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.
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.
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