool I was able to go in without having brought my swimsuit (not that underwear is terribly less modest).



The next day began my quarrel with the f-word. As much as I try to tell myself that I got a lot out of Fes, I still feel pretty disappointed. To put it bluntly, it was a shopping tour. We saw a potter, a weaver, a brass-worker, a leather-tanner and were invited quite cordially to make offers on all of their wares. The small trips we had to cultural sites were merely to take pictures; we received almost no explanation. I think we passed by that university I had been so excited to visit. We went into the courtyard of the Qur’anic school, just to photograph it. But I will try to focus on the things I learned on this shopping trip. One thing that was very obvious to me, as subtle as these things were, was the simple fact that girls who had their heads covered got better treatment: less aggressive sales pitches, having things carried for them, being offered better prices for the same items. Actually, I think that’s all I really got out of it, aside from being annoyed by high-pressure group sales. Pictures!



From left to right: a tannery, the Jewish quarter (as seen from the bus, distinguishable by the balconies), a sad little donkey transporting a bunch of water bottles. Seriously.



And here are the nurse’s two extremely well-behaved daughters riding on a donkey through the medina of Fes.



And that was my makeshift Morocco. We’ll see what goes on in Ghana.



Until then, health, happiness and peace,

Celeste