To capture or be captured? That is the question.

I think this post will bring me up to date. I'm not really sure as I don't know what feeling up to date is like after becoming so slack, but it's quite possible.

It's now Sunday afternoon, and I'm sitting on the roof in the sun listening to a bit of The Kooks. My housefamily have gone out for the afternoon, and I'm home all on my lonesome waiting so I can let Lexy back into the house. It's a lazy weekend here in Rabat; Lexy and another group of volunteers from Projects have headed to Moulay Idriss and Volubilis for the weekend, and I chose to stay home, as my body wouldn't physically allow me to wake at 7 after falling into bed at 5am. We had a late (or is that early?) night on Friday. However, I will start at the beginning, as it is the most logical place to start!

This is possibly one of my favourite photos. Love these guys!

My placement has been different this week! When I returned to work on Wednesday morning I found that I was not one of 2-4 volunteers, but one of approximately 13 (this went up and down by two or three during the rest of the week), as the local high schools have an agreement with the hospital that students can come and look after the children when they are on holidays! This is an interesting concept, as for a care organisation which never (well-in my time there) has above 15 kids, the resource allocation and the capacity of the building are stretched to the limit, as the rooms are fairly small and the environment is not conducive to really long term learning (due to the unpredictable nature of children's-and voluteer-attendance). We want to and are suposed to teach, but it's impossible to do so when the children won't necessarily be there the next day, and will forget what they've learned as soon as they start playing.

Friends at L'Hopital des Enfants <3

I do really like the younger volunteers-they are so fresh and energetic and really genuinely nice people. My week was more enjoyable because of them! However, I think that the way in which the hospital uses them needs attention. Most days were started by drawing or playing cards, and then quickly migrated outside for play once the number of volunteers outdid the children. We had a ratio of over 2-1 going at one stage, and it proves that more voluteers doesn't necessarily mean a higher quality of care, rather more people standing around unsure of what to do. We could have smaller groups actually visiting the wards, or assigned to different jobs or areas such as teaching and sport, rather than just playing with the children. It would be more beneficial for everyone involved, as the children staying in the hospital don't get to attend normal school and have little to no French skills and absolutely no English; if you're lucky they can do basic mathematics. However, it is difficult, as to suggest that we focus more on learning and change the structure slightly with the added volunteers, whilst being really good and beneficial to the children, will change again and become impossible when we go back to three volunteers on a good day and children that won't listen when you tell them to be quiet, let alone when you try to teach them. Why not have an integrated program wherein the younger volunteers come once or twice a week for 2 hours in the morning and run an actual program, rather than for only two weeks in the holidays? Resource allocation: a slightly important concept.


Tour Hassan

Moving on to a more mild topic; on Wednesday night we had our weekly get-together, this time held at the host family of Christina, a middle-aged volunteer from Dresden. The house itself is split over two or three levels, and you enter by walking slightly underground through a small doorway, into a magnificently tiled sitting room. The food was incredible-mainly sweet consisting of sweet biscuits, pancakes cake, mint tea (eh? eh!), coffee, and then chicken rolls/sandwich things which were quite sweet as well! However, beforehand Lexy and I decided to walk to Tour Hassan (The Hassan Tower) to do a bit of sightseeing. We felt like such locals walking around on our own rather than in a tour group. It was quite nice, and the Mausoleum was also lovely. I was lead to wondering what these people must have been like to inspire the building of such intricate and lush buildings and monuments. Hassan Tower is a mosque that was never quite finished, so it sits there looking pretty surrounded by pillars and large expanses of concrete, but the mausoleum is quite incredible. Think marble and intricate mosaic tiling everywhere, whilst inside more marbe, stained glass and lush red carpets under lamp light. Everything about the place says wealth, however it was still really nice to visit and relax there, and I would highly recommend it to anyone visiting Rabat (even just to people watch-you get all sorts of characters!).

At the Mausoleum

Thursday night was spent at the apartment of two other volunteers from Canada, Louis-Phillipe and Merriam, who have the most gorgeous son called Rupert. It was billed as 'drinks and sushi', and when we arrived (bringing pastries) the boys were handed beer and us, mojitos (which were incredible with fresh Moroccan mint). The sushi itself was a hybrid; we used rice paper and your normal ingredients of rice, capsicum, avocado and carrot, but then added ingredients such as Clementine Oranges, cream cheese, peanut butter and nutella. It was a genuinely lovely night, and I will remember it with fondness. I swear I was going to take photos, however I had taken my camera out of my bag and replaced it with my beach towel earlier in the day (as John and I had wanted to go kayaking) and then forgotten to switch it back. As you do. It is so good to have independence and a social life around placement, as whilst placement is fun you do need time to get out and relax and wind down.

Which brings us to Friday, or more affectionately known as "John's last night". When writing this blog there were a number of titles to do with this night that I was considering; "Waka Waka", "More like camo, less like whiskers", "Ice Woman", or "Where's Cameron?". All of these are in some way from Friday night, and what a night it was!

Chella!

Yes, those are birds...

John is now back in London after his 7weeks here, and on his lat night, he had a to do list, a ''tick the box before I go'' list, if you will. After vising Chella (ruined gardens in Rabat), we headed for the beach, partaking in a rather freezing night swim (turns out the Atlantic at night is cold.  I'm so glad I answered that question) after which we hightailed it to McDonald's (because that's what you eat when in Morocco) and had a family dinner meal. Apparently you can't get them in London, which is an absolute travesty. The night continued as we made our way home, and then (Lexy and I) to the hamams to get cleaned up as the gas is still out at home. It was after this that the night got interesting. Lexy and I, running late as usual but wearing all black with war paint/mascara on our faces (which more than made up for our tardiness) rocked up at the Mosque ("WHICH MOSQUE?!?") to find that the game of Capture the Flag had not started, and that people were dropping like flies. We recruited two randoms (Sufyan and his friend) and our friend Hamza from the beach and off we went. It wasn't well planned, but we had a lot of fun anyway. The night moved on to the cheap bar after a quick wash of the face and change of clothes where wine and beer was drunk and merry times had, after which we moved to the club Amnesia.

Amnesia was an...interesting experience. When we arrvied, it was shit. Plain and simple. there was no-one there, the dancefloor was empty and it was playing crappy dj remixes. However, it took off a bit after 2am (it didn't open until 12) and was soon packed with young Moroccans (or not so young as we found out-but hey, they had a drinks tab!) dancing and gyrating on the dancefloor. Cameron took part in this with gusto and apparently enjoyed himself to the fullest. I found the experience slightly less enjoyable after losing count of the offers to dance and attempted 'crack ons'. Australian guys in clubs have nothing on these guys in terms of confidence, rhythm (the majority can dance well! Shock! Horror!) and general enthusiasm. Not being physically able to dance on your own (apparently) is tiring though, and I was saved at one stage by a kind American stranger speaking fluent Berber who managed to get rid of a particularly keen (but thick) male. Many thanks! Clubbing in Morocco had to be done though (and us girls got in free, which is a plus!) to fully complete the youthful experience (Yeah...I don't believe it either).

We walked home through a not quite deserted medina (hot Moroccan pancakes with nutella looked really good as an early breakfast/hangover food) at 5 am Saturday morning, saying goodbye to John at the door and falling into bed. Lexy woke at 7 to go to Moulay Idriss, and my body physically wouldn't let me wake and move, so here I am, sitting and blogging whilst having a long overdue rest weekend. It is technically my first weekend in Rabat since I started here, which is nice especially since I've been sick.

Gardens in Chella. Beautiful.

Well, I guess this is what being up to date feels like! I have nothing more to say. Well, actually, that's not quite true, but to put it all down here would be silly. I may do a very serious blog (read:essay) about the infrastructure and levels of unemployment in young people in the not-to-distant future, however for that to happen would mean I am not getting out and doing things, rather spending my time sitting on a computer! If it happens before I leave, you should stage an intervention (before the Moroccan government does). Until then, I will endeavour to provie witty (maybe) insights (definitly)into my time here whilst utilising self censorship and listening to good music.

Until next time!

Love Love,

Clem xx

Kleptomaniacs? Hardly...

Another old/late post that won't let me add pictures. Blah. I'm behind on my blog posts. Again. Blah. You can tell that this really upsets me.

In the second of my catch-up posts we cover Friday afternoon to now, Tuesday night. Wow, I am getting behind.

Anywho.

Friday afternoon heralded the weekend, and what more relaxed way to spend it than with friends at the beach? We tried to organise a big group picnic for Lina as she left yesterday (Monday) however, it ended up being just John, Lina, Lexy and myself, so we sat at the beach and ate pastries and pancakes with nutella whilst watching life pass by without a care in the world. That sounds very hippy-ish, but it was incredibly relaxing to just sit and chat and laugh. Refreshing, even. We returned home in the evening to eat dinner, only to leave again to have drinks with other volunteers and work out our plans for the next day which at that point only included the early train to Fes. The cheap bar is growing on me, and I have a feeling that much beer will be drunk there before I leave. We eventually planned to meet at 5:40am at Bab Bouiba to catch the 6:12 train to Fes for the day, and then catch the 7pm train home.
Saturday morning was an early one and was interesting from the start after the atm managed to eat Cameron's card before we were even out of the city. The train ride, whilst being ridiculously early, passed rather quickly due to John's stroke of genius in bringing a pack of playing cards. We have learnt from other long train rides and many laughs were had over S***head and El Presidente. Mostly at me, because I didn't actually get the rules at all. I claim I was disfunctional because it was early; turns out it didn't matter as I still didn't know them in the evening. However, I can proudly say I remember how to play (and not lose) both games now.

We arrived in Fez at 9:30. Most places were still only opening and the medina which we were expecting to be crazy and hasseling was quiet and subdued. There were minimal shops open, so we managed to walk from one side of the medina to the other without knowing it. Normally, this would be a good thing, however we were in the local part meaning they sold matching adidas tracksuits and polar fleece blankets rather than the more typical touristy jalabas and scarves, which was what we had really come to Fez for. We stopped for mint tea and "nous-nous" (a Moroccan drink of half milk, half coffee), biding our time until the rest of the medina opened and then set off once again.
Whilst being a lovely city, there is not much part from the medina to explore in Fez. The medina itself is huge, although try as we might we couldn't quite get lost as Lonely Planet suggested. We did have to suck up our pride and take a taxi at one stage though, as apparently it was too far a distance (3-6kms-depending on who we spoke to) to walk from the gate we had managed to get ourselves to, to the tourist-y part of the medina. However, as we found out, that taxi took us back to the same gate we had started at. Turns out that we actually started in the touristy part of the medina and not known it.

We spent the rest of the afternoon wandering in roughly the same part of the medina until dinner. Lonely Planet had guided us to a restaurant called "The Clock Tower", and it was an absolute gem. To get there you followed little blue and orange signs that pointed you down a tiny, dark alleyway, then you turned right into a warm and welcoming foyer, where the staff all spoke really good english and ushered you onto the extremely comfortable terrace upstairs. We lounged around on couches and played cards whilst listening to the guitar from a few tables over and the chatter of happy people around us. I'd like to say the food there was excellent, however John and I think that it is what gave us the food poisoning, so if you do ever end up at The Clock Tower restaurant, don't get the grilled chicken burger with preserved lemon maynnaise. Get the Tapas or falafels instead (neither Lexy or Cameron are sick so I'll take it as bad luck for myself and John). Honestly, I would go there again even after being sick now; the service was excellent, the atmosphere laid back, the view was pretty good and we had a very good time.

The ride home was essentially the same as the ride to fes, with the small exception of hoodlum activity on the train tracks. One window was almost shattered after a small rock was thrown at it, and another window came very close after the rock hit metal panelling on the side instead. You cannot escape idiocy no matter how far you travel!

The following day was spent doing all manner of fun things. We had a bit of a sleep-in (same old me, still getting up late!) and then myself and the boys went to the beach for a whie, where we ended up playing a random game of beach soccer. Random because we didn't know the opposition and the rules were different. Appparently though, you dive every time you are touched without fail. My legs are remembering this soccer game all too well many days later.

My afternoon was spent meandering through the packed medina with Fatima Zahra, before I caught up for coffee with the boys again and then played pool after dinner as well. So keen! I have never seen a more dramatic shift from relaxation to concentration as when it was suggested that we play British versus Australian in teams. We lost by one ball but we played valiantly, much more so than our counterparts-even making up a handshake. Yeah, we're so cool.


As we walked home, we formulated plans for "John's last night", which was going to take place on Friday (24th). A certina member of our gropu decided that we should play a game of Capture the Flag in the Medina. Now normally, when you pplay capture the flag, you use a red and blue (or two different coloured) flags or pieces of material, such as shirts. Not in Morocco. The flags of choice were umbrellas, and not just small umbreallas; large, cafe style umbrellas that the boys...acquired. Well played.

I ended the night on cloud nine, however it was shortlived as food poisoing took hold during the night and I was layed low for the next two days.

Id like to say that this brings me up to date, but alas I find myself another 4 days behind, and a lot has happened in those past four days. As such another blog post is necessary and I will endeavour to include photos in that one, as for this post and the prior blogspot has decided to play silly and not upload, which is a shame because I have some ripper photos. Hopefully in the next couple of days I can get a post going with pictures, or maybe do the 'hipster' thing and start a tumblr for all my photos. Or not... I struggle keeping one blog up to date.

Until next time!

Love Love,

Clem xx

Get into D-mode!

I finished this on Tuesday but have spent until now trying to add photos. I give up. Next one!

If you've never had food poisoning in a foreign country, count your blessings as it's not a pleasant experience. This is now the third time I've sat down to wite this blog and I'm hoping that I'll actually be able to finish it! Its not quite good circumstances-my second day off placement due to food poisoning, but whatever; I've moved on. So as I sit here in bed listening to old Jason Mraz music and nibbling my sweet buscuits and drinking lemon fanta (thankyou, Lexy!) I figure I shall fill you in on the past week's happenings. I'll keep it short as lets be honest, all anyone wants to hear about is the weekend travels which, just quietly-were amazing. Apart from having coffee with friends at the beach and exploring Agdal and Rabat with my Moroccan friends, this week was much like last week. To this end, I shall talk about two things of interest to me and that should be of interest to you, that of malleable Moroccan time, and hamams (bathrooms/showers). Don't question it! Just read on.

The nature of time in Morocco is fickle. The edges seem to blur so that 9 becomes 9:30; 9:30 becomes 10, and 10 blends into the afternoon. A lunch break can last for 3 hours, and a single coffee can last for 2 and no-one will question. You are fully expected to take your time eating and drinking, and then resting somewhat afterwards.
My placement is supposed to begin at 9. This is open to interpretation. The children arrive when they arrive and leave when they leave (the only constant-this is always around 1). This is replicated everywhere-things take as long as they take. Trains run late by habit; buses come when they manage to get around the traffic, taxis don't leave until they are full (anywhere between 5 and 15 minutes wait) and walk lights don't necessarily mean you should cross that road at that time, as that car may not feel like waiting for you. Time is malleable. It means that I've become brilliant at getting up late but getting ready quickly, making my lunch last a full hour and a half, drinking coffee slowly, meandering through the Medina, and playing things by ear. According to our Moroccan friend Hamza, it also means that the administration system is rather "F***ed" but most people seem ok with this fact. Strange (and I'm not sure necessarily such a good thing).

As such, I love my placement, but it is made difficult when I arrive at 9 to find no children, and then said children don't arrive until 10:40! It gets progressively later throughout the week-Monday they come at 9:15ish, by Wednesday that's been pushed back to 10, and then on Friday, well, 10:40 and you're lucky! I do like the journal and budget catch up time, really I do, but I think my time could possibly be better spent. That being said, when the children do arrive it is with high energy levels, and we are straight into games of soccer/football (soccer to Moroccan males is Aussie Rules to Australians) or basketball, doing painting or drawing  or on occasions jewellery making.

The way in which people use their time is different here. In the evenings, people seem quite content to sit in a coffee shop and just talk (of which I have indulged in quite a bit over the past week). Fact: you can make a single drink last 2 hours. If people are not sitting and talking over a coffee, they are walking. Everyone here walks, and the tram line makes the best footpath/walking track. The number of times I have seen someone almost cleaned up by a tram simply because it doens't register that they are walking in it's path is astounding. You walk to pass the time; to talk, to eat, to excercise. You meander your way through the Medina traffic (people jams-not so fun) as you make your way home, occasionally stopping to browse a stall or buy food (side of the alley bakeries are amazing). I love Moroccan culture *sighs*.

For a change of pace on Thursday Lexy and I decided to visit a Hamam in the medina as the gas is out at home. We're not sure if it's the gas or the pipes but either way, it was the Hamams or a cold shower so an easy decision.  The hamam is an experience like no other. Think a long sauna (an hour and a half we spent, others were there much longer!) with unlimited steaming hot water that you pour over yourself whilst sitting on a heatproof mat on the hot tiled floor. It is no place to be self conscious as you strip down to your underwear in front of total strangers, but it is a surprising experience. Women use the hamam to bond; it is a sociable time, and the number of women there alone was incredibly low. All ages from young children to elderly women take part, and it is considered somewhat normal to be asked to scrub a strangers back for her and then have her do the same for you.
What I found most fascinating was that this aspect of Moroccan life is so forthright. When you walk through the medina holding your bucket filled with clothes and shower essentials everyone knows you are going to the hamams. The woman who we bought the "kiis" (basically an exfoliating mit) from smiled and wished us a good time; the house family were excited and helped us out with everything we needed, the women on the street smiled. I found it to be a really valuable experience, and felt a little more Moroccan afterwards. However, the men also comment (and think they're hilarious asking if we would like them to take us to the hamams). The more confident guys who we have met before remark "Oh you're going to the hamams? Enjoy your shower!" The juxataposition between the Hamams being such an open sensual experience compared with the way in which women keep to themselves most of the other times is something fascinating. It is also completely acceptable to "do a John" and walk down the street in your pajamas with your pants tucked into your socks afterwards.
So there we are. The highlights of last week in Rabat. This brings us to the Friday afternoon and the weekend, which once again requires it's own separate post for a detailed recount of the shenanigans that went down.

Until next time!

Love love,
Clem xx

PS: D-mode is short for "dirham mode". One of my more witty quotes after spending 3 hours having a hot chocolate at the beach with friends. "Get out of dollar mode and into D-Mode". Genius.

Such a frog!

Things I've noticed about Morocco:
#3 Much like bees, Moroccans have an insatiable sweet tooth. This is more than fine by me.

In the second of my catch up blogs, I introduce our weekend at the wonderful coastal town of Asilah.

I want to start this by mentioning two things I learnt over the weekend.
1) Never follow John on farm walks. He will take you on shortcuts. This is not necessarily a good thing.
2) Shortcuts in farmland often lead into bogs.

The Asilah Medina view from the water

On Friday afternoon John, Lexy and myself hopped on a train to Asilah. Situated on the coast about 3.5 hours North, the town is home to a small but beautiful medina, long stretches of isolated and windy beaches and the best mint tea I have ever tasted. Sold by the glass (5-6 dirhams-not only tasty but cheap!) this beverage is as good as gold on a cold night or with breakfast. Actually, it's just good any time.

After discovering that we were the only guests at our hotel (not such a bad thing as we made a bit of a mess-I'll explain further on) we set out on a meandering walk through the city, passing the tacky cafe with pink paint and mirrors covering every surface, through a main square and onto the main street (or what we assumed to be) where we quickly ascertained it was low season as we were hounded for business. "You want a good room my friend?" was played over and over in our ears as we repeatedly turned down offers of "good accomodation on the beach front with heated water and accessible kitchens". One gentlemen started talking at the train station and somehow ran into us 3 more times before he returned home himself. For the record, it looked dodgy and we stayed in our original accomodation, the Hotel Sahara.

At the top of the hill to "paradise"

The evening meal is worth a mention as it saw the return of the BBQ grill and John proving his manliness by lighting and cooking sausages. After a cold hour and a half (whilst tourists took photos of us from the medina wall), the fire was finally lit and the sausages were put on. It actually wasn't bad, and half way through we were joined by a group of Moroccan teenages who came to the sea wall to drink wine and smoke. Classy. Afterwards in frustration we quite literally ditched the grill off the side of the wall and went and had tea. Never again.

On the Saturday morning after a late start and breakfast of Moroccan Pancakes filled with Nutella and a Mint Tea we bought lunch and snacks and started out on what would become quite the adventure. We were looking for a place called "Paradise beach", that Lonely Planet said would be 3 kilometers out of town and the local newsstand worker said was 5. Apparently this beach was where the locals go; cleaner, nicer long stretches of golden sand and clear ocean water. Somewhere, we took a wrong turn. After about 2 kilometers and no signs of anything on the map that was drawn for us by said newsstand worker, we asked a random for direcions.

One of these was Paradise Beach. It didn't mater which one.

Yousef, our chosen random (also apparently an interior designer), then proceeded to invite us into his car (a new silver volvo) and take us to an isolated patch of farmland. I don't think I've ever been as nervous as when John said "Clem are we being stupid?" as we got into the car.

I want to point out that I would NEVER normally advocate this choice of action (and Mum, I promise we will try hard to make sure it wont happen again).

HOWEVER.

 Yousef turned out to be a really nice guy. He even took his car off road along the dirt track into farmland to try to get us closer to the beach. When it became too much for the volvo, we got out, and he pointed us along a rough track and said "keep walking in that direction, you'll come to a small cafe and that's Paradise Beach".

We kept walking. We never found the cafe, but what we did find was miles of isolated, effectively deserted and beautiful beach. We saw maybe 4 people in our time at this beach. It wasn't "Paradise Beach", but it was a paradise. Eating our lunch of bread and cheese and oranges in the sun on the beach was perfect, and the yells and screams that we let out as we ran to the water seemed to mark one of those moments of genuine, spontaneous happiness.

After lunch we got our creativity on and wrote massive intials in the sand and then climbed the hill to take photos.

I feel this photo sums up the size of the beach quite nicely

After further chilling at this beach, we started back towards home. On this walk, we were lucky enough to see some amazing views of the coastline and Atlantic Ocean in a completely untouched, rough and wild way. At one point as we were walking along a dirt track towards the main road, the track became submerged in water. John was in the lead, and decided that cutting across the grass would not only save us AT LEAST 15 seconds off our journey, it would avoid the water. Wrong. Three steps into said shortcut, our feet sank into what is best described as bog. Muddy water seeped through our shoes and socks, and as gravity took over and pulled me towards the ground, my hands sunk into what was supposed to be grass. Shrieks of laughter ensued as we ran back onto the dry ground and assessed the damage.

Shoes came off, and jeans were rolled as we walked the rest of the way in socks (apart from Lexy who had sandal type shoes-clever move). At the road we again tried to hail a random (in a white van type vehicle if you please) but settled on a cab back to the hotel where we remembered that none of us had bought changes of shoes or socks, and that canvas shoes actually take a fair while to dry when soaked. We ate dinner feeling like "such tourists" with our feet in plastic bags in our shoes, John wearing his pajamas as a change of clothes and laughing at our mistake.

I'm so witty.

Sunday was spent gandering at the medina, where the walls are painted in all shades of blue, aqua and green highlights on shining white walls and clean paved paths. Lexy set out to draw some doors, whilst John and I chilled on a walkway in the sun, watching the ocean and other tourists taking photos.

We decided to have lunch on the sea wall where we were 'adopted' by a kid. He walked over, and at first glance seemed to be doing some sort of rain/interpretive dance, but then wouldn't leave. After giving him bread and cheese in an apparent exchange for a handful of sunflower seeds (??), we rested, and he stayed put. We ended the afternoon as we headed along the beach to the train station.

It was largely uneventful trip sharing a compartment with two Italians and a Moroccan until Lexy and I were offered an orange by the Moroccan man. A single, quite large orange, which an hour before we had said we were craving (and he didn't understand English).

We were stunned.

Needless to say much laughter ensued, continuing as we left the train and walked back to the medina in Rabat.

I was reminded in Asilah of the constant relationship between wealth and poverty. The two pictures below explain more than words ever could about this divide and the way in which it is both hidden and blatantly obvious. One one side of the street there was a slum; the other, a brand new multi storey development.

Slum life

Development that oozes wealth.

I can find no stronger support than these photos when I say that the contrast between rich and poor is staggering and clearly defined whilst being confronting and challenging. Knowing that a development that oozes wealth from every white brick can go up within plain view of a large slum made of tin sheets and tarps is painful.

With this in mind, I go out into another week of volunteering at the hospital. I will try to do a mid week blog, and then another after the weekend of which we plan on spending at least one day in the imperial city of Fez.

Love love!

Clem xx

Clementine. Yes, like the oranges.

Things I've noticed about Morocco
#2 The transport system is not so much a system; rather it is an organised form of chaos.

The roof where I am currently sitting. Imagine it in daylight hours..

As I sit here in the sun on the roof, contemplating how behind I am on my blog, I begin to put things in perspective. I am happy, healthy, and feel like this is now home, which is no easy feat in a country where your language is third and you are stared at much the same as a man might stare at the tv. I have already had so many adventures made many new friends, and become more independent than my hermit days (the first week or so I was too cold to venture outside the house-weak, I know). I'll use this blog post to catch you up on the week just left, and then a separate post for the weekends shenanigans.

Lexy and John pre-kayaking.

A typical week for me starts on Monday with placement from 9(ish-Moroccan time rocks) until 1-1:30 when I go home for lunch. I chill out during the afternoon, blogging, catching up on emails from uni, or on special occasions I meet my new Moroccan friends for lunch in the Medina and a spot of shopping. Lexy gets home between 5-6 and then sometimes we go out to play pool or for coffee or ice-cream. Yes, I see the irony that I am always cold (I've become known as a frog) and yet eat ice-cream.

Within placement I have a number of roles. Care-giver, baby-sitter, friend, mentor and sometimes when I say no to something, the 'bad guy'. I am currently googling how to say "No, don't use me as a human climbing frame", "please don't hit each other", and "no, you can do it yourself" (the kids love making me make them stuff when they're completely capable). We play games, attempt to play music (music is a stretch-cacophony of noise is more correct), do drawing or painting, make jewellery and then at certain times teach. The children are all sick in some way-whether that be cancer of the lungs or blood, or waiting on equipment for operations (a boy has been waiting for a heart valve for over a year now as the price is prohibitively high) so it is mostly letting them try to forget that they are sick whilst poviding a constructive environment and caring relationships.

Rabat Beach at night. The light made it look like a film set.

I am not supposed to have favourites, but I totally have favourites. At the moment it is Fatima and Hajaa, two sweet little girls that have just discovered and become confident enough to use me as a human climbing frame.If one of them isn't trying to have me pick them up or climb on my shoulders, then the other is dragging me to a piece of play equipment. They also have their quirks,; Fatima won't allow me to wear my hair in my face, and so any time that I wear a cute little bun on the side of my head, she is on my lap with the bobby pins smoothing my hair behind my ears. I look slightly windswept and messy afterwards, but the she enjoys it. They also enjoy my scarf-tightening it and re-tieing it so that a different colour shows every time. There are moments where I'm reminded why I can't see myself having children, and there are moments that make me go "awwww" and fuss over them like a mother hen.

As with any placement with children there are challenges, and it is never far under the surface that these children are sick. I was taken on a tour of the cancer wards last Wednesday by two of my friends, Sofia and Fatima, and it was heart wrenching. Children who are too sick to move and just look at you with eyes that say "help me". I was lost for words. Where do you start when you meet a 2 year old who has never known a healthy life as he has blood cancer?

A typical Moroccan evening snack. Sweet pastries and sweet coffee.

I have also in this past week felt incredibly blessed, as I met new people and forged new friendships. I had a lovely afternoon on Wednesday with my friends Sofia and Fatima, as we walked around the medina and did some shopping (I bought said scarf with their help and guidance on colours) and then had lunch at Bami's, a patisserie which serves the best (if only) fish pastry I have ever eaten. It was such a highlight of my week, and I was so thankful and felt so blessed for meeting the girls. Sofia even helped me buy medicine for my cold, which was a Godsend.

In our time off, we had a few interesting activies-on Thursday Lexy and John decided to go kayaking before a beach BBQ with Iris and her Moroccan friend Hamsa. Watching Lexy and John kayak was hilarious (I was still too sick with my cold to participate), and the beach BBQ (more of a cake tin size grill with legs) when we finally got it going after a hour and a half in the cold wind, was very yummy and fun. We had our get together on Wednesday night, and much fun was had playing Chinese (or whatever language we started in) whispers around the table and teasing Yousef for his intense concentration on the football (that's soccer to you) match on television. We also had amazing banana-chocolate (nutella) pancakes and hazelnut milkshakes with way too much cream.

It wasn't a particularly exciting week-there were no protests that got out of hand and no brushes with royalty (read up on my other posts for the details on those two); rather it was a week where I settled in, found my feet and really started to realise why I am here.  Those moments when you look at the sky and whisper "thankyou" after a day where you couldn't see the twist coming, but it enriched your life and added something very special to your story.

A week of special moments.

Until next time,

Love Love!

Clem xx

PS: Sorry for the rather random pictures. I'm not allowed to take photos of the kids (privacy policy in the hospital) and I feel that taking a photo of the association would be frowned upon. Therefore, pictures of Rabat it is!

Casablanca in 6 hours.

As I breathe out in anticipation of once again being up to date with my blog, I notice it fogs up in front of me. And I'm inside. Yeah, it's cold.
Moving on.

Casablanca, city of nice architecture

Today Lexy and I had a bit of a girls day out, travelling to Casablanca for the afternoon. However, not much can be said of Casablanca. In hindsight, it's one of those things you do because you're in Morocco, not because it's anything really spectacular. You know you're onto a winner when Lonely Planet lists the architecture as a highlight. However, in the 6 hours it took for us to feel as if we'd seen it all, I had my first "wow" moment of my trip. It takes a lot to make me speechless, but the Mosque Hassan II achieved this in a matter of seconds, and lasted for most of the duration of our stay.

Pretty door is pretty.

The Mosque Hassan II is incredible. I'd give it a 5/5. I have never seen anything like it and the pictures just do not do it justice. It is the third biggest Mosque in the world; the building itself holds an amazing 25,000 worsippers and the squares around it can hold a further 80,000. Every time you look at it, you notice something different; the light will hit at a specific angle and something else will sparkle that you didn't notice before-more tiling, different carvings or more impressions. As a Christian, even though I couldn't enter the main building (we missed the tours, OOPS), the power and tranquility of this place of worship was awe inspiring.

It's so big. 25,000 people inside and 80,000 outside.

As we got out of the petit taxi, we were greeted by an expanse of sandstone and marble in the grand square, leading up to multiple sets of giant doors and arches filled with carvings, intricate mosaic tiling in the most brilliant azure blue and light green, gold detailing and of course the 210m tall minaret from which the call to prayer is played. Words cannot fully describe the power of the Mosque Hassan II, just as pictures cannot do justice to it's size and the sheer brilliance. The Mosque is not without controversy, as some people argue that the $500-$800million dollars that was spent on it could have been better directed into other areas, such as being put towards the slum dwellers that were evicted so it could be built.

The sheer size and opulence is overwheming.

When we were not marvelling at the Mosque, we were wandering. Seriously, we got a bit lost. Taking twists and turns of the medina we spied some of the architecture that Lonely Planet found so fascinating, and I'll admit it was at times. At one stage it was of a Romantic French style, all wrought iron balconies and white-wash stone that would've been magnificent in it's heyday. We had lunch as this gorgeous little restaurant called Ifrane (that took us an hour and a half to find-we used maps and asked for directions and everything), that was once again french inspired and slightly more western. After being ripped off by a taxi driver we found that the arts centre we wanted didn't seem to be open, whilst it's hours stated it should've been, so we walked to some gardens for a bit of a gander.

I get the feeling that tourists don't go to those gardens often, as we quickly became attractions in our own right, garnering more attention that the scenerey. On our way back to the train station we passed more protests, but there were no riot police present this time (thankfully).

So much wealth.

I find such irony in Casablanca. That so much money can be poured into a single monument, which whilst undoubtedly amazing (and needed in an otherwise boring city) is the focal point of a city that is for the most part, run down and either under construction or demolition. Roads as we know them are unkempt, rubbish is swept into piles on the side-walk, and the medina quickly turns from nice stalls into dingy backstreets that you wouldn't walk alone in at night. That there are beggars lining certain roadsides and hawkers selling everything from small bubble guns to single tissue packs, on a roadside where BMW and Audi 4WDs are parked.

I didn't dislike Casablanca, but again I'm finding more and more juxtapositions. With wealth comes poverty; there is a cycle that seems for the most part to be hidden, yet you are confronted by as soon as you wander off the tourist track.

We finished our day with a brush of Royalty. As we were walking out of Le Gare (the train station) we were greeted by the police and security holding people off the roads and blocking other cars from entering. The King then proceeded to drive down Ave Mohammed V in his procession waving from the top of the car. I think the locals thought we were a bit crazy, as we got a bit excited and were laughing quite loudly, but it was fun.

I've included a few photos, but in the next "recap" post I'll iclude more, including the brush with Royalty. Until next time.

Clem xx

Not such balmy nights...

The Kasbah in the evening.

Thursday marks a week since I arrived here, and I've been feeling slightly like a hermit; not venturing out much and trying to keep warm. In my defence it has been really cold (and I don't cope with the cold) and I'm slightly shy and unsure of myself. However, on Friday I ventured out of my shell as I was shown the beach and the Kasbah by Lexy and John. Baby steps! I also took some photos, so decided it was time for a bit of an update!

I've well and truly settled into my accomodation, even putting things on shelves and in drawers (anyone who knows my room at home will know that for me, personalising a room is a big deal). The security guard at the hospital now knows me and greets me every morning with "Bonjour Mademoiselle"; the children know my name; I am recognised on the way to work, I can use the public transport system, and most importantly I can beat a 10 year old at a game of jungle speed. Speaking only arabic.So basically, I win at life.

The beach was cold.

It feels like I've been here a lot longer than I actually have, and the thought that I'm here for the next 3 months doesn't scare me nearly as much as it did when looking forward in Australia. I genuinely feel welcomed, though I don't think I will ever get used to the attention that comes with being a single white female in North Africa.

I won't lie, it was incredibly overwhelming to begin with. To be chucked into a culture that is so different from one's own is tough. The weather is different (I'm currently tucked in bed, repping the Ignatius' trackies and trying to keep warm) and dont get me started on the food. It's incredible. We had our weekly get together on Wednesday night, and from now on whenever I have a get together I'm going to insist that at least two babies be present to be cooed and fussed over, there is loud and funky franco-arabic music, and the food is scrumptious and covers an entire table.

The atlantic ocean. Is big.

Possibly the most interesting thing to happen this week was also on Wednesday night. We went out to play pool after the get together, and on our way home we saw people and riot police running away from the medina. Unsur of what was going on, we stayed to watch, and found out that a protest about unemployment had gotten out of hand and started blocking the traffic. So the riot police had been called in. As you do. When we wandered back towards Bab Bouiba (one of the gates into the medina) we saw the the entire entry to the main street, Avenue Mohammed V, was again blocked by riot police. Needless to say we left as the police began dispersing in our general direction, but it was an interesting night.

Personally I didn't take any pictures of the protests or the get together; I'll get them from Lexy in the next day or so and upload them in a separate "recap" post.

It is now saturday night and I'm a blog behind after todays adventures, so check back soon for another installment. What happens in Morocco...

Clem  xx