I see white people!

Still haven’t been to the old part of the city, as I’m not really sure how to get there (or, more importantly, how to get back), but I did find the touristy shopping street in Guéliz (Hence the title). Haven’t really explored all that much, as I was dying of dehydration and sun stroke at the time, but I was still excited to see some familiar-ish looking things, like the Canadian flag (don’t know why), counterfeit designer bags and (unfortunately) MacDonald’s. 

Interesting new developments:

There is a sushi restaurant about a 20 min walk away from my place! Probably not a very good sushi restaurant, but sushi none the less.

There is a Vietnamese restaurant about a 10 min walk away from my place. Seems a little random, but no more so than a sushi restaurant. Now if I can just find an Indian restaurant, I’ll be good food-wise. Also, pizza. Real pizza though.

I found a shoe store, so I can buy new shoes that won’t mangle my feet. The only thing that’s weird is that in most of the stores (primarily selling junky tourist stuff but some cheap clothing places too) there don’t seem to be very many customers, or, ANY customers for that matter. Maybe that’s because we’re at the tail end of summer tourist season (although I can’t imagine what it’s like here in July) or because tourists spend more time in the medina (the older, “historical” part of the city), but it’s still a little weird how empty the stores are.

There is a movie theatre! From what I can tell, it plays Wolverine in French, and nothing else. It also doesn’t have any dates or times posted. Either Moroccans have some kind of telepathic connection with movie theatres or there’s a trick I have yet to learn. I’ll figure it out. Or I’ll find someone who knows and bug them until they tell me. The same goes for store opening and closing times. There doesn’t seem to be any kind of pattern or rule. I will investigate more.

I no longer flinch at the sight of dead animals. The dead kitten I saw today made me a little sad, but not as queasy as it would have a couple of days ago.

I am developing a fear of dogs. Those motherfuckers are scary. Also, nothing like the “dogs” I’ve encountered before. I have come to the conclusion that the animals that we, in the US, consider to be dogs are actually very large, particular dumb cats or possibly children in disguise (RIP Lulu). Real dogs have multiple rows of teeth like sharks and can give you rabies by just looking at you. Do. Not. Touch.

I have to fight the urge to take home the cats I see on the street. They probably wouldn’t appreciate my attempts to save them, and my landlord definitely wouldn’t appreciate the fleas. (But they’re so cute and I need a cuddly little friend and there’s an adorable little ginger cat on my street and I would name him Hobbes and love him forever [said quickly in a high pitched girly voice]).

Things that have stayed the same:

My internet dies for a couple of hours every day. Usually at the most inconvenient moment possible, like right before leaving when I want to consult a map (or right after returning and wanting to consult a map as I may have a vague idea of where I am now, even though Google maps doesn’t), right before a Skype date I’ve been looking forward to all day or in the middle of a conversation with my mother, who assumes that some kind of violent abduction scenario is the reason for my abrupt departure. This is irritating and probably not fixable. I anticipate it being a problem for future attempts at lesson planning, given that the internet blackout is always in the evening.

Marrakech is roughly the same temperature as the surface of the sun. I don’t anticipate this changing in the near future.

I still have no friends.

I caused ANOTHER car accident today. The guy actually looked injured this time. Not severely, but you never know, internal bleeding and whatnot. Once again, he turned around on his MOVING motorcycle in the middle of a BUSY INTERSECTION to continue staring at me and got side swiped by a car, which threw him off his bike. I have no sympathy. I doubt he learned anything from the experience. I will never get used to the constant catcalls and honking cars and being followed on foot or on motorcycle or by car. I know it’s cultural and something I’m “going to have to get used to” but I really hate feeling like I’m under a microscope all the time. I already feel awkward and sweaty and out of place, being constantly singled out doesn’t make it better. Do they really have nothing better to do than leer at me? I know I’m white and have cool hair, but I’m really not that big of a deal. Get over it.

That is all for now. 

Why I Am Upset or My First Day in Marrakech

I needed this trip to be transcendent, to make up for all the procrastinating I’ve done since college and to distract me from all the awfulness that has been filling my life since then.

I needed this trip to be transcendent to compensate for all the things I’ve given up to make this move possible.

I needed this trip to be transcendent so I could rub it in the faces of all the people who told me I couldn’t do it and that I was crazy to even try.

So imagine my surprise when I walked through the door of my new “home,” bracing for the worst and saw a truly amazing apartment. 1 bedroom, 1.5 bath, kitchen, balcony, washing machine, stove, oven, pots and pans and cutlery all slightly dusty but waiting to be used! By me! For those of you who remember the disaster that was the last apartment I blindly took as a part of a teaching job, you’ll understand why this was such a big deal. And it had internet. Surprisingly fast internet. Possibly even better than my internet at home. And the lovely man (let’s call him H) who had so promptly and perkily picked me up at the airport would be returning in a few hours to show me my new school and to bring me a phone. I was hopeful (and you know me, I’m never hopeful).

But then…

H was an hour and a half late to meet me. I know I have to get used to the chronic lateness as it is cultural, but I’m a little bit German and thus, every time someone is over an hour late, I want to punch them in the face. Luckily, I was able to distract myself with indecision and self loathing. I spent that hour and a half trying to force myself to get over the debilitating fear of going out alone, so that I could get some food. This made me physically ill. And incredibly pathetic.

But then…

Just as I had finally worked up the courage to open the door and then hopefully step out of it, H appeared, like a knight in dusty armour. I wouldn’t have to go out alone after all! He walked me to and from school, giving painfully slow, clear and loud directions, as one would to a brain damaged monkey or a tourist. I felt patronised, but still not entirely sure where I was or what he was talking about. But in theory I now knew how to get to work. Baby steps.

The men I met at work are all admin people, not teachers, and, as previously stated, men. I have not met a single woman. The men looked at me like I was naked and seductively gyrating at that, when, in reality, I was almost entirely covered in baggy clothing that left everything to the imagination and was trying to hide behind H, who was giving them meaningful looks. I missed St Giles.

But then…

I became aware of the horrific blisters that had developed on my feet, making it incredibly difficult to walk. But if I were ever to leave the house again, I would need a test run with a guide. So, feet be damned, I was going to stick it out. And maybe I would catch a glimpse of somewhere that sold food. I still hadn’t eaten anything other than apple sauce on the plane, and I couldn’t remember where the stupid supermarket was. Obviously I was going to starve to death and my parents would bask in the glow of a thousand I told you so’s.

But then…

H took pity on me (as, by this point, I was truly pitiful) and walked me to the supermarket. I was now in close proximity to food! Starvation was no longer a pressing issue! I momentarily forgot about the festering wounds on my feet and my complete lack of directional abilities. I felt I knew what I was doing. I told H I could make it back on my own. He looked doubtful. I told him I’d be fine. I could do this! He raised an eyebrow. I walked into the supermarket.

But then…

I couldn’t do it. I spent half an hour circling the 6 blocks around my apartment, being leered at the entire time. I finally gave up and called H, who was once again extremely and genuinely helpful (although now slightly worried about my ability to survive in the wild) and showed up to shepherd me a block away from where I’d been sitting, to my door, which I’d passed 5 times without realising it. By this point, my feet were actually bleeding. I tried to pretend that it wasn’t a big deal because I technically work with this person and didn’t want him to see me fall to pieces.

But then…

I realised: I have internet access so I can call my mum! I can tell her about my soul-crushing embarrassment and loneliness and throbbing foot pain and hope to God that this approximation of human contact will make me feel better! It rang…once…twice…three times…She picked up…I burst into tears…the connection died. That previously perfect connection has not come back since. I’ve been trying for hours. I’ve restarted, unplugged, patched, troubleshooted and reverted. I’m a woman possessed, completely unable to stop restarting and unplugging and patching and troubleshooting and reverting. Because now I’m totally alone. And I have nothing to distract me from it. And because for once I was actually hopeful, and now I just feel stupid.

Willkommen! Bienvenue! Welcome!

Hello and welcome to my latest attempt at entertaining friends and family and keeping them up to date on my many foibles during my many travels. This blog begins in with my (hopefully amusing) trials and tribulations in Morocco and with my work at the American Language Center. That is to say, it does not begin at the beginning. For previous disasters in France and Central Europe, and my adventures at Lycée Alfred Kastler, please direct your attention to quichelauren.blogspot.com.

Now that we've gotten that out of the way, let us begin...