Good Morning, Morocco!

It is my first morning in Morocco.

I am swaying on my rainbow hammock, eating my breakfast and taking in the sights, sounds, and sensations particular to this new habitat of mine.

First, the sounds. Birds. Ocean. Moving air. Distant car honks and construction sounds, and the closer movements of my neighbours. The occasional series of “tings,” which immediately alert me to the arrival of a new email, and another and another; but no, it is a hammer, entirely acoustic, and infinitely more pleasant. Children. Gardeners, chattering happily in a French that is still beyond me. Activity and serenity. An aural peace.

The sights are more complex. Classrooms. Gardens. Schoolbuses. Cyclists. A soccer field. Trees, unidentified but not so very unfamiliar. Terra cotta walls, terraced along the boundary between brown and green. Beyond the walls, parched fields. The birds remain invisible, but I can see the ocean stretching from one horizon to another, blue and waiting for my entrance. A long, white boat, skimming the line between water and sky. There are concrete buildings; a little village, maybe? Maybe I will live there once I get this place figured out. The campus walls are comforting, but soon will be constricting. I can tell.

Sensations: first of all, the breeze. It is 24 degrees, but I have little goosebumps on my arms. It will be pleasant, once I add a layer. My balcony is covered, but maybe I will zipline later to my neighbour’s, which boasts a little sun. I have no doubt that I will know my neighbours at least that well before much longer. My hammock is a little taut, but if I loosen it at all, my butt will skim the cement floor. I will adjust to having an overly rounded back. There must be exercises for that.

The tastes: I had some supposedly traditional Moroccan bread for breakfast. I am skeptical; it was purchased in a pseudo-WalMart, and the loaves in the roadside stalls looked much more inviting. I salvaged this imitation with the help of some butter and my little microwave, which made sparking sounds every ten seconds or so. Will I worry about this? Not yet. Last night I had my first chicken tagine. It was a labour-intensive feast of olives, onions, lemons, and dried fruit, deliciously seasoned but taunting me with more bones than a chicken ought to have. The grilled beef (?) was better. It was eatable in complete mouthfuls, with a valid fork. And did I ever eat. I realized, the moment it touched my tongue, that I hadn’t eaten properly in days – or ever, really. This was food of a different order entirely than anything, anywhere. I am wistfully salivating over my fake bread crumbs. I must have more grilled beef. Now.

The smells? None, really, on my balcony perch. Nothing to complain about there. Dinner, of course, smelled intoxicating. But you already figured that.

I see a bird now, huge, white, and silent, floating oceanward. The ship has panned to my left, heading, what would that be? South? Where will it end up, I wonder, and what is it carrying? What are the gardeners picking? What are the machines repairing; or are they building something new? Tap, tap, tap – a polite, but rhythmic hammer, pausing for the mesmerizing call to prayer. Oh yes, it’s mesmerizing, and it makes me want to pray along. It is a little concert for my music-starved ears. I think it’s lovely to be serenaded five times a day, so long as the loudspeaker remains at a respectable distance from these delicate ears. The hammering resumes, and stops again. I guess builders are flexible that way.

In fact, the Morocco I have seen so far is a flexible sort of place. Burkas and blue jeans, donkeys and Nissans, sleek boulevards and dusty red footpaths, chicken feathers in a modern grocery cart. Picket fences and concrete barriers, soccer fields and wastelands. All of this suits me just fine, from the protected alcove from which I view my new reality.

The ship has sailed clear across my balcony now, and I have cleaning and unpacking to do. I will dispose of the frog-sized roach in my bathroom and hang my wrinkled clothes. Once things are in order, I will show you the little apartment that will house me when I go indoors. Until then, here are some photos of my exterior world, as seen from the comfort of my hammock. Good morning, Morocco!