i'm in the beautiful seaside town of essaouira about to ride off on a camel into the sunset with mohammed, and i won't be coming back. life in the harem just seems so peaceful, compared to the looming stresses of junior year.

JUST KIDDING!

partially. i did ride a camel today, and his name was max. we became fast friends. later, we went to the hammam. it was very rejuvenating, as in lying on a tile floor covered in clove-scented mud. nothing beats that! but seriously!

alex does these crazily detailed summaries so i'll keep it to a bare minimum, especially as they're about to kick us out of this internet cafe...you'd find this interesting, dad, the computer keyboards are completely different. everything is in the wrong place and most of the lettering is rubbed off, so this is somewhat strenuous. in a good way.

we heard sufi's chanting. that was chill. i expected them to be all intense and completely freak out if any of our hair showed from under our headscarves. but no! they were, if anything, jovial. then there was this chicken in the middle we ate with our hands. but only our right hands. but its discrimination against lefties like me!

we ate at a fish place by the sea tonight. it was great, even though i'm usually not a fish person, partially because madame got all the bones out. she's my fave, but you know that. a great big seagull landed one on her backpack...

every morning you hear the call to prayer from the minaret of the local mosque. it's quite cool, albeit at about 5 o'clock. the guy who supposedly makes the call doesn't actually make the call; in fact, it's recorded over loudspeaker or projected or something. the guy's name is the 'muezzin.' we know all sorts of arabic words. gita, this crazy swedish lady, printed us out a packet. but she's cool. its all about your posture...

good times! i'll check in later, hopefully, and sorry to mom and pops that we haven't been in touch in a while. maybe you got the rambling message i left on the home answering machine?

peace out.

Hello All! So we just emerged from a really cool hole in the wall--literally a little closet big enough for six people in the side of a gate--where we found the coolest little music dive. The young man working there was a classic kind of music youth with that kind of laid back attitude and complete assurance in his music repertoire. I don't want to reveal any gifts I may or my not have bought, but he was very helpful. It was incredibly striking how much he reminded me of the kind of alternative music scene in the U.S. in an ex-angsty, chill way. It was so striking just to find him in a place where, on the streets, everyone appears and conducts themselves very traditionally. Is there a limited cultural exchange? From my limited comprehension, all the locals are very accepting and even welcoming of tourists, but they seem to have thoroughly distinguished their conduct and culture. Anyways, good night. Bye mom.

Juliana H

"Since time immemorial, the women who live in arid regions — particularly in southwestern Morocco — have depended on this almost mythical tree. Its wood is used as fuel, its leaves and seeds as feed for goats. The tree has medicinal properties and its oil both nourishes and beautifies. Indeed, argan oil is reputed for its almost magical powers, but extracting it is difficult and time-consuming." --Narjis Rerhaye, Moroccan journalist

Alex just called and left a message saying that en route to Imlil today the gang decided to stop and bargain for some Moroccan carpets. Sounds like it was a successful pitstop/shopportunity--most everyone now has a Moroccan carpet to bring home from the journey.

John

We have returned to Marrakesh after an adventure-filled four days in the High Atlas Mountains. Our challenging trek to Tizzi Oussem offered us some spectacular views around 2000 meters, and the genuine hospitality at the Berber gite (guest house) was welcome and rejuvenating. Each night, the stars were storybook-like in their abundance and glimmer. The geography, mud-brick architecture, natural surroundings, and very simple--but strenuous--lifestyle of these endearing mountain people provided us a very different dimension than our urban experiences to date. Our two days in another small village, Tassa Ouirgane, allowed us to be in a more stationary and observant frame of mind: we met scores of friendly and curious school children, the village's lone but committed teacher (who commutes from Marrakesh, about 90 minutes away), visited their wanting, windowless school, and were serenaded with a couple of songs they recently learned. Michele contributed numerous solar-powered calculators and pens that she had brought with her, and there was talk among the students of trying to raise money for some of the school's most pressing needs. We also met with four endearing Berber women in an informal roundtable and captured a glimpse of their very modest lives, needs (another cow, more rain), desires (some furniture), and dreams (visiting America got top billing here). Some of us also observed an initial meeting of the men's village association--at night, powered by gas lamp. Finally, we visited a women's carpet-making cooperative in Asni which has improved the lives of many women who were previously unemployed; in a notable gesture promoting sustainable development and ecotourism, this co-op was recently engaged by Richard Branson's new, nearby luxury property, Kasbah Tamadot, to create all its carpets.

I would suspect that most of us descended the mountains with renewed awareness of our fortune and privilege. The kindness emblematic of The High Atlas has no apparent material origin.

Visiting with village school children

Greer masters the Moroccan tea pour technique

Juliana and Berber friend

Tassa Ouirgane Womens Talk

One of Fes' renowned tanners toiling in the medina tannery

Margaret practicing calligraphy

During the several days of bbblllooooggggg silence, the group "treked" (reality is we HIKED) up the mountain. After approximately 30 minutes we see the first couple of mules and donkeys go bye. I am initially shocked and surprised by how easy they manage to go up the mountain. Much easier then I can. After about three and a half hours of hiking, four bottles of water, and my chest starting to ache, Alex and I stop and decide to wait for two mules to come and get us. I was completely exhausted (this was my first ever hike) and quickly running out of water. As the rest of the group carried on, Alex and I slowly made our way from shady tree to shady tree. Eventually we saw one mule coming down the mountain after passing through the pass at the top. Alex gives a joyous exclamation that we are saved and waves to the man on the donkey. I ask him why they brought only one donkey when we asked for two. I then claim that it probably is not our donkey/mule. Once the donkey is near, Alex deflates and admits that indeed, it is not our mule. We return to our tree and wait another 45 minutes before the mule and donkey arrived along with a huge bottle of water which is greatly needed. I am helped onto the mule and start up the mountain. As the beloved mule climbs up the steep and slippery slope I hold onto the reins and rural saddle for dear life. I think to myself "hold on, lean forward" as the mule jumps and lurches onto the next rock. "Please do not slip" I pray as I look down at the abyss below. I then become engrossed in watching the mule pick its way through the rocks and up the slope. I see it eye one rock pivet and climb up the next. Once Alex and I reach the top we join the others for lunch, arriving to everyone's applause. I dismount, not very gracefully, and converse with my mother who took the mule up after the first mule train. She and I both agree that we have discovered our new favorite animal and have a great respect for it. Mules are our friends. Mules ROCK!

I am grateful to those who found the families as well since, in sharing their friends, they created new friendships for us.

I hope every other group had such a satisfying experience. The amount of food we were given was enough proof of my family's hospitality.

Though the younger children could not really communicate with us, their acceptance of us was extremely important to me. According to their mother, the combination of their summer vacation and our presence excited them and kept them from sleeping. I hope they aren't tired now, but I loved that they were awake and happy and spending time with us.

Basically, I'm glad we didn't opt out of the homestay.

Thanks all!

Our last leg in Fes was not for the weary: homestays (and their late-night dinners surfeit with hospitality); medina wandering, touring, and shopping; a lecture on gender issues in Morocco; an intro to Arabic calligraphy--including making your own bamboo instrument and writing your name in Arabic script; a luncheon with two Fassi women of note--an accomplished artist and female activist; and our farewell henna party (accented with an Andalusian musical duo) demanded that we tap into our energy reserves. Some of us succumbed to Fassi Belly and malaise, but we rallied. And we survived the "Hotel" Cascade. Say no more. Except that tea and pastries at Palais Jamais and the pool at Hotel Splendid should have taken some of the edge off....

=
A Perfect Pair

To counter the anti-couscous coup, we even worked in a tasty dinner at a Ville Nouvelle pizzeria. And lunch at McDonald's--where the "Big Tasty" combo got served up with cumin and where the interior woodwork is of artisinal caliber; it was curious to note the more exuberant Arabic tag line of "I Love All of It" instead of "I'm Lovin' It". Zween.

In the famed medina, the potters' souq and tannery were the sites of much bargaining for striking ceramics and stylish footwear. And our private tour of Medersa Bou Inania--with rooftop access--was a rarely granted bonus. This aerial perspective on the serpentine alleys, the late p.m. soft lighting, and the rising atoms of sound and smell from below were declarative Fes statements. At the restored Riad Louna, our bon voyage dinner of sweet chicken bastilla and lush tomato and pepper salads was a fitting farewell to Morocco's fresh and delicious cuisine.

Looking back, the vastness of our experiences and the amount of terrain we covered in just 2 weeks are remarkable. And how about the weather?! Warm days, cool nights, and not a drop of rain. The country did challenge us and thereby revealed itself. There's some honest balance and give-and-take to this calculus. Nothing is to be taken for granted. "Presque" and "10 minutes" mean so much more than they did on June 7th.

It was a privelege to be in a position to "set the table"--or unveil the tajine as it were--and allow all of you to interact and witness this special country and its people on your own terms. I aspired to provide you with an interesting, insightful, and memorable adventure. And a "schwaya" bit of fun too. If I achieved this, I did so thanks to your willingness, openness, flexibility, and, well, patience. So know I am grateful on all counts. I wish you all a pleasant summer and hope that experiential and educational travel will always be a part of your future plans. "Shoukran bezzef" for your company.

Sincerely,
Alex

An Aerial View of the Fes Medina

Andalusian Musical Performers at the Henna Party

Khadija, a Fassi contemporary painter, offers her outlook on women in Morocco

Seconds-old Henna Adorn Annette's Hand

Street Scene in THE medina

Caroline, Greer, and Alyssa Salute Fes Avec Fez

Alex

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Ululation Frenzy

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Sufi Dhikr "Qaseeda" (ode)

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Sufi Dhikr Call to Prayer

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Djemaa el Fna at dusk

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Andalusian Musical Duet

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Shouf, Zween, and Yalla - Darija Arabic Lessons

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Sufi Dhikr "There Is No god But God" chant