An English ftour

Living in Morocco and having many Moroccan friends you are constantly trying to find a balance. A balance between just about anything life throws at you. Sometimes I feel like I am living a double life. There are moments when I am so immersed in the culture hear that I find myself doing and experiencing things I would never have thought possible. For example, as a going on 17 year vegeterian I find myself transfixed to watching the ritual sacrifice of two lambs and a goat at L'Aid. Then sometimes I feel I could be sitting in any restaurant in Melbourne laughing with the girls about the not so beautiful aspects of childbirth that I am yet to experience, as I did last night - in Marrakech.



For the last 5 days I have had two moroccan friends staying with me in Marrakech. I have been working and coming home each day and battling my way through conversations in my limited arabic. They assure me that my arabic is 'izween'- beautiful, but I tend to disagree.

When I visit one of my friends I am always treated as a guest in their house, even though the whole family knows that after 2 years I am pretty much part of the furniture. Moroccan's hospitality never ceases to amaze me. It is unrelenting, so much so that to a certain extent I feel embaressed about the lack of assistance I give to my surrogate family. I put the shoe on the other foot and I think that in my own household I would probably throw a teatowel at my friend and say' Thanks for coming to dinner. I'll wash - you dry'

I had a brainwave. As I am on my homegorund I would finally be the one to reciprocate a speck of the last two years of hospitality that has been so generousy bestowed upon me.

First was the vegeterian lasagne. Now vegeterianism is not huge in Morocco. In fact I don't have one moroccan friend that doesn't eat meat. Most people think I'm crazy. I was nervous, here I was in the kitchen with an insanley good cook. The pressure was on. I chopped, I sliced, I stirred and I seasoned, and the overall verdict was pleasing. It must have been as it was enjoyed by my two friends for lunch the next day. Let's be honest lasagne is always best the next day.

This morning before the girls set out on yet another day exploring I cooked them a good old English breakfast. Complete with scrambled eggs, baked beans, toast and butter. I couldn't talk them into a white tea so it was served with mint.



This week has reminded me that two worlds can come together without much hoo-hah, little by little, and food is a great way to start.

Vive le Maroc

Last night was insane in Marrakech. The streets were electrifying and the energy and happiness permeating from every inch of every persons body was a sight to be seen. It all came down to a little game we call soccer. But this was no ordinary game. Morocco beat Algeria 4-0 last night in Marrakech.

From Friday afternoon you could not get a quiet moment wherever you tried to hide. The streets were alive with sounds of honking,horn blowing, hooting, and hollering. It went late into the night and started again early Saturday morning. It didn't cease until game time. At half time it started up again when Morocco were 2-0 in front. As the final siren went people spilled onto the streets from cafes, bars and households. People hugged, people danced, people sang, and people did down right dangerous acts all to celebrate this monumental victory. Families zipping past on a scooter waving flags, young buff boys chanting passionately and even a young man stripped down to his underwear rejoicing on top of a car.



Friends and I joined the festivities dancing on the streets and furiously waving the Moroccan flag. Upon re entering the venue where we watched the game at we were dragged onto the dance floor by staff and proudly wrapped our adopted country, Morocco's flag around us waving four fingers in the air.



After an emotional and saddening couple of months succeeding the Cafe Argana explosion Morocco is once again alive with the sound of VIVE LE MAROC.

Mum and Dad do Morocco

I had been pleading with Mum and Dad for years to come and visit me while I was off living abroad. Dad has run a successful hands on business in Melbourne for the past thousand years and getting away was always difficult. As it is a family business Mum has always been very involved as well. However, this year was the year of the big R - Retirement year. I told them under no circumstances were they not going to travel the 30 hours from Australia to Morocco and share its wonders with me. I sourced cheap tickets for them both and told them to spend my part of the inheritance. It was time for Nev and Ron to dip their toes in the Atlantic.

I almost died of shock when they informed that they would actually be visiting me. I guess Morocco was a place they were always going to have to come to, after all, this is the country that stole their youngest child and only daughter who obviously has no plans on returning to Australia anytime soon.

So then what? Now I had to figure out how on earth I was going to preoccupy my Mum and Dad for 3 weeks. I did what I always do when confronted with a challenging situation. I wrote list, after list, after list. What sights to see, where to eat, where to shop, the lists went on and on and on!

Mum and Dad arrived a few days before my birthday and I was beside myself with excitement. I boarded the train to Casa and made sure I had enough to do for the 3-4 hour journey. Well that 3-4 hour journey became a 6 hour journey as there was some sort of trouble with another train. All passengers were offered a warm soft drink on an already hot day and told to wait, which we did.

Finally I arrived at the airport ten minutes late. In that 10 minutes Mum had already paid a guy 20 dirham to call and see where I was. They were looking extremely wide eyed when they saw me. They experienced customs first hand - shouting, queue jumping, shoving, and honestly just wanted to get out of the airport, quick smart.

We made a quick exit and spent out first night in Casablanca. Like the A1 tourist guide that I am we ate Italian in the hotel restaurant on our first night in Casablanca.

Upon arriving in Marrakech Dad was greeted with a 'Bonjour' on the street. Still a little jet lagged he shouted after me. "Hey, that man is saying something to me!" "What did he say, Dad?" I replied. "Bonjour?" Dad said. "Ugh, he's saying G'day!" I informed him. "Oh, righto!" Happy with that explanation we merrily continued to my apartment.

I didn't realise what a work out my arabic (however minimal) would get when Mum and Dad were here. To them I sounded like I was speaking fluently and they were extremely proud that their little girl could converse with the locals, give taxi drivers a hard time and make sure they didn't starve.

We took a little break from Morocco and flew to Italy at the start of my school holidays. Mum and Dad loved Rome and were amazed by the history of it all. For me better than all that was seeing Mum standing slap bang in the middle of a city she had learnt about all those years ago at her little catholic primary school in Melbourne and since then had wanted to visit.



England was great and luckily for Dad it was when Ponting resigned from his captaincy of the Australian cricket team. He felt very lucky as he was able to read an english paper and get the latest news. Also, he won't admit this but as I was dragging Mum up and down Oxford Street he was sitting back in the B&B watching all the soaps he gives Mum heaps about back home for watching. Every day when we would return we would get information on what scam the Dingles were pulling in Emmerdale or what was happening in the Vic on Eastenders.

After our week long jaunt in Europe is was time to return to Morocco. I was pleased about this because I wanted to take Mum and Dad to Essaouira, my favorite place (for many reasons) in Morocco. There we experienced the windy city, rain, wind, and shine. We were shown unbelievable hospitality by a friend's family and I do think the seaside town impressed them both. Maybe not as much as me, but definitely a little.



Next stop was Fes and we stayed in a friend's dar. This is the place I managed for 2 months and it was nice to stay there as a guest again. I introduced Mum and Dad to friends, good friends and I think it put Mum at ease to know that I would be ok and had amazing people there for me if my world came crashing down around me in Morocco. Fes is my refuge and I think it always will be. We explored the winding alleyways, smelly tannery and dodged touts successfully.



Having Mum and Dad here was certainly an experience and I am so glad that they came. Maybe it wasn't the place they had always dreamed of going to but they did it for me. Why? Because this place is my home now and it will always have a special place in my heart. I thank them for that tremendously.

Letting Go

Letting go. Letting GO. Leee-ting go. LETTING GO! Just let go. No matter how I say it I just haven’t been able to find a way to do it these past few days.

I knew that when I moved to Morocco I would have to deal with missing weddings, births, parties, engagements and so on, but I never imagined I would have to deal with the passing of a friend.

I have lost people in the past but I have had the luxury of being surrounded by people who are mutual friends and relatives. I have sat for hours on end reminiscing about this day, or that night. Smiling at the silly things we used to get up to and squeezing the life out of the person you are talking to as if you have your arms around the person you have just lost.

This week has not been like that at all, I have had some concerned friends and one in particular has been my keeper, calling me daily to see if I’m ok. It is very much appreciated but I still feel unbelievably isolated. You see I am letting go from afar.

For the past week I have walked around with a black cloud hovering over me. I have been surrounded by an all consuming sadness and a voice that has been nagging me to ‘let go’. What if I don’t want to let go, what happens then?

I have been going to sleep early, because I don’t want to be awake anymore. When I am awake I think and when I think I cry and when I cry I hurt and when all that is done I know my thoughts, my tears and my hurt will not bring my friend back.

I have been rising in the morning and feel as though I am sleep walking through my day. I feel as though I do not own multiple senses, I can only sense my sadness. That is it.

Here in Morocco I have found that death happens and that is it, that is life. You accept it and move on. Of course people are incredibly sad but they have such faith that they are going to a better place. A friend once received a text message saying ‘Happy Birthday, one less year to live’. My friend was so happy to have received that message. I couldn’t understand why. Maybe now I understand a little. When you move from this life to the next there is something that awaits you. Something special, something to look forward to, something out of this world.

A friend explained his belief on death as saying, "When you are a muslim you are always prepered for death and you don't see death as the end, you see it as another path towards god and if you have a strong belief in god you will never be afraid or scared of anything. He is the only one you should fear and love at the same time."

Maybe my friend knew that all along. It makes my heart smile that he is no longer hurting, that he is free of the battles that chose him and wouldn’t leave him alone.

As for letting go, that may take a while still.

Somewhere in the Middle Atlas

I just got back from a weekend away with some friends somewhere in the Middle Atlas. I didn't know exactly where I was going and I am still not sure exactly where I have been. I do know that I feel tired, have a sore bottom and a big smile on my face. Even though the later do not usually go together.

A friend posed a road trip to a small group of us about a trip away to a beautiful little spot in the Middle Atlas mountains, Morocco (obviously!). We set out Friday evening and were to arrive at our 'git'( yes i know what you're thinking you lazy... but it is pronounced 'zheet'), Moroccan home stay approximately 3 to 4 hours later.

The trip there was interesting. A good friend has just purchased a Renault 4 and Anna assured us that the car was made for these roads and would serve us well. I had complete faith in her. If there is anything I do know about country girls is that they know their cars. We left red Marrakech behind us hopeful of some fresh air. The roads got quieter and the towns less busy. We were on our way. A weekend away from the big smoke. We passed through little Berber villages and I imagine they were really beautiful, however, we couldn't see a thing as the sun had well and truely set. We entertained ourselves by imagining what we could be seeing. I fondly named the car Cat-Dog as this ride was amazing. It launched itself into pot holes and around hair pin bends as though it owned the roads. In my eyes it was officially a cat that thinks it's a dog. The best type of cat in my eyes!

We arrived 5 - 6 hours later. Spirits were high and we were greeted by warm smiles and a healthy serving of home cooked moroccan food. My friend Chris and I devoured a vegetarian tagine and the others received their 'normal' meals, as it was described.

We planned with our 'to go to' guy, Mustafa that we would climb Cathedral Rock the next morning and set of at about 9:30am. We were pretty desperate for a sleep in after a long weeks work. Mine consisting not only of work but an annoying cold and a tummy bug.

The git was lovely, clean comfortable and had character, although at that stage I was so tired I probably could have slept comfortably on a bed of nails. And that is what I did, slept.

I arose the next morning excited about the hike but also a little unsure. I am not much of a hiker to be honest and resistence isn't my thing. Ask me to walk on even grounding and I will out Forest Gump anyone but this was going to be different. I climbed up onto the terrace of the git before take off and asked myself, was I really going to make it way up there? Daunting but do-able I assured myself. We enjoyed breakfast outside underneath the increasingly warm sun and were serenaded by the sound of the running stream close by. Picture perfect.

Bags packed, sunscreen on and head count done we headed off. We were a mixed bunch on this hike. We had the serious hiker, the knee problem, the self proclaimed turtle, city slickers, smoker but fitter than us all guy and a little canine friend who decided to come along on the adventure with us. The hike was going to take approximately 3 hours up an 2 hours down. I couldn't help but think of the journey the night before. I hoped that it was not going to be a case of history repeating itself when it was my feet carrying me and not Cat-Dog.

The walk was amazing. I pushed myself physically but never had a moment where I thought I could not do it. I breathed in the fresh air and stopped (often) to take in the magnificent scenery. The sense of accomplishment when I reached the top of the rock was great. The smiles on top of that mountain were priceless, after the gasping had stopped of course!

The walk down was pleasant enough as the sun had ceased and the temperature had become comfortable. Believe it or not we did make it in the 5 hours too. Once again upon returning to the git we were greeted with warm smiles and a delicious potato salad and berber omlette.

That evening some of us were moving a little slower but feeling good after the awesome day. We passed the night once again eating an amazing feast and playing card games with inappropriate names. An earlier night this night, and a well deserved rest.

After having out final meal together we all set off to Marrakech, a little sad that the weekend was over but keen to get on the road as it had rained most of the night. Once again Cat-Dog showed her true colours and launched herself into pot holes and puddles with enthusiasm and grace. Well rattles and bumps mostly.

The view down the mountain would have been amazing had there not been a thick blanket of fog covering our descent most of the way. Once again we used our imagination to fill in the blanks. We stopped a couple of times for natures calls and photo opportunities. Breathing in the fresh air every time I stepped out of the car. Who knows when I will get this fresh mountain air again. I hope it's not too long.

Shukran bezaf Anna x