27 January, 2010

Journaling. Blogging. I’ve been told that I should—no—must keep a blog as I wander around the world. I can see the logic in that, for my future self, as well as for those who care to read it now. Having said that, I haven’t felt as though the time were right for a post. Even this one was prompted by an external force.

So as a recap of the last year, I’ll make a list, since I do like lists and am not feeling incredibly verbose. Plus, this statistics might reveal an underlying cause for my lack of blogging:

2009 – The Year of Schizophrenia

Number of Countries Passed Thru: 16

Germany

Morocco

United Arab Emirates

Oman

Jordan

Turkey

Bulgaria

Romania

Hungary

Slovakia

Czech Republic

Poland

Ukraine

USA

Bahrain

India

Major Languages Used to Survive: 3

French

Arabic

English

Number of Countries Lived In: 3

Morocco

Oman

United Arab Emirates

Number of “Homes”: 6

Number of Jobs for the Two of Us: 0

Languages Studied: 2

Modern Standard Arabic

Gulf Arabic

Number of Schools Enrolled in: 3

ALIF

GAP School

USC – Moore School of Business

Number of Internships Secured for 2010: 2

Creative Concrete Concepts

Target

As 2010 starts, I have just moved to Sharjah, UAE (الشارقة, الامارات) and am working my first internship as an internal consult for Creative Concrete Concepts. With 6-day work weeks, I try to pack in the fun on my Fridays off, which has been comprised of one border hop to Buraimi (our old homestead) and a night on the town with Buraimi-ites in Dubai. I will try to post more little cultural vignettes before I return Stateside in the Spring... but no promises.

Cross-posted to LJ.

01 July, 2009

Eastern Europe Vacation, Day 1

Attempting to keep a daily blog about this trip. I know I haven't updated this in a while, but I've just been writing in MS Word and not posting anything. No real reason, I was just giving more attention to writing skills. I am writing these on the fly and I'm throwing the Turkish alphabet out the window on this draft.

Today we flew to Istanbul! It was remarkably easy, this whole planning process, and even being here seemed too easy. This morning, we were already packed, said goodbye to everyone, watched some of Underworld on TV, and Dave drove us to Sharjah. Sharjah Airport is a thing to be experienced, since you just kind of blaze your own trail, any counter you want, and you get a boarding pass. We had McDonald’s for brunch because it was around 11am and we couldn’t stomach Indian or Chinese food that early. Bada bing, bada bang, bada boom, we’re on a plane to Istanbul. There wasn’t anyone next to us, so we spread out. The plane was SWELTERING and it was DISGUSTINGLY HOT. Just a trickle of air from the personalized air vents and everyone started fanning themselves because we’re on a tarmac in a metal vehicle and it’s at least 115 outside with no real A/C and one door open. It was so hot that I could barely stay awake during take-off, I was passing-out hot-tired. I slept for at least an hour, maybe more, on our 4 hour flight and amused myself with my iPod and writing a letter to Jeannie the rest of the time.

We got in to Sabiha and got somewhat screwed because we thought we got visas at passport control, but after we’d been waiting and we were now next in line, they made us go buy a visa at a hidden counter (it really was hidden) behind a bunch of Emiratis who were buying visas for their families of 10. We also got stuck behind them on our exit from the airport and they had hundreds of bags going through the only x-ray machine. Pompous asses. I was more assertive than I am in the Emirates. Watch out world, Miriam is back!

We got on the Havas bus to Taksim, which was only 10 YTL, compared to the 50 Euros the hotel wanted to charge for a pick-up. We were stuck in traffic a bit but it was our first time on the BRIDGE SPANNING THE CONTINENTS! Next thing you knew, we were in Europe, huzzah! We got out at Taksim and I had convinced Aaron to get a cab because I didn’t want to take the funicular and the tram at rush hour with our packs susceptible to pick-pockets, so we took a cab who ripped us off. Lesson learned.

We got to our hostel, a clean, modest place called Second Home Hostel with shared bathrooms. We’re actually sharing a bed (SHOCK!) and we convinced them to bring us in a fan since the room is A/C-less and has no overhead fan, then we lay in front of it for a while. We asked the hotelier’s advice for dinner and ended up at a slightly pricey (but worth it) place called Home Made with a Turkish ravioli chef in the restaurant using traditional tools on a dais in the middle of the dining room. I had an Efes (the start of my drinking thru Europe) because it was almost the same price as soda or water. We shared a platter of mezze and sigara boregi and had forgotten that they always give tea afterwards. Our waiter was very nice and we talked with him about Ephesus, the Virgin Mary’s house, Turkish, and took some pictures.

Afterwards, we walked to the train station and bought our departure tickets to Plovdiv for July 2. Then we walked back to the street next to the hostel, which is set up with pillows galore for sheesha (nargileh here) buffs. We had melon/rose mix, Turkish coffee, and water. Oh Turkish coffee, how superior you are to Arabic coffee! So much more body! Of course, there’s also a ton of sludge in the bottom. Ma fi mushkila.

We’ve been having a hard time because we’re speaking to everyone in Arabic (whoops) and our little bit of traveler’s Turkish is coming back slowly from our honeymoon. We have yes/no/thank you/you’re welcome/1/2/3/4/good morning/hello down. It’s fun to see how many words from Arabic have made it over.

There are street cats here, but they’re so much healthier looking than Omani ones, even if they are skinny too. They’re fed here by everyone and are so perrrrtyyy! Makes us super-miss our babies.

22 April, 2009

Moroccan Sushi and Generic Update, Cross Posted to 33 Eats




Months ago, I promised pictures of Moroccan sushi (it gave me a legitimate excuse to go back and spend tons of money on happy happy fish!).  The only problem is that they still did not have tuna: "Tomorrow, in sha Allah."  Well, as a result I had to try the King Crab Roll, which consisted of oodles of crab.  That's it.  Crab.  

Crab and me, we go way back, but this was a bit too much crab for Miriam.  I've finally found a point where I had enough crab.  The salad was interesting, and it was certainly a relief to have a dressing that wasn't just watered-down mayonnaise.  It was a wasabi vinaigrette and there wasn't any lettuce, instead shredded carrots and cabbage, but they were in strips that were so long that they wrapped around the bowl and were difficult to navigate into our mouth's without flinging dressing on our shirts.  The ambiance was unparalleled modern chic in Fes, where most expensive restaurants emphasized the Moroccaness of their features as opposed to contrasting it.  



I have since moved to Oman and live an hour and a half away from Dubai and Abu Dhabi.  The culinary opportunities are much greater there, but most of the fine restaurants are at hotels and are beyond the reach of a student's budget.  We did have amazing catered Chinese appetizers at a US Dept of Commerce function, though.  Can't remember the restaurant, but ... I thought I saved a cocktail napkin.  Most restaurants in town are very inexpensive Lebanese, Syrian, or Indian places.  I have been meaning to do a couple write-ups on them.  First, I had to put my house in order!  The most recent food events have been the weekly dinners hosted by one of our group of students.  We have had Nepalese food, Philipino and Thai food (that was me, of course), Chicken Alfredo, Breakfast-for-Dinner, Variations on Chicken with Bros. Special Sauce, Biryani, and tonight Aaron whipped up some amazing vegetable lasagna which is a departure on his vegan-matzoh lasagna.  We will be going to Jordan, and possibly Kenya and Tanzania, where I will most definitely have things to report!  Food!  Happy feasting!

27 March, 2009

The Storm of the Century

While I have been keeping up my writing off-line, I have not yet published it here.  And instead of uploading something previously written (mostly on comparisons and observations between the UAE, Oman, Morocco, and San Diego), there was a singularly shocking event that happened on Wednesday night that takes precedence.

Every Wednesday we have been having group dinners.  One of us cooks and hosts the rest of the Moore students (and often Leigh’s roommate Ellen, who was absent this time since she was in Kenya).  Leigh cooked us a Nepali feast, I then cooked an Asian smorgasbord, and this Wednesday, Anne cooked dinner for breakfast.  We enjoyed the amazing oatmeal pancakes and egg casserole and then Clinton and Dave went to smoke sheesha.  Aaron dropped them off and brought the car back.  When he returned, we all went to the roof because there was lightning high high up in the sky.  It was unlike most lightning I’ve seen.  I remember a particularly wonderful rain-free lightning storm in Redding, CA many many years ago, but this was odd.  The lightning didn’t come down, but instead shot sideways.  We were on the roof for quite some time when we decided to come back in because the lightning was becoming less spectacular. 

 

Aaron, Leigh, Matthew, and I were sitting with Jacob and Anne in their majlis (sitting room) when a strong gust of wind blew off some of the wood surrounding the A/C unit and it went directly towards Matt.  Some leaves and sand were blown in, and we were generally amused.  We felt rain coming through the window, so we shut it, but not long afterwards, water started pouring in the room through the air conditioner, around the sides, and under the windows.  It looked like a scene from a horror movies: the walls started crying brown water, the wind shrieked through every hidden crevice, and the windows began to rattle as they were being pounded by the hail.  Anne and Jacob have a porch, so the water started streaming under the doors!  It was still pretty funny until the power went out and we realized that it was serious.  We had already pulled most of the plugs off the floor, but then we started unplugging everything, lighting candles, and pulling things away from the windows.  I went back to our apartment and made sure the same was happening there.  Aaron and Jacob turned off the circuit breakers and we watched helplessly as water mixed with sand and debris poured into every room.  It wasn’t just wind and water being hurled at our building, but large pieces of hail were being hurled at our windows.  Anne had ordered everyone into interior rooms and after having cleared the floors; I shut all the doors in our apartment and waited in the hallway which does not have windows.  I was afraid of a window breaking, which was why we had evacuated the rooms.  The fans in the kitchen and bathroom windows, since they were without power, were working against us by spewing rain into their respective rooms.

By the end of the storm, our majlis was covered in more than an inch of water, our bedroom was coated with it, our bathtub was covered in debris, and it was lucky that we had moved our microwave from underneath the kitchen window.  Nothing had broken and very little was ruined, but it was going to take a lot of clean-up.  We went onto the roof again and saw a very different picture from before.  Of course, all the lights were out, but everything was covered in water except the street we live on.  A lot of people drive on the sand to get to their homes and some cars were stuck in the mud.  There was hail piled up on roofs, signs torn off of buildings, and everyone was surveying the damage. 

We did not realize how easy we had it (although whoever expected a third floor apartment to flood) until we went around town.  Dave and Clinton were still at sheesha and Leigh wanted to look at her apartment, after having seen what the storm did at ours.  We waited a bit before venturing out, but I was desirous to make sure Dave and Clinton were okay and I really wanted to see what the town looked like.  We quickly found out that it was really just OUR road that wasn’t flooded, but every other one was.  We made it to the sheesha café and Clinton and Dave, possibly unaware of the amount of damage affected by the storm, wanted to stay and smoke.  Matt joined them, and Aaron, Leigh, and I were bent on getting her home.  We turned onto Sohar Road and saw a different sight from just the flooding.  The wind had torn up nearly every other tree by the roots and some of them lay across the road.  Signs were twisted metal heaps on the ground.  Virtually every non-municipal light was broken, and there was more flooding everywhere.  The parking lot to the largest mosque in town was a swimming pool of brown water.  We made it to Leigh’s with a couple wet spots—although I always drove behind people to gauge the height of the water in case we felt like turning around. 

The sight was a little silly because most of the men in Buraimi wear long white kandoras, which are essentially robes or dresses.  Not wanting to get them covered in flood water, they had hiked them up and were running around town showing a lot of leg. 

We got to Leigh’s place and found one emergency light on and the stairs were very wet.  She lives on the third floor as well, and when we came in we found her room completely flooded.  Her bed was wet and she was very lucky that her computer and a load of laundry were not in her room and had remained dry, because everything else was soaked.  We surveyed the damage and found that both fans in the bathrooms had been blown in, but that the water had probably drained from the tub.  The living room was bone dry, but Ellen’s room had water on the floor but not her bed.  Leigh decided to stay and we returned home to start mopping up.  On the way back, I took a road that I assumed would be dry and ended up in the deepest water of the night.  The brakes got a bit wet, but we were close to home and I drove carefully back. 

The next day, we saw that the effects were lasting, but also that the border we cross frequently (and the one we HAD to cross to go to Dubai that evening for the South Carolina Trade Commission) was FLOODED.  Not just flooded, but FLOODED.  They were turning people away and we did not know how we were going to get into the UAE.  There are these lovely tent canopies above the borders and one was in tatters hanging down into the flood water.  We learned that 8 people died at the carnival when a tent collapsed.  When the boys walked home from sheesha that night, they saw many cars covered by water except for the top foot.  We braved going through the Gulf-residents-only border and as we drove out of Al Ain, virtually every tree was damaged, roads were flooded, and a tent rental place was in ruins.  Most of the water had no where to go and there were a limited number of pumps available. 

On our way to Dubai, we were in more rain and then it rained when we were on the Palm Island.  This storm seems to be a singular event in Buraimi, for being this far from the coast.  I know there was a cyclone in Muscat in the past decade or so, but we’re at least an hour from the water in any direction.  Some of the roads are still flooded, but the border is now open.  It takes some planning to drive around, but the authorities are quick to act, already having filled a sink hole near our home.

15 March, 2009

Moving from Morocco to Oman

This is a long post, written in Word two weeks ago.  I have not updated because I have been without internet for a month (except when I'm able to check e-mail at cafes).

So many things have happened in the past two weeks.  I can’t even believe it’s only been two weeks…

On February 16th, we left Morocco for the UAE.  I had made a hotel reservation in Al Ain the night before we left because I was terrified that we were going to show up without accommodation.  We left Fes early in the morning, just made our connection, and landed in Abu Dhabi at approximately 8:00 p.m.  I think the plane landed earlier.  Etihad Airlines is very swank and I enjoyed the plane ride for a couple reasons: I was able to have two seats by the window, with Aaron taking the row in front and Leigh taking the row behind.  They had a gajillion on demand movies and TV shows, allowing me to watch Ever After, which I had been thinking and talking about with Laura while in Morocco, and watch 3 or 4 episodes of Bones.  A successful flight!

We changed our Moroccan D’s for AED’s, used the un-swank Customs bathrooms (as is the case in every country… should have used the ones in the terminal).  Oh, the terminal was some bizarre green and purple inside of a mushroom/alien hive building.  Very odd.  There was a sign saying no pictures, but nobody could help themselves.  (Which I'll put on Picasa soon enough.)

After making it through Passport Control and Customs with Aaron having to show his DVD collection to the guy (I don’t know what he was looking for… missionary stuff?  Porn?  Anti-Islamic materials?), Matt’s friends Dave and Ty met us at the terminal.  They looked kinda sad when they realized that only Matt was getting the star treatment and his friends were schlepping it to Al Ain on public buses.  But, c’est la vie.  So we did schlep, paying a ridiculous 70AED for the taxi driver to take us into Abu Dhabi just to the bus station.  He wanted to take us to Al Ain, but we were too cheap for that.  Plus, we’d already taken two taxis and two airplanes; time to add something else to the list.  He did not seem very familiar with the bus station and was 100% confused that we were actually asking to be dropped off there.  He was under the assumption that we’d give him directions to something else, like the mall next to the bus station, Incorrect, sir! 

He let us off in the middle of the station, but really far from where we needed to be.  We schlepped with all (ALL) of our luggage (save small suitcase we sent on with UPS) through the terminal, asking the guy where the Al Ain buses were, and then wandered over to the full size bus.  Only 10AED per person, totaling less than ½ of what we paid to just get from the airport to the bus station in the same city! 

The ride was mostly uneventful, except that a man sat across from Leigh, even when other men on the bus chastised him and told him that was for women, and then starting watching pornography on his phone.  The loud music made both Leigh and I look, and then we got the gist of it and looked back at each other, trying desperately not to laugh while being a hundred percent scandalized.

I promise, I looked around and got the cheapest accommodation in Al Ain!  Lonely Planet said there’s nothing below 5 stars!  So we trundled out of the bus, after it started making stops all the way into town, and had to pull our own luggage from underneath.  I think the bus driver forgot.  There were plenty of taxis, though, and we quickly got a ride to the Hilton, even though we were struggling to cram all of our luggage (and ourselves) into one cab.

The hotel was nice, very nice.  Classy, elegant, had no problem throwing in a cot for Leigh and didn’t charge us any more.  Aaron was gentlemanly and took the cot, although not much of a sacrifice because it was all nice.  We hadn’t eaten since the plane, so we ordered room service—it wasn’t expensive at all!  I had an attempt at a quesadilla, which I think caused me to be sick all the next day, while Aaron had amazing tortellini and Leigh had a big ole American burger.

The next day was a tad bit confusing.  We thought that we had it to ourselves, but Mike had expected to help us move our stuff across the border.  Not knowing that, I booked another night at the Hilton.  Leigh did need to get over to Oman to stay with a friend of a friend: Ellen.  So Mike picked us up at the hotel, and I made a snap decision to join them even though I was wary because I had been so sick.  Anyway, we had our first experience of the border, which was ridiculously simple because Mike has a fancy border crossing ID and we were in a car.  He gave us a quick tour, dropped Leigh off, stopped at the Buraimi Hotel so that we could make a reservation, and then took us all the way back to the hotel.  He was very accommodating, setting up an appointment to look at apartments the next day.

We had forgotten to include Matt in that outing, not on purpose, not maliciously, but just because it all happened to quickly between me making the room reservation, Leigh calling Ellen, getting the message from Mike via Ellen, me calling Mike, and him coming.  It never occurred to me to call Matt, which I felt guilty about.

He was worried about us because we hadn’t been in contact, but as it was to be the pattern of the next couple weeks for us, internet was not in the cards.  We did buy it for a day in the hotel, but Buraimi did not have it in their hotel.  Internet cafes were generally not air conditioned and somewhat hard to find.  We kept missing out on communications because of this, and I was slightly irritated when people felt the need to text me constantly.  Matt’s friends, Dave and Ty, graciously took us to the border and Mike picked us up once again, hauling our luggage in his van.  We had Leigh and we started looking with the only realtor in town with furnished apartments. 

We saw one place with much potential, but needing a lot of work.  I knew what would have to be done before people moved in in AMERICA, but I had no idea what to expect in OMAN.  Regardless, we decided to take one of the apartments because it was convenient, within budget limitations, and we’re intrepid (and wanted to move in ASAP).  Unfortunately, none of them were going to be available until March 1, but knowing that we couldn’t get anything else sooner just heightened our resolve. 

Miraculously, everything came together the next day.  Clinton, Jacob, and Anne received my instructional e-mail on how to get to Buraimi.  Dave did not, but communicated through texts.  By 4 p.m., everyone was checked into Buraimi Hotel, save Leigh and Matt.  Matt was a bit late, but near 5 p.m. we all headed out to see the realtor and this apartment building, as well as one other furnished 1 bedroom.  We had successfully put 7 of us in one building, slightly to Mike’s chagrin because he feared we would not meet our neighbors.  I would very much like to meet them (in the surrounding villas, because the apartment building is near empty), but I am not nearly settled enough to do that.

Anyway, we spent 5 nights in the Buraimi Hotel, making good use of their hotel restaurant and hanging out with Leigh most of the time.  After that, we somewhat reluctantly moved into a villa in Al Ain for 5 nights.  Four people were already over there, having found the place through Matt’s church connections.  I didn’t like the idea of less privacy, nor trucking back over the border.  I really wanted to stay in Buraimi, but something else clenched it: we needed to do laundry.  There are a number of places that say laundry in Buraimi, but they mean dry clean.  We couldn’t figure where to go to do the unmentionables, so we decided to move into the villa for a couple days.

We convinced a friendly pair of Canadians to take us across the border with the promise of a meal out, but we didn’t realize how much of a chore it would be.  The border going back into the UAE has been terrible since we got here, nearly coinciding with our arrival.  It took an hour and a half to go through it, because every car was now being searched.

It seemed as though every day when we got home from school, I was in a terrible mood because I just craved alone time, I was tired of using taxis, and I was usually hungry.  Blurgh.  The big perks were internet, malls on the same side of the border, doing laundry (slowly) and spending some fun times with the other people living there.  The downs were the lack of privacy, the lack of comfort I felt in their kitchen, the general state of disrepair and filth and junk in the house, and of course, the terrible time getting taxis.

But soon enough, the time came to move into our apartment.  Unfortunately, that coincided with buying a van.  Could been seen as a good thing, except that meant we were pulling at thousands of dollars from ATM’s.  It took some coordination and many trips to the malls to pull out enough money, but we had 3 months’ rent + an extra month’s rent for deposit, as well as 2/5th’s of the car down payment.  Not only that, but two other people just didn’t get their act together and took over a thousand of our AED’s to cover expenses.  That was frustrating. 

As was the state of our apartments.  One word: filthy.  Filthy filthy filthy.  Admittedly, there was a sand storm, but that shouldn’t have allowed that much crap to get in.  And they really didn’t feel the need to clean.  At least it means we can turn it over as filthy as we got it.  The big problem is the mattress.  It is like concrete.  We’re just going to have to get a new one.  Another unexpected cost.  The bathroom plumbing is not up to snuff, either, so we’re waiting for that to be fixed, as well getting a new lock because they only have 1 key for us.  I guess they don’t make duplicate keys around here.

But we’re alive.  With an apartment, finally able to start furnishing.  We’re on our second week of classes and we’re planning to go to Dubai on Wednesday to pick up our shipped luggage that UPS erroneously refuses to send to us in Al Ain.  But that means Taco Bell and Johnny Rockets, so I’m ok with that. 

We did go to Dubai, it was a complete and total headache to get our things, and we did get to Johnny Rockets, but not Taco Bell.  At least not this time.  I'll post about going to the opera (including Mozart sung in Arabic), camel race track, Sohar, and the general going's on.  Still waiting on internet, apparently this is endemic to OmanTel, not the exception.  Also taking some interesting networking trips to Abu Dhabi and Dubai next week.  Did I mention we bought a car?  Yeah, 5 of us bought a car, making life so much better.

01 February, 2009

Sushi and Camel Burgers (also on 33eats.posterous.com)

This weekend's culinary adventures can be united by one thing (other than price): no mayonnaise on salad!  Hooray!  We went to a sushi restaurant on Saturday night.  We had heard nothing but praise for this restaurant with people saying that it was even better than Nobu and all the best and favorite sushi places in America.  Braced for the high prices, we took a petit taxi to Kiotori, a chain of Japanese restaurants in Morocco.  The decor was sumptuous with the chefs working on the floor above us, showcased in glass.  I bet you've never seen a sushi waitress wearing a headscarf before.  The first disappointment of the night came with the announcement that they had no tuna.  NO TUNA?!  TUNA IS SUSHI!  We had to rethink our entire order when we realized that we had planned to eat tuna in nearly every dish.  Instead, we had a nice unagi/roe/avocado/crab roll, a crunchy roll with tempura shrimp and some heavenly sauce (maybe the best eel sauce ever), and then some kappamaki, tekkamaki with salmon instead of tuna, and california rolls with and without cream cheese.  This came with a salad and miso soup.  The salad was comprised of long strips of finely shredded cabbage and carrots with this horseradish vinaigrette.  It was a bit difficult to eat with chopsticks.  The miso soup had tofu (!!!!!!!), our first since coming here.  They served it in a cute bowl with a lid, but it wasn't piping hot and the spoon was stoneware, which was remarkably heavy!  The second disappointment was at dessert, when they had neither the passion fruit nor lychee ice cream listed on the menu.  I was even going to just order a handroll: it was mango, avocado, and tempura shrimp with other yummy things, but they couldn't do that either!!  Probably a good thing we left it at that, because we spent nearly $50.  For Morocco, that is LUDICROUS.  For sushi, that is about par for the course.  We thought we'd splurge anyway, since we missed the trip to Marrakesh.  As an added bonus, they took MasterCard, so we didn't have to pay out all our cash.

 

Today, we went back to Cafe Clock.  It's run by a Brit in the Medina Qadima and is incredibly popular with tourists.  It is a very nice cafe, but the prices are most certainly tourist prices.  I was hell-bent on going to the Medina today, even though it was raining.  I didn't realize that the streets would be rivers of mud, but we got to the cafe without getting too filthy and then I ordered their famous camel burger, which came with fries and salad.  The fries were light, not drowned in oil like most fries in Morocco.  Unfortunately, without a dip, I think I would have preferred oily fries!  Back to the sandwich: it was AMAZING.  It was my first time having camel, but it was out of this world tasty.  They dressed it up with "taza ketchup."  I have no idea what that means, but it was just like haroset, which is a Jewish dish served at Passover and is lightly sweet.  We make it with fresh apples, dried dates, raisins, apricots, figs, walnuts, and wine.  We like to eat it with raw horseradish on matzoh.  Digression aside, it was an interesting and complimentary addition to the meat, which also had an onion slice, lettuce, and tomato.  As per my usual, the onion went to Aaron and I enjoyed the burger slowly.  The salad that came with the meal had a horseradishy vinaigrette!  Hence, the connection between sushi and camel burger.  I also had a mocha and then a hot chocolate (it's rainy, forgive my drink choices), but this is the only place I've ever had unsweetened mocha and hot chocolate.  This is especially surprising since most Moroccan drinks are comprised of sugar with some liquid on the side.  It wouldn't have been Morocco if they hadn't offered us sugar, so we sweetened it up just enough.

 

24 January, 2009

Palais Jamai, Cafe Clock, and Taxi Adventures

I feel as though I haven't made good use of the past three weeks.  We were settling in, that's for sure, but perhaps didn't realize how short our time here really is.  Today is our half-way point in Morocco before moving to Oman, and I had only been in the Medina yesterday and today (and am apparently going back tomorrow).

Let's start with yesterday.  Louis, a representative from our school, came to town to discuss options for Oman and Dubai.  He treated us to a dinner at the most posh hotel in town--the one the Saudi princes stay at when they visit Fes.  Cost is not the end all and be all of an experience; we all like to be spoiled at times and we all like to get a good bargain.  This was a bit of the spoiling experience... our dinner (not included wine) was 400 dirhams each.  

To put this in perspective, my typical lunch is a plate of b'sarra, addis, or hummus that costs approximately 8 dh.  Yikes!  It's nice to be treated, especially when you're on a student budget with a spouse.

I finally had pastille, which I’ve been itching to try.  It’s a phyllo dough creation, filled with chicken and chickpeas, dusted with confectioner’s sugar and cinnamon.  It’s a sweet meat pastry from heaven.  It was rather large and, portion-wise, would have been a full meal on any other evening, but it was the night to be spoiled so it was just the appetizer.

 Afterwards, a tajine of lamb and quince filled us up.  During the main course, a belly dancer accompanied by musicians danced for us, showing us the most skin (and cleavage) that we’ve seen in a while.  Not even in Southern California over the holidays had I seen that much, and this is home of the cami, mini, and bikini.  For dessert, we were a might bit disappointed by three slices of orange and half a date.  But we drank well, topped it off with Moroccan tea and caught petit taxis home.

Today, Aaron and I are both sick, but he definitely takes the cake.  His ear is hurting (possibly infected) and has a terrible sinus cold.  I'm on the mend, but developed a serious headache this afternoon.  Regardless, we needed dinner and don't have enough on hand to cook something, nor wanted the standard fare (which is either sandwich or beans).  We decided to go to Café Clock.

First, the taxi system is cockamamie.  Petit taxis hold three people and, if a current passenger is willing, you can get one that already holds somebody else.  When we were going to the fancy hotel, we had nine people, which would be 3 empty cabs, but we were going at rush hour.  If we were able to get a cab to stop, it already had a person in it.  Mind you, there is a large round-about a couple blocks away where four boulevards meet.  There is a taxi stand at the McDonald’s, but it’s ludicrous to try to get a cab there most of the day.  As a result, we would plant ourselves on various streets and flag down taxis and hope that they would be somewhat empty, that they would actually stop, and finally that they would take us where we wanted to go.  The most infuriating thing is to get a cab to stop and refuse to take you somewhere!  

On our posh hotel night, we managed to get 4 cabs with Matt illegally hiding in the backseat between Jacob and Anne.  I was the only one who knew what to say to the drivers, so I kept getting cabs and giving them to other people—it seemed like the most logical thing to do.  The exception was that we went before Jacob, Anne, and Matt got one.  The following night to Café Clock, we easily got the first cab and Hannah and Matt took off.  But getting another taxi, for three people, was impossible.  We were able to get a couple to stop and refuse to take us, we had one stop that only had room for two, and while it made sense to me that Aaron travel by himself and the remaining women to go together, he was not down for that.  Walking back the way we came, where I was convinced we would find a cab, a man ran across the street from a café (the more common Moroccan-French-style café) and spoke to us in perfect English asking if we wanted a cab ride.  Suspicious, I asked if he had a petit taxi and he said he had a tourist taxi.  We “negotiated” a price (he said one—10 dirhams—and I took it because it was great) and we piled into his very comfortable van, replete with pillows and small kilims on the floor.  I was willing to see what this guy was going to do and while it was clear that Aaron and Leigh both did not know what to make of this stranger’s proposition, I thought, “What the hell, let’s just adventurize.”  Turns out, the guy has his own service driving and doing tours.  He has a binder full of recommendations from past clients and was eager for us to contact him if we wanted to go to Chefchaouen, the Middle Atlas, or the Sahara.  We didn’t get a good look at his prices, but he mentioned that we should split them between six people, so he might be a bit pricey.  But the guy was great, it was a clever way for him to help us, advertise himself, and a comfortable way for us to get down to the Medina.  I will definitely consider using him if we set-up a trip.

We finally arrived to Bab Bou Jeloud, and proceeded to wander into the Medina.  We were arguing about how to go, between Aaron who had been there, and myself who was following Laura’s directions.  As we were battling it out, some local teens said in perfect English, “Café Clock is that way.”  Ha!  We passed another place where we heard someone guess we were American, and twice Aaron heard, “Hello, Ali Baba, hello!”  We’re not sure if that has something to do with his luxuriant beard, or is just something commonly said to Americans.  The café is behind a twelfth century water clock, the oldest existing one in the world.  It is at the house of Jewish philosopher Maimonedes, but I cannot confirm that he actually invented the clock.  The legend goes that he created the clock, because philosophers back in the day were Renaissance men, and the constant sound of water caused his wife to miscarry.  The grief drove him slightly mad so he disabled the clock and no one has yet figured out how to make it work.  A guide for the restaurant was standing in the alley to give us the history lesson and show us back to the restaurant.  He was rather good looking and charming, so I may try to live vicariously through some of the single ladies here.

Café Clock was created by a Brit or American, and it’s a very hip place in the Medina, but let’s just say it’s not exactly immersing yourself in a local café.  Don’t get me wrong, I had a great time and want to go back, but I feel it’s important to explain the difference between this café and most.  

Most cafes are run by Moroccans and cater to Moroccans.  There’s a lovely place a block away called Jawhara Café that has sumptuous décor and is a place for middle/upper-middle class Moroccans to enjoy with a group of men or go on dates too.  I don’t know if they are courting or if it’s a “married date,” but it is nice to see couples get-together.  Broadway Café, which is also a block away, serves crepes and has co-ed pool tables in a very upscale atmosphere.  These cafes are classier than most I’ve seen in the Ville Nouvelle.  Cafes are mostly French-influenced, with acres of chairs and tables outside, serving coffee and espresso with the occasional pastry.  All these cafes are very inexpensive, about $1 for a drink, maybe $4 for a panini.  My favorite place on Hassanthani has a coffee and a pastry for $1.

To contrast, we spent about $20 at Café Clock yesterday for two meals and two drinks.  The café itself is quite beautiful and atmospheric, but I think it caters to tourists because Fassis are not going to pay $10 for a meal at a café.  I did see a couple Moroccans, but most everyone was a foreigner and the Moroccans were just using the wi-fi.  There was intricate woodworking, calligraphy on the walls, lovely handicrafts and evocative music.  It is the number-one-rated restaurant on tripadvisor.com in Fes, which once again plays to the tourist and not the resident/expat.  

I thoroughly enjoyed my meal and want to try their famous camel burger, but I cannot afford to jaunt down there every night (especially because we have to pay cab fare there and back).  The café has loads of live music; cooking, calligraphy, culture, and music classes; and will show American movies or big events such as the Inauguration.  I can see how Fes can appear strange, dirty, unhospitable, dangerous, and confusing, but I really like it here.  Those are all things I’ve heard from tourists, but it may just require time or perhaps removing expectations about Morocco.  It is very vibrant and you have to go without fear while putting trust that strangers will help you if you need it, and then you’ll see what a nice place it is.  But what can I say, I'm biased.  Check out the café’s website if you’d like:  http://cafeclock.com/