Morocco

Morocco

So I went to Morocco, yes. Now I've been to Africa. We couldn't stop singing Aladdin the whole time because that was the first thing the architecture and environment made us think of. Every day at least twenty shopkeepers would say konichiwa! to me. I have experienced a Moroccan public bath and that is a story I will have to tell you in person.

But I think the highlight of the trip was riding camels (dromadaire if one hump, chamel if two) into the Sahara freakin' Desert and then camping the night there. I just don't any other experience compares, staring down at the dipped neck of a camel as you ride into the endless yellow dunes, watching the waves of sand fly and catch on the tips, and following a Berber guide who is so much faster on foot that he pauses to lounge at the top. You think, "Any moment now, and he's going to ask me to draw him a sheep."

We feasted on a gigantic plate of couscous, and heard stories about Berber weddings and their history in Morocco. The next day I woke up to the sun shining over the crests, and as I tried to climb up a slope to find a "toilet", my feet sank directly into the soft sand, like I was climbing on powder.

Un Week-end à Brive

So, just as predicted, when I added a photo and a video, the post didn't publish. So, my readers, you are just going to have to live with boring, text-only posts until I figure this out. So sorry.

Ok, I am going to type this blog post in Word first and copy and paste so I don’t have a disaster like last time and lose everything.

So, because of a transportation strike this weekend in reaction to the government’s proposal to raise the retirement age, I decided to stay in Brive this weekend. But it was truly lovely, despite this being a small town.

What did I do?

Saturday morning I went to the marché which, I cannot emphasize enough, is a treasure, a complete adventures for the senses. In France they say that the experience of eating is threefold: First you eat with your eyes (and thus why the French place so much emphasis on the presentation of their food), then you eat with your nose, and then finally with your mouth. The marché is a perfect place to do that; you go from vendor to vendor, admiring the beauty of their goods and smelling the amazing flavors until you are offered a free sample or buy something and can then finally taste it for yourself.

This time around I bought a Suisse, which is a type of sweet bread that can come with raisins (note on French vocab: raisin is grape and raisin sec is raisin), chocolate chips, or nothing (as far as I have seen). I also had an apple and then to top it off, a very French delicacy: the macaron.

Here’s a picture of 2 of the 3 macarons I bought. These ones are actually about double (or even triple) the size of most macarons you’ll normally find (and their price reflected that! Definitely a one-time buy). I bought salted caramel, chocolate orange, and coconut. Oh my God.

After the marché, I went to the library and picked out some more books and DVDs to enjoy for the weekend. I’ve been able to indulge in pleasure reading here and have already read “The Music of Chance” by Paul Auster and “A Thousand Splendid Suns” by Khaled Hosseini. Both books were wonderful, but the latter deserves so much eloquency and time that I can give it right now, so a book review will have to come later. But let’s just say that if you ever had any doubt that women and men were not equal, read the book and then rethink your prejudices. Inequality is an incredibly cruel and dangerous thing.

From the library I also got a DVD called “Brasileirinho,” (little Brazil) which tells the story of a Brazilian musical genre called “choro” (cry) which I, embarrassingly, had never heard of, even though supposedly it’s the precursor to all of the other musical traditions that most people associate with Brazil, such as samba. It’s really lovely and well, once again, here in a tiny town in France, I’m becoming more educated about my origins.

Saturday evening I went out with some students, all of whom happened to be Moroccan, and had a lovely evening exploring the Moroccan parts of Brive. We went out to dinner at a Moroccan restaurant, went bowling (not Moroccan at all – very American actually, with the names all in English), and then to a hookah bar (which, in Arabic, is chicha). I feel a certain kinship with those students because they, like me, are not in their homeland, and with that comes a certain – empathy, I guess.

Today began with a walk through Brive to a patisserie/boulangerie to buy some lovely pastries for breakfast and bread for lunch and dinner.

I also went to mass today. There is something truly awe-inspiring about the Catholic Church, because it does not matter where you go in the world, Catholic mass is the same (with slight variations). Thus, although it was all in French, I was able to follow very easily.

I had mentioned in an earlier post how sad it is that France is teeming with gorgeous churches and few faithful, and being at mass today confirmed that for me. It is a truly a generational thing: the median age was probably 50+, unlike going to church in the US or Brazil, where a lot of kids and teenagers tend to be present.

In addition, the priest wasn’t French, but was instead from Benin, following a similar trend we see in the United States with fewer and fewer Caucasian men wanting to be priests, and thus an increase in priests from Africa and South America in churches throughout the US and Europe. He spent the homily sharing some facts about his homeland, emphasizing the unfortunate paucity of educational opportunities there and the common illiteracy that goes hand in hand with such a situation.

And now I’m back in my room, catching up on things, and realizing that I need to start planning lessons for tomorrow, as I am meeting with 5 groups.

La Cantine

Because I live at the school, I also eat in the cafeteria. It's like being in college all over again, but I must say that BC could certainly rival the quality of the food served here. I would love to avoid stereotypes, but that of the French loving baguettes and cheese is just too true. Baguettes are served with every meal and cheese is a part of every lunch and dinner. The baguettes, however, do not live up to the standards of the famed French bread and thus I will have to wait for the weekends, when meals are not provided, in order to taste the real deal.

I don't know if I've mentioned this already, but I'm working at a high school where students also have the option of living there. I guess the public school system in France works differently in that you don't have to go to your neighborhood school. There are kids from out-of-town who come here to study and live. Some stay only during the week and go home on the weekends; others stay all the time and only go home for the holidays. There is a group of students from Morocco, for example. I've met a few Moroccan girls and honestly they've been the nicest students I've met so far.

At the same time, many of the students at this high school are technically done with high school and are now pursuing further studies...but it's not the same thing as college. Too complicated to try to address it in this one post, but anyway, I've met four classes so far, all boys except for one girl, because they are all BTS students and thus technology-mechanics focused. They're sweet but as teenage boys are want to be, they talk a lot, are flirts, and make it very clear in their body language when they're bored out of their minds. God help me.

You know, another thing I've noticed is that teachers are much better paid here than in the US. At least that's my impression, based on the teachers' homes I have visited. Perhaps this is a less expensive area (the real estate signs I've seen indicate homes ranging from 150,000-300,000 euros) but I am amazed by their standard of living. Perhaps this is a too-quickly drawn conclusion, so I will write back if I find out more.

Off to lunch! à la cantine! In order to push through swarms of students...teachers have the right to cut the line and weirdly enough, that means me too!