PICTURES!!

I did two sets of these only on facebook:

Iceland is here

St. Petersburg is here

And the other two sets on Google Pictures:

Looky here for Morocco

And here for Barcelona...

Then here for Ireland

Aurevoir Morocco

Super toasty in Marrakech today, 40 C. No time for a proper post and likely won't have internet for the remainder of my trip, so here are some photooooos to tide you over until I get home and edit all the rest.

Casablanca day 3

Habbous

Hassan II Mosque

Outside the mosque

Today, after lunch at the home of one of Hamza's friends, we went to visit the Hassan II mosque, largest in Africa and 6th largest in the world. They only have guided tours in the mornings, but one of the women working there offered to quickly show me around the women's section. She gave me a scarf to put over my head, and took my camera to snap a bunch of photos of me at random spots in the mosque. She barely spoke any french, but she tried to chat.

Tomorrow, Hamza will drive me and his Slovenian friend into Marrakesh for the day. It's about a 2.5 hour drive, so we're getting up eeeeearly... then next day to Barcelona!

Is it your first time in Morocco?

I have been asked a lot of strange questions since arriving here. Is it your first time in Morocco? In African country? Before coming did you know Morocco existed? And at dinner today, do your parents know where Morocco is? I hope so...

Of course all these questions come in French or translated from Moroccan arabic through Hamza. Today I met two uncles and an aunt, and a bunch of sister's friends. They laughed at Hamza's sister, 'Is he really your brother?' because he is nearly fluent in English and none of them can really manage sentences. They have a strange sense of humour... even when he tries to translate what they are laughing at, 'you really need some backround to understand'... I have found this to be absolutely true. His brother is really a joker, yesterday he kept telling the maid strange translations of what I was saying, and they all were laughing hysterically. For example I was imitating how people from Hong Kong speak English, and they told her I was angry because I didn't like her food.

This morning for breakfast we had what Hamza called crepes, which were a bit like extra holey pancakes. I had to use the 'three finger cutting method' to rip off pieces to eat, no need for cutlery.

We went for another drive after breakfast to the old market (Habbous?) owned by the mosque in the area. Tons of shiny and glittery things, like fancy platters, paintings, caftans, slippers/traditional shoes, huge carpets, bowls...
After we stopped at a cafe and I had a big glass of thick papaya juice. Mmmmmmm. Next time I will try the avocado juice!!

We went back for a lunch of tuna and tomato salad followed by the best yellow-coloured chicken I've ever had with deep fried potato bits (again in a big platter, eaten with bread using three fingers).

The rest of the day we sort of hung around, bought some 'dvds' from the stall across the street (in plastic envelopes with a printout of the russian version of the movie cover), then went to meet Hamza's friend at a cafe. I had a nutellino, which apparently is espresso with a spoonful of nutella in the bottom? She ordered avocado juice. Looks like a happy planet smoothie. We chatted about school, and she was jealous of my studies in environmental science, she would have loved to study that but her parents forbade her, 'you must study economics to get a job'. Hamza and both his siblings also study economics. There are no environmental jobs in Morocco they say, they don't even have recycling deposits. 'We are not that far yet.' The city is hideously dirty, plastic and garbage everywhere, and in the shantytowns there are literally fields of trash.

Did I mention stray cats are everywhere? Well, they are everywhere. Tiny kittens, scrawny old scruffy things, all kinds. Chilling out in the sun or curled up behind palm trees...

Stray kitty at the old market

And another thing, food mysteriously (or not) appears on my plate at the dinner table. Muslims must accept and feed guests for at least three days (or they are bad muslims). So as I'm sitting next to father at the table, he keeps putting things on my plate, dates, apricots, yogurt, turkey...

الدار البيضاء

I arrived at Mohammed V airport at 2am yesterday. My friend Hamza picked me up and brought me to his family's home. Up 4 flights of twisty marble stairs, we got to their apartment, one of the most beautifully decorated homes I have ever seen. I have the guest room all to myself, and after spending 14 hours getting here (getting to Skavsta, waiting around in the Barcelona airport during an epic thunderstorm) I fell straight asleep. In the morning, I met mom, dad, sister, brother, brother's best friend, and the maid. They all speak French, Arabic, and the 'Moroccan language' but only brother speaks any degree of English (luckily Hamza is fluent though). The Moroccan language is a bit of a mashup between classical arabic, french, spanish, and some invented words. It is only a spoken language, all the signs are written in Arabic or French. Most of the billboards and ads are in French though, and Hamza did all his schooling in French, he considers classical Arabic hard to take an exam in.

The maid made us some crispy bread/pancake things for breakfast which we ate with honey and jam, fresh orange juice, sweet Moroccan mint tea, and coffee. Then Hamza took me for a (rollercoaster) ride through Casablanca, past ferraris and porsches and villas, and past shantytowns with cows, donkeys, chickens, and stray cats. At one point we passed a mule cart on the main road. We saw the beach (which a man tried to make us pay to drive to... Hamza just yelled at him and kept driving... 'who is he anyway, he is nobody, silly man'). We drove past several mosques, heard the call to prayer around midday, and went to a marketplace where we stopped for some more mint tea (his dad tells me they call it Moroccan whiskey). Hamza told me it is made with Chinese green tea, mint leaves, yerba, and something else he didn't know the English name of.
We went back for lunch, also prepared by the maid. Started with a plate of salad in the middle of the table, made of a grain (barley?), lettuce, radish, cucumber, tomato, some kind of small white onion, tuna, and boiled and spiced potatoes. Then she brought out a big plate of roast (beef?) and prunes and a platter of flattish bread. Everyone started peeling off bits of meat from the bigger chunks with their fingers, grabbing a bit of prune, and wiping it all up with a little piece of bread. It was delicious.

We went back into the city for a while. Traffic in Casablanca is INSANE. Luckily Hamza spends most of his job driving around clients so he knows exactly what to do, but its terrifying for me. Bikes, mopeds (often a family of 3 sits on one moped), cars and busses going every direction, driving in the opposite lane, in the bike lanes, on the sidewalk, and don't forget the occasional mule cart. Swedes don't honk... but let me tell you... Moroccans do.

Hamza's parents are both muslim, so they go to prayer 5 times a day and there is no alcohol in the house. They run a furniture business, his father makes and decorates the wooden frames and his mother does the textiles. They made almost all the furniture in their home, and it is gorgeous.

Bought some roasted corn from a guy on our streetcorner for dinner, and right now I'm eating some deep fried french toast! These people.

Anyway, I'm super tired now. It wasn't all that hot (28?) but quite humid... time for sleep. No clue what I'm doing tomorrow!

Mosque

Corn on our balcony

Animals and people in the road

Mint tea

The countdown is on...

As I write this, 14 days 2 hours til I'm back in Vancouver. No time to chat now, packing up for Casablanca, Barcelona, and Dublin! Hope to see you all soon.
<3