May your tea be as bitter as death, as sweet as life, and as mellow as love

Today I am going to Fes: Culinary Capital of Morocco. But not for me because I'm a strict budget of 200 dh a day. I am so disciplined! 

Tomorrow, I will receive my dear friend Marlies at the airport. She comes to keep me company on my wine tour/serious academic research on alcohol consumption in Morocco. 

But YESTERDAY: I met the King!! Of Morocco. His Excellency Mohammed VI. There I was enjoying some gelato on the sidewalk, pondering micro-credit loans and the future of the rural economy, when the trumpet sounded. Horsemen! Tagines! More horsemen! Carriages! The royal family rode by as the commoners mobbed the streets. It was just like Inauguration, only more...Moroccan.

SHOES shoes shoes

A Bird's eye view...

I could drink A Case of You, Morocco

So I embark on my Independent Study Project at the end of this week.  I'll be sad to end my Arabic classes.  For about as long as it took me to write that sentence. 

I've decided on the quite controversial and rather relevant topic of wine production and consumption.  Morocco may not be known for its Shiraz just yet, but it's vineries are up and coming.  The glass of Cabernet I had last week, I have to say, was surprisingly fruity--almost date-infused. 

Also, my mother was here. She agrees with me that Morocco has the best oranges in teh world, and that hotel service leaves something to be desired (honesty), but she refuses to swap flights home with me.  ("Didn't you see the Parent Trap? I'll cut my hair and you'll pierce your ear and no one will be able to tell the difference!")

A joke, Morocco. I couldn't leave you just yet.  Not when I have so much wine-tasting to do in Muslim country.  

Love,

Lani

But what do you do in Morocco?

Time passes, a blog goes unposted..

Today marks two months in Morocco, or as I like to call it, home.  I've just returned from a rather eventfully uneventful week.  A VILLAGE STAY, which I can summarize as:

Rural, rustic, simple, human, humane, tragic, demi-tragic, comi-tragic, Commie-tragic, woodsy, outdorrsy, rolling hills, and fresh plucked wildflowers dripping with morning dew. 

Really, it was quite the 6 nights.  There was (gasp) no running water or electricity and there were (more audible gasp) real cows and donkeys on the property.  So much for staying away from wild animals, passport control! (Those paranoid goons and their fear of animal carriers of infectious diseases!) There were bountiful fields, flowers, and children.  My family had a 7 month old baby girl who though subject to a bit of rough housing on the part of her 10 year old brother (he was a terrror! A TERROR I tell you) was the happiest little creature this side of the Atlantic (And how does the ATlantic look from this side, MOm wonders..)

In the village due to a miscommunication (one of the many many to follow) I was (un)fortunately christened "Wana." Not that I Minded too much.  I've always wanted a name that was sinfully easy to pronounce..and Wana has a charm to it.  LIke Howard. Or Prudence. Or Voldemort. 

As our quiet tea-drinking days dwindled, I couldn't help but wonder if I might not prefer a more simple life filled with the joys of family and livestock.  With that moment over, I happily continued counting down the days to my next shower.  

Coming soon: OREOS a gift of the Industrialized World. 

And later: Meat, Men, Mortality--My Spiritual Question in Morocco. 

And this weekend it's Off to Chefchaouien! As I always say, don't let the account balance get you down!