1) In an ongoing attempt to satisfy Aunt Joy's curiosity, there are some new photos up of the Tangier sights (smells, sounds perhaps as well). Link forthcoming.
2) For those of you looking for reading material, Disorienting Encounters, the Travels of Muhammad as-Safar was very good. I would highly recommend it. It is Muhammad as-Safar, the secretary of the ambassador of Morocco to France in the 1800s. He describes his trip to Paris. Highlights: cultural differences between Morocco and France, the description of the toilets of France, and why it is important to talk to French people's wives.
3) This weekend, I had another trip to Asilah, the seaside art town, which is currently getting ready for its festival. After a little tour, we were set free (got some people presents on the State Department's dime), then I spent the night with two other people in Asilah in order to go to the beach. However, as my planned roommate (and Tangier roommate- Matt) decided to be sick (well, maybe not decided, but it's harder to hold an unreasonable grudge without him having made the conscious decision to be sick) I had to get a room to myself. My immediate reaction to seeing the room that I was going to be spending the night in was that it was the room in which Raskolnikov plotted his murders. A small bed, blue chair, sink, and shelf with a bar under it with a lone coat-hanger as a closet, all in about 5 feet by 8 feet space. It was clean, but shabby. I did not plan any murders to become extraordinary in it however. Maybe other murders, but not ones for greatness in any case.
However, in this hotel, we also met Lena, an NYU grad working in New York vacationing solo in Morocco for two weeks who then accompanied us around the city that night, where, as part of the upcoming festival, we witnessed the white-washing of the murals I had so enjoyed in Asilah the first time so they can be repainted this year. I am sure there is some profound statement in this about the transience of human work and art.
The next morning, we went back to the Ramilat beach, this time though, because there was no cab that would take us for a reasonable price, we went by horse cart. Keep in mind that Morocco is an incredibly car-filled country, and they almost hit me all the time outside the school, but no, we missed them all and took a horse cart. We took an hour long horse cart ride to the beach, driven by a man named Jamal (which means Beauty) who kept talking to me about the difference between hash and weed in Darija (apparently it is very clear to others that I know nothing about this subject, and they feel the need to enlighten me often on it). Quite the experience.
4) Photos.
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2092985&l=f6999&id=1013451
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