First, if you're going to do business here and you're Western, you are going to have to arm yourself with a good pair of rubber boots and a shovel; to dig your way through all the bull shit.
Argan
Big beauty industry here is Argan oil. I think Morocco has some beautiful natural products here that are bio and wonderful for the cosmetic industry. Like so many others, I want to create beautiful bio bien être products for use in the USA. I'm just at the beginning stages of this business.
I met with the director of the American Chamber of Commerce in Casablanca. She told me it might be a good idea to first begin with the cooperatives. She called a guy running a cooperative out of Essaouira. He happened to be coming to Casablanca.
All of the Argan is done only between Essaouria and Agadir. As far as I currently know, that is the only place in the world where Argan trees grow.
So, all I wanted was a list of products from this guy, prices, and samples if any. I met him for coffee in town with Xavier that night. He brought nothing, just a meet and greet. He told me the samples are traveling that night and they will arrive tomorrow. He offered to have lunch the next day, there he would give me everything I'm asking for.
So, the next day we meet for lunch. I received nothing. He said the samples haven't arrived yet. He offered for me to come back to Casablanca the next day. I said no. I told him I was planning to take a trip to Essaouira next week, when I come down, we'll get together in the morning, he can give me everything then. I gave him my email address.
So, we plan our trip to Essaouira. Xavier took off of work and we collected Driss to make the drive. Otherwise I would have gone alone with Driss. Driss is 34 and in a relationship. I'm 36 so, I'm not too comfortable with the idea of spending a few days alone with Driss. That's a lot of time to spend with someone. Xavier was even less keen on the idea.
Xavier also had a lead on a house for sale somewhere between Safi and Essaouira. It looked like a dump from the photo. But, what the heck? He wanted us to camp in this place overnight to see how it feels. So, we packed the camping gear as well. Why not? I've slept in worse.
We finally arrive at this dive of a house in the middle of nowhere. Driss was terrified. Xavier still insisted on sleeping in the house. There was no phone reception, so if we have a problem we can't call for help. Driss said there is no security. I don't know what's worse, being in town with tons of people, or in the middle of nowhere with no neighbors. So we set up camp. There was a gecko in the house. Driss didn't sleep a wink that night.
The next day, we got coffee and called my contact for Argan. He came with a buddy, some guy who owns a travel agency in Essaouira. Not sure why he came?? So they bring us back to his house and gave breakfast. We had Amlou, honey, Argan oil and olive oil with bread and rolls and mint tea of course. It was very good. Amlou is crushed almonds with argan oil and honey. Very yummy. Argan oil tastes nutty, kind of like peanut oil. After breakfast, we went to look at Argan trees.
We told them were we slept and they said we got very lucky. They said in that exact area, there was crime committed every year. People would set up road blocks on the main road (4 meters from the house we slept in) and rob people at night. They said it was incredibly stupid of us to have slept there, with no neighbors and no phone reception.
We took this guy's sister with us for some reason and then picked up some guy on the road who ended up being their chauffeur. Then, we picked up another guy on a moped who was waiting for us at the beginning of the Argan forest. Presumably, he owns the land the trees are growing, but not sure. From this point on we off roaded it through a dirt path with the cars. They explained the fruit on the Argan tree, that you pick it up when it falls freely from the tree. Well, actually the women beat the tree and the fruit the size of small yellow prunes drop off. Then they collect the fruit, wait for them to dry. They beat them open with rocks. Inside there is a shell that they use to feed goats and to light fires. Inside the shell is the little nut that looks like a slivered almond. Inside you can have from 1-3 "argan nuts." Very small quantity of things. If you are going to eat it, you grill the nuts first then grind them to oil. If you're making beauty products, you grind the raw argan. Edible argan is more expensive to make, probably due to the extra step, plus it has a stronger nuttier flavor.
Once the argan is ground into a runny paste, the women mix it into a bowl with water which separates the ground nuts from the oil and they manually squeeze the oil out with their hands. It is a laborious process. The women at the co-ops get paid per quantity they produce.
So, I took some photos of Argan trees that are over 100 years old, or so they said. Finally, at the end of this long haul, we ended at the farmer's house. He got two mules and insisted that Xavier and I ride the mules. So, that was my first experience riding a mule on the side of a hill. I actually could have gone on faster on foot, but it was on my list of things to experience before I die. Ride a mule, check....
We got back to the farmer's house, he showed us this mud hut that his wife built to bake bread. We went into his family room. The room consisted of 1 meter by 3 meters, a tv, some mats on the floor in the corner, a very low round table and about 200 flies. We were hot and sweaty and sat down on the mats surrounding this table. They brought out the ceremonial hand washing pitcher and basin for guests made out of tin. You hold your hands over the basin and the host pours water from a pitcher over your hands to clean them. They brought out a giant round bread, not made of wheat, but of something else the name of which eludes me, slathered in homemade butter from their own cows. It was very good. We drank water from their well. I was really worried about getting sick from drinking well water, especially after I looked inside the well and saw how dirty the water was, but I felt pressured to drink some. (I never got sick, though the water had flavor.)
Then he brought out the ceremonious mint tea and some homemade cookies. I had gorged myself on food for breakfast stuffing my belly full of super rich amlou, so I had to make an effort to eat, though I had absolutely no desire. The flies seemed to slowly leave, then he brought out a whole plate of couscous.
Kindly, he gave us all spoons. In Morocco you eat couscous with your fingers and bread and everyone out of the same platter. Being western, I have a really hard time putting my fingers in food and then into my mouth, especially if I don't have access to soap first. Still I felt obligated. The meat in the couscous is sheep's head. Having never eaten sheep's head before, fresh from his yard, I wasn't too keen on starting now. Eating sheep's head is NOT on my list of things to experience before I die, however, it will now be on the list. The man who owned the travel agency passed me a piece of meat with his fingers all covered in couscous and said this is sheep tongue, eat it. So, I tried it. It had solid pieces that I discreetly laid on the table since I had no plate or napkin. Then, he gave me another piece of meat, this time an ear. I'm thinking, man I really don't want to eat it, especially after so many fingers have touched it??? But, I did. It's chewy. Then, with couscous it's customary to serve milk called Leben, like buttermilk in the states, though with lots of chunks. One man gave me a bowl and mixed the milk with the couscous and gave it to me to eat. Yet another name for that which eludes me. Xavier offered a financial gift of 50 dhm to the man for his time and effort (really that of his wife). At first he refused, then Driss offered to give it to his children. This, he was accepting and grateful. It was a bit awkward because in the West, offering money is really rude. Here, it was the right thing to do. Kudos for Xavier for thinking of that, because I didn't.
All in all, it was ok. I had a hard time drinking the Leben, since there were so many unidentifiable solid pieces in it. After, we went to a co-op. It was a tourist trap, yet I still took photos of the women working. There was a woman there doing sales and I started asking her questions, wanting price lists, product lists, and certifications. They had none. All of the men swarmed me to stop me from asking her these questions. They said we would come back, but we never did.
The next part became very bizarre. The travel agent took us to a junior highschool/orphanage. This was a school for poor girls age 12-15 whose fathers have died. The guy gave us a tour and then pressured me to sit down with the girls and talk to them. I was very uncomfortable. I was also totally annoyed with these men because I felt like they were trying to keep me from my real purpose in Essaouira. So, I asked the guy "why did you bring me here?" I wanted to hear him say it. The yankee cash cow has arrived and we plan on milking the shit out of her. After some thought and insistence for a response he said "because I wanted to show you the real back country of Essouira."
So, I gave the girls a hello, how are you? Study hard pep talk. Told them my first language isn't French either. Explained to them that I'm American, but didn't tell them what I was doing there, since I didn't know myself, other than suspecting they were hoping for a large donation. I asked the girls what they wanted to be when they grow up. Doctor, math teacher, good answers. I told them to study hard, pass their BAC, then go onto university. I told them they can become anything they want, they have to just study and work hard. The girls were very cute and nice. Some were very shy, almost terrified. Others were very excited. It was nice, not very helpful for my business, but nice.
The travel agent insisted on taking lots of photographs, then had all of us stand up together. It was kind of weird. At this point I was ready to leave, but they insisted on having dinner. The next thing I know, the director of the school is coming with us to dinner, met with their local doctor who checks all their samples.
At the restaurant, we had mint tea, again. Then, they brought out two tajines with meat and potatoes. We had to eat it with our fingers and bread again. I didn't have an appetite and was being slightly criticized for not eating enough. I tell you, I have a hard time with the finger thing. After dinner, we just wanted to get out of there and to the hotel. I was starting to get annoyed because I felt like they were totally manipulating me to keep me there among them and NOT letting me get on with other things. We ended up getting to a hotel around 9 PM. By then I was really irritated.
Conclusion:
There is a strange mentality in Morocco. If you are Moroccan, you are poor. If you are French or European, you are rich. However, if you are American, you shit money. To them, I was a yankee cash cow. I spent that day with the men blowing enough smoke up my rear end that I could be a float in the Macy's Parade. They wanted me to pay for the orphanage. They wanted me to pay for them to begin another co-op. I could tell them the truth, but they hold onto this fallacy, this dream with such fervor, I don't think they could accept reality.
Current Reality of me:
Jennel is currently a housewife = no job = no money
There ain't no kind of yankee cash cow in the building.
* * * *
The next day was much more productive. I visited roughly 10 co-ops and got 2 decent contacts out of that group, both run, owned, and operated by women. I have blown off the men gently and politely since then. Driss thinks we got run in with the local Essouira Mafia who were trying to hoodwink us, not very successfully. They tried to get Driss to sleep at their house instead of at the hotel with us. We kept Driss with us. The men never did send me any information and or samples.
Sunday, June 24, 2012
10th Year Wedding Anniversary
Friday June 22 was our 10th Wedding Anniversary. We got married twice. The first time was at the justice of the peace in Austin on April 21, 2002. Then we had the big proper church wedding and party in France on June 22, 2002. On our first wedding anniversary, Xavier set up a surprise day out at the spa with just the two of us at Hotel Des Arts right here in Dar Bouazza. It was lovely. I figured I had to do something grand for the anniversary on June 22. Neither of us are big gift givers, so I didn't really care to buy anything. I wracked my brain as to what I could give him? He always said I never write to him. So, I thought, what better than a love poem? I did some research online and most love poems are totally cheesy and sappy, something I'm not, so Thursday, I started free writing. On Friday, friend's of ours were hosting a good-bye party for Ron who will be leaving Morocco since his 2 year contract is up. I asked Marina if I could surprise Xavier and read the poem aloud at the party to him. So, she was in on the surprise.
Xavier was very happy about the poem, though at first he seemed quite nervous. I asked him if I could publish it on my blog, he gave his blessing. Here is is:
Xavier was very happy about the poem, though at first he seemed quite nervous. I asked him if I could publish it on my blog, he gave his blessing. Here is is:
My
love poem to you
Who
could have thought
10
years would come to pass
and
here we are, together
still
loving at last
through
our love, we've grown a family
of
five
here
we are, thinking of adding one more
my
God, how ever will we survive?
your
hair so dark
your
eyes so brown
Your
heart beats in my chest
I
love you dearest
I'm
obviously obsessed
You
always say I never write
of
that I am sincerely contrite
Since
this anniversary is a big one
I
didn't want to be outdone
You
took us to a spa in april
now
on our anniversary, you're in rabat
and
being away, I thought
to
do something momentous, I ought
and
being me, cheap and simple
I
wanted to keep it rather nimble
here
we are, traveling true
from
paris
to
austin
to
dresden
to
munich
to
gréoux
to
Casablanca
our
hearts always create something new
I
love you tenderly, dearest and true
I
love how you always cut your hair the same way
and
now that your beard is getting some grey
my
love's madness, if you only knew
I
want to give all my heart to you
I
love your beautiful olive skin
the
beauty of your grin
how
you turn golden brown in the sun
the
way you touch me...
baby,
you're number one
no
other can give me such delight
just
thinking of you
mmmmmm,
what a sight
hold
me close, hold me near
whisper
sweet nothings in my ear
tickle
me, kiss me
make
me laugh and beam
I
love you more than I could ever dream
no
other love could grow to greater height
I
think of you both day and night
as
you tug playfully at my hair
or
nibble gently on my ear
your
humor makes me laugh
though
I don't always understand
still
I think you're quite grand
it's
because you're so brilliant you see
that
you fill me with such glee
though
this poem may not be Yeats
I've
tried my best
to
keep it short and sweet
but
what I really want to say
though
I'm not pressed
is
babe,
you're the best!
I
love you!
happy
10th anniversary!
Airport June 2012
I pulled a Thelma and Louise with my sister Rhonda in May. We drove the Mustang from France to Casablanca. We took about 9 days for this road trip. But, that is another story.
In June, we left Morocco again for France, part of our quarterly departure since our residence papers are not yet ready, lucky us. At the airport, the customs guy flagged me. He said "there is a car issue." So we went to the office of the customs guy. He said to us "I see you brought a car into Morocco, where is it?" We answered, "at home." He said, "well, you have to bring it to the airport with you when you leave. We have to go outside and verify that it's here, then you have to give us the car papers and the keys and leave it with us."
I'm thinking, is he for frickin' real? No way in heck am I giving this guy the ownership papers to our mustang along with the keys. We'll never see the car again.
We explained that we have 2 cars and a chauffeur and that our car is very expensive and there is no way we are going to risk leaving the car at the airport to get stolen. So, I was totally annoyed thinking I was not going to be able to leave the country because of these imbeciles. So, I said, "I'm sorry, but I have to ask the question, ""Why?"" Can you guess his answer? "C'est la procédure, madame." Non, really, "why?" He finally said because expats come and sell their cars for very expensive then leave the country. So, Xavier dropped names like he was sought after to work for OCP and that we leave every 3 mos because our residence papers are not yet done, however, we of course will be coming back to Morocco in like 4 days. The customs officer said that he has an entire drawer filled with car papers and keys.
So, next time, I guess I'll bring a photocopy of the papers with and leave them at the customs office, yet keep the car at home. Getting a carte grise for the Mustang was expensive and total hell in France. I'm not risking leaving that very important paper with these guys. We'll see. Pretty irritating. Who could have guessed that would happen?? In the meantime, I'm thinking we're going to miss our flight because of this sheer stupidity. In the end, we didn't.
Conclusion: Dude, just let people sell cars in Morocco and stop with the stupid paperwork and harassment.
In June, we left Morocco again for France, part of our quarterly departure since our residence papers are not yet ready, lucky us. At the airport, the customs guy flagged me. He said "there is a car issue." So we went to the office of the customs guy. He said to us "I see you brought a car into Morocco, where is it?" We answered, "at home." He said, "well, you have to bring it to the airport with you when you leave. We have to go outside and verify that it's here, then you have to give us the car papers and the keys and leave it with us."
I'm thinking, is he for frickin' real? No way in heck am I giving this guy the ownership papers to our mustang along with the keys. We'll never see the car again.
We explained that we have 2 cars and a chauffeur and that our car is very expensive and there is no way we are going to risk leaving the car at the airport to get stolen. So, I was totally annoyed thinking I was not going to be able to leave the country because of these imbeciles. So, I said, "I'm sorry, but I have to ask the question, ""Why?"" Can you guess his answer? "C'est la procédure, madame." Non, really, "why?" He finally said because expats come and sell their cars for very expensive then leave the country. So, Xavier dropped names like he was sought after to work for OCP and that we leave every 3 mos because our residence papers are not yet done, however, we of course will be coming back to Morocco in like 4 days. The customs officer said that he has an entire drawer filled with car papers and keys.
So, next time, I guess I'll bring a photocopy of the papers with and leave them at the customs office, yet keep the car at home. Getting a carte grise for the Mustang was expensive and total hell in France. I'm not risking leaving that very important paper with these guys. We'll see. Pretty irritating. Who could have guessed that would happen?? In the meantime, I'm thinking we're going to miss our flight because of this sheer stupidity. In the end, we didn't.
Conclusion: Dude, just let people sell cars in Morocco and stop with the stupid paperwork and harassment.
Morrocco January 2012
This blog is extremely old, but for some reason I forgot to publish it. So, here it is...
How does one describe Morrocco?
Answer: Well, it's a developing country, isn't it??
I have never seen a filthier place. It's like the worst of the Chicago southside with some sheep, chickens, turkeys, cows, and camels thrown in. When you see images of Africa with awful little dirty storefronts....Well, that's how I see Dar Bouazza.
Everyone speaks Arabic and less people speak French. It's based on the level of the individual's education. It feels as though the mass populace is far less educated the the US and Europe. There are police everywhere manning the traffic lights, manually changing the lights.
People drive with cars that are 40 yrs old. Dirty and reeling pollution. There are large developments and in btw empty lots of land that has animals grazing on it freely and the lot will also be covered in trash.
People are really nice here and there is really good service. There are lots of little jobs off the books. Everywhere you park, there is a guy who will watch your car for you and help you park. You have to tip them. You can also have your car washed for a few extra coins. People are very open to helping when you ask for help. I'm trying to learn a bit of Arabic, because it is necessary for survival here. Morroccan Arabic has a lot of French words mixed in. So that kind of helps I guess.
We found a wonderful woman who works for us full-time. She cleans, cooks, does the laundry, irons, and can do the shopping and watches the kids. She speaks very good French. She is very outgoing and nice. She has also been extremely helpful. Instead of me fumbling about on my own trying to learn the rules here, she explains them to me. She tells me the correct prices on things. There are 2 prices here 1. Local 2. French. I took her to the large grocery store at the Morrocco mall to help me do some initial shopping. It was a fun day out. It was her first time to the mall so we walked it before we went shopping. She is very well connected and knew a lot of people working at the mall from Dar Bouazza, where we both live.
Roads: Sometimes the roads are paved, more times they are dirt, yes, dirt. The road in front of the local grocery store is dirt.
How does one describe Morrocco?
Answer: Well, it's a developing country, isn't it??
I have never seen a filthier place. It's like the worst of the Chicago southside with some sheep, chickens, turkeys, cows, and camels thrown in. When you see images of Africa with awful little dirty storefronts....Well, that's how I see Dar Bouazza.
Everyone speaks Arabic and less people speak French. It's based on the level of the individual's education. It feels as though the mass populace is far less educated the the US and Europe. There are police everywhere manning the traffic lights, manually changing the lights.
People drive with cars that are 40 yrs old. Dirty and reeling pollution. There are large developments and in btw empty lots of land that has animals grazing on it freely and the lot will also be covered in trash.
People are really nice here and there is really good service. There are lots of little jobs off the books. Everywhere you park, there is a guy who will watch your car for you and help you park. You have to tip them. You can also have your car washed for a few extra coins. People are very open to helping when you ask for help. I'm trying to learn a bit of Arabic, because it is necessary for survival here. Morroccan Arabic has a lot of French words mixed in. So that kind of helps I guess.
We found a wonderful woman who works for us full-time. She cleans, cooks, does the laundry, irons, and can do the shopping and watches the kids. She speaks very good French. She is very outgoing and nice. She has also been extremely helpful. Instead of me fumbling about on my own trying to learn the rules here, she explains them to me. She tells me the correct prices on things. There are 2 prices here 1. Local 2. French. I took her to the large grocery store at the Morrocco mall to help me do some initial shopping. It was a fun day out. It was her first time to the mall so we walked it before we went shopping. She is very well connected and knew a lot of people working at the mall from Dar Bouazza, where we both live.
Roads: Sometimes the roads are paved, more times they are dirt, yes, dirt. The road in front of the local grocery store is dirt.
More on Driving in Morocco
Hi, yeah realized somehow that I had been mispelling Morocco to my mortal embarrassement. Oh well. I looked it up in the dictionary, but apparently forgot how to write it. Anyway, hope I don't forget in the future?
White Taxi: Have proximity alarms. When in town if you drive too close, their proximity alarms start blaring. When I say too close I mean like within 6 cm. Once in bad traffic, I set off 3 white taxi alarms. White taxis are simply very old 4 door mercedes that are white or cream colored and are taxis. They fit up to 6 people not including the driver and always max out this number. 2 adults wedged in the front seat, 4 adults in the back. It gets very intimate for a country that has so little contact btw the sexes.
I almost blew a stop light the other day. I was in the far right lane of the 3 lane road. On the right of me was a bicycle. Suddenly, he swerved wide into my lane because he was avoiding about five 11 yr old boys who decided to lunge across the street. I was totally freaked out because they ran around my car and I was terrified to hit a kid that I wasn't focused on the large intersection coming up and almost blew right through the red light.
The Death Star: Right by my husband's office, there is a 6 way intersection ran by traffic lights. Each road consists of about 3 lanes. The lights are controlled by 2 cops. It's always a pleasure trying to drive in Morocco. I just start directing people now when everyone gets stuck at a street and jammed. People will just sit there stupidly without making a move or a decision. It makes me crazy!!
I got stuck the other day on a small road filled with parked cars because a truck was just sitting there with his turn signal on. He was blocking everything. I was driving a different car and couldn't find the horn, so I rolled down the window after probably mumbling expletives to myself, put my arm outside the car and pointed to the guy in the truck, then gestured my hand for him to either move forwards or turn, but to make a frickin' decision already. He just sat there at first, and I continued to insist, then moved my car out of the way to get him going. He finally moved forward. The whole affair lasted about 5 minutes, 4.5 of which it took for the truck driver to wake up and move.
Still haven't hit any pedestrian yet, bicycle, mobilette, moped, motorcycle, and car. I'll keep my fingers crossed. I've had a lot of near misses though. It is incredibly tempting to hit pedestrians since they always insist on walking in the middle of the road, especially when there is a ton of space on the shoulder off the road. It's just dusty on the shoulder. People don't want to get their shoes dirty, not that I blame them. When I go running, I run on the road as well to avoid getting dust in my shoes. There is nothing like running in Morocco, no sidewalks, cars, wild dogs roaming outside, motorcycles clipping you. Nothing like sharing the road with everyone and inhaling the gas fumes that spew out of cars. Guys honking at you, or yelling things out of the windows in French, Arabic or English, or guys hollering after you off their motorcycles. I have this fear I'm going to experience a drive-by bum smacking by some guy on a moped. It hasn't happened yet, though I make sure I always get off the road when wheels approach...just in case.
Conclusion: If you ever feel ugly or fat, just take a run in Morocco to feel better. If you don't mind a little sexual harassment. When you reach mid-life, after a few kids, sexual harassment by some 20-50 yr olds (scary when it's from a child), can be perhaps, not such a terrible thing.
White Taxi: Have proximity alarms. When in town if you drive too close, their proximity alarms start blaring. When I say too close I mean like within 6 cm. Once in bad traffic, I set off 3 white taxi alarms. White taxis are simply very old 4 door mercedes that are white or cream colored and are taxis. They fit up to 6 people not including the driver and always max out this number. 2 adults wedged in the front seat, 4 adults in the back. It gets very intimate for a country that has so little contact btw the sexes.
I almost blew a stop light the other day. I was in the far right lane of the 3 lane road. On the right of me was a bicycle. Suddenly, he swerved wide into my lane because he was avoiding about five 11 yr old boys who decided to lunge across the street. I was totally freaked out because they ran around my car and I was terrified to hit a kid that I wasn't focused on the large intersection coming up and almost blew right through the red light.
The Death Star: Right by my husband's office, there is a 6 way intersection ran by traffic lights. Each road consists of about 3 lanes. The lights are controlled by 2 cops. It's always a pleasure trying to drive in Morocco. I just start directing people now when everyone gets stuck at a street and jammed. People will just sit there stupidly without making a move or a decision. It makes me crazy!!
I got stuck the other day on a small road filled with parked cars because a truck was just sitting there with his turn signal on. He was blocking everything. I was driving a different car and couldn't find the horn, so I rolled down the window after probably mumbling expletives to myself, put my arm outside the car and pointed to the guy in the truck, then gestured my hand for him to either move forwards or turn, but to make a frickin' decision already. He just sat there at first, and I continued to insist, then moved my car out of the way to get him going. He finally moved forward. The whole affair lasted about 5 minutes, 4.5 of which it took for the truck driver to wake up and move.
Still haven't hit any pedestrian yet, bicycle, mobilette, moped, motorcycle, and car. I'll keep my fingers crossed. I've had a lot of near misses though. It is incredibly tempting to hit pedestrians since they always insist on walking in the middle of the road, especially when there is a ton of space on the shoulder off the road. It's just dusty on the shoulder. People don't want to get their shoes dirty, not that I blame them. When I go running, I run on the road as well to avoid getting dust in my shoes. There is nothing like running in Morocco, no sidewalks, cars, wild dogs roaming outside, motorcycles clipping you. Nothing like sharing the road with everyone and inhaling the gas fumes that spew out of cars. Guys honking at you, or yelling things out of the windows in French, Arabic or English, or guys hollering after you off their motorcycles. I have this fear I'm going to experience a drive-by bum smacking by some guy on a moped. It hasn't happened yet, though I make sure I always get off the road when wheels approach...just in case.
Conclusion: If you ever feel ugly or fat, just take a run in Morocco to feel better. If you don't mind a little sexual harassment. When you reach mid-life, after a few kids, sexual harassment by some 20-50 yr olds (scary when it's from a child), can be perhaps, not such a terrible thing.
Reflections March 2012
Warning: this blog is a few months old now. A lot has changed since, but for some reason I forgot to publish it. Enjoy...
I sort of read through my blogs last night and realized we appear to be totally unstable!!
I never felt that way. It looks like we move every 3 months which isn't the case at all. Xavier's family and friends are always wondering why on Earth he has chosen this lifestyle. These questions come from people who live more traditional lifestyles that are much more stable. Good friends, live in the same house or neighborhood for years. Their kids all keep going to the same schools so they don't have to constantly make new friends.
I asked Xavier if we were making the right decisions or if we should maybe think about doing some things different. Then come all the usual discussions, US versus France. France has much better social and vacations, but we had no money in France and were financially really stuck. That kind of sucks. The taxes are very high, homes in the south are way over priced for what you get, gas is expensive. But, we had a nice quality of life, even if we couldn't afford to fly back to the states or even take a vacation. Not sure how other people managed.
Then we talked about the US which has no retirement. The healthcare system is one hospital stay away from a family filing for bankruptcy. I was looking into going back to the states for awhile this summer and was looking into camp for the kids and it was like $1,000 per child for half a day. That's crazy! The prices are insane!! I've got 3 kids. You kind of forget how expensive life is in the US. There is a lot you can do, but it will bleed your wallet dry.
What I really want to do is go back to work, save money, build a wood chalet in Savoie and put all of our American furniture in it since right now it's in storage and I have no intention to ship it all over the world, it's cheaper to buy new furniture. Then I want to buy an affordable townhome in Chicago near my family. The chalet I want to rent out furnished for holiday goers and the house I want to rent out unfurnished yearly. I want to live cheap and save cash while we're here in Morocco.
I want to have a career now. I still don't know what I want to do besides publish novels. I fear I won't make any money writing, but you never know until you try. I haven't worked on my novel in a little while and have no excuse now. The woman who works for me calls me Jennel the princess...ouch. I agree, I don't serve much of a purpose now that I've hired someone to replace myself since I thought I was going to work for Jacobs, which is not panning out at all. Now, we've just hired a chauffeur to drive our car in the afternoon. I drive with Xavier and the kids in the morning. We leave at 7:30 and I get back around 9:15. The afternoon was torture since I have to leave at 14:45 to get the kids by 15:30, then come home by about 4:15-4:30 and attempt to get their homework going but still give them a little break to go outside and blow some steam before. Then leave again at 17:15 to get Xavier by 18:00, only to get home somewhere around 19:00. The kids sometimes get their homework done but have misunderstood the directions. Most often Xavier doesn't want to stay until 18:00, so I will do back to back turn around trips, or take the kids with me to his office and sit outside in the restaurant and have a snack there while we wait for Xavier to finish his work.
I was always the only one at the restaurant with kids. I got to know the people working the kiosk at the restaurant. They're all very nice there. People in Morocco always get to know you and they remember you, from the guy at l'épicerie, to the guy selling fruits and veggies, to the people working at the restaurant. For example, yesterday I had a coffee with Xavier at the restaurant before work. I was in line waiting to give the drink vendor my order. He remembers I always order café au lait and while I was waiting in line, he already got it made for me, so by the time I got to him, he said, "café au lait, right? I've already made it for you, here," and he handed it to me. Very nice.
Last time I had a coffee at the restaurant with Missy. We were waiting for her husband to come down and we started smelling something burning. We were sitting all the way in the back in non-smoking, but the windows were open. People burn trash and all sorts of crazy things in Morocco so weird smoky smells are the norm. So, we figured someone was burning trash just outside the restaurant somewhere. So, as we sat there drinking coffee, we played "Name That Smell". Is it burning metal? Rubber?
Then the lights went out. We figured they were closing up. I offered for us to move outside but it was windy and cold that day and Missy wasn't well covered so she said, "let's just wait for them to throw us out." I said, "no problem."
Other people started leaving and soon we were the last people in the restaurant. Finally the cashier came over and apologized to us in English and said, "I'm so sorry, you have to leave the restaurant, there's an electrical fire." We're like, oh, well that's explains the smell. No one seemed stressed or rushed. As we left we looked up at the air vents and black smoke was pouring out. We couldn't see it from where we were seated in the restaurant.
Another nice thing that happened not long ago. I usually shop at the nearest little grocery store called le Littoral. There are only 2 young men who work there. Najat knows both of them, I guess she went to school with them. She seems to know everyone in the neighborhood. Anyway, I went in there last week doing the usual shopping spiel and as I got to the checkout, he handed me a teapot and said, "un cadeau pour toi." (Here, this is a present for you.) That was very sweet. It made my afternoon.
Service: people at the grocery store will carry heavy items for you and carry your bags out to the car for you and load it. Very nice. This seems to be a standard practice. Other things, lots of street attendants for parking. You give them a tip and they may even wash your car for you while you're out shopping or doing whatever. Fantastic, since our car is constantly dirty. Of course now that we have a chauffeur, I've asked him if he would be so kind as to wash the car in between car runs.
It's odd. All of my jobs seemed to get outsourced. I'm left now with a whole lotta time on my hands to figure out what the heck I'm going to do. Xavier says, "make money!!!!" Now there's an idea! That was the original plan. I was so smug when I arrived in December because I had a lead for a job and the papers were done, but nothing ever happened. I've never seen anything like it, so it just stagnated and never went anywhere. I kept calling, but nothing materialized. So, to continue with my 13 yr long identity crisis...and running.
There were a few things I really wanted to do in my life in order of importance
1. Travel - leave the US and travel around the world
Check (Beginning in 1998 Paris, Austin TX, Dresden Germany, Munich Germany, South of France, Casablanca - and counting)
2. Find hot guy...oh I mean love
Check (New's Year's Eve 1998 Xavier)
3. Have kids
Check (2003 Anaïs, 2005 Austin, 2008 Nicolas and counting....)
4. Learn a few languages (namely French, Italien, Spanish and German)
Check French, German, beginning Arabic
5. Become accomplished professionally....hmmmm.....not quite there. What to do???
6. Publish novels
Started Isabelle, but not yet finished (or even close, originally I wanted it to be done by feb)
I have 4 other novel ideas in my head that I want to write. They're all fiction, all are around women, and are all based in the countries I've lived. So, we'll see. It's better to write novels based in a country while you're actually in that country because when you leave, you forget the little things about the culture. You think you'd remember, but you really don't. Half the time I can't figure out how to spell words in English. It's strange how fast you forget words and your spelling. When I reread my blogs I'm horrified by the blatent errors, but am too lazy to correct them after the fact.
Last weekend we flew back to France. We have to leave the country every 3 mos because our residence permits are not yet ready. So, 3 months ended last weekend. We flew to Lyon to spend time with Xavier's family, then drove down to Gréoux to pick up my car and do some more paper work. We spent the night at a friend's house and I went out to dinner very last minute with some girlfriends since this was a last minute trip. My friend's husband was telling us we were probably going to get mugged being out alone. I never had a problem, but you never know, so I emptied my purse of the passports. However, my car papers are roughly the same size as the passports, so I emptied those as well by mistake.
I had a really nice time. I drove my friend there, while Xavier stayed home and ate pizza and drank beer with his friend. I had a nice meal, and drank 2 glasses of wine. On the way home, the police were doing a check. I never knew how much I'm legally allowed to drink, but 2 small glasses of white wine seemed ok to me. My friend said, you're not going to pass the breathalizer test. I thought, "oh, shit." I felt completely fine, but became totally self-conscious. The cop was a chick, she asked me for my papers. Sure, I had them earlier, no problem, I look through my purse, "oh, shit," can't find the papers. I emptied the contents of my purse and wracked my brain since I was the one who packed them in the first place. Now, I'm panicking, but trying very hard not to show it.
I'm thinking, I'm going to get handcuffed and brought to jail, all for 2 glasses of wine!! I'm thinking my friend is going to go down with me, since she had about 2 glasses as well and the cops probably won't let her drive either. I'm thinking I'm going to have to make the phone call of shame to my husband to come and pick me up, but then again he might be drunk off beer anyway. I'm thinking my friend's husband is going to have an issue with me hanging out with his wife if I get us landed in jail. He'll be really, really upset and never let us forget it.
The only reason I could think of is that my husband drove my car earlier that day and maybe he just kept the papers with him. She asked me if I have insurance and if my controle technique was up to date. I never know when my controle technique is expired, so I hoped for the best and said, yes. She checked, it was up to date. Phew... She told me all 4 tires are bald and that they can explode. She said insurance won't cover if your tires are old. I explained to her that I moved to Morocco and that my husband and I came back to pick up my car and bring it into storage in Lyon and that we're leaving tomorrow. She said, "alright," and let me go.
I was very happy. That was the first time I've ever had a traffic control in France.
When we were in Lyon it was cold, windy, grey and wet. The streets all over France were dead. No one was out and about. Oddly, I longed to come back to Morocco!!! I wanted to be in warm sunshine and palm trees. I wanted to come back to Casablanca where life is happening everywhere. People are always out and about on the streets. People seem to live outside. Oddly, I really missed that. I was happy to come back to Morocco. Xavier was very homesick and had a hard time leaving his family. I understand.
The only thing is I think Casablanca is killing me the same way Germany killed me. I've been here 3 months and have hacked my lungs out for 2.5 months. Here there is so much dust in the air and pollution. I'm afraid I have some kind of lung weakness and it's actually damaging me. It might all be in my head, but I feel like it's significantly lowering my overall lifespan. In, Germany, I was constantly ill with sinus infections and coughing. It was on a year round basis, absolutely horrid. Germany had done tremendous damage to my bronchi. Our family doctor in France had me take an x-ray of my lungs and it looked like 30% was damaged from asthma. Xavier also had bronchitis at least twice in Germany. I feel like I was so much healthier in TX. My bronchi are constantly irritated by something, not sure what??
It rained for the first time in a long time yesterday and it was like liquid mud had fallen on the car. I've never seen anything like it. The sky here has so much crap in it, it's actually brown. I think it's a combination of pollution, ozone, dirt, diesel engine fumes, and smoke from people burning their trash. Every morning we get on the toll road and have to take a ticket. Every morning this toll booth is engulfed in smoke, not like nice lets burn a campfire smoke. Imagine a garbage dump being on fire. I want to die every morning. We sit there and choke and sputter out the last remnants of oxygen, then drive further away, roll down all the windows just to change the air in the car. It's awful. It's every single day. We feel for the people who work at the toll booth. I'd love to call the police to complain, but what do I say? Someone, somewhere, the exact location I cannot pinpoint is burning something awfully toxic and a lot of it, please ask them to stop. I think that's not likely to happen.
I'm just shocked by the amount of carbon, Moroccans readily put into the air. When they prune trees, they burn the clippings. You'll see giant blazing fires all along the road underneath large trees that have just been pruned. I'm thinking wild fire, oh my god this is going to get out of hand!
Nothing has burned down yet, including our house. However, electrical fires seem to be the norm. In our area alone, it seems everyone at one point or another has an electrical fire. Apparently there is nothing holding the electrical current stable, therefore it fluctuates. In the west, there is something that keeps the current stable before it comes to your home. Apparently, they are trying to put this system into place, but it's not quite here yet. So, my understanding is this. Because the current in unstable, it literally vibrates the wiring outside. Slowly the vibration shakes the wires loose and given the humidity in the air, the two wires shake themselves close to one another. In conjunction with the humidity, acting as a conductor, the current hops and touches the other wire without being grounded.
Conclusion: We had a sudden voltage of about 300V surging through the house. It literally melted the fuse box outside and fried a bunch of our electrical components. Now, we have to be careful.
I sort of read through my blogs last night and realized we appear to be totally unstable!!
I never felt that way. It looks like we move every 3 months which isn't the case at all. Xavier's family and friends are always wondering why on Earth he has chosen this lifestyle. These questions come from people who live more traditional lifestyles that are much more stable. Good friends, live in the same house or neighborhood for years. Their kids all keep going to the same schools so they don't have to constantly make new friends.
I asked Xavier if we were making the right decisions or if we should maybe think about doing some things different. Then come all the usual discussions, US versus France. France has much better social and vacations, but we had no money in France and were financially really stuck. That kind of sucks. The taxes are very high, homes in the south are way over priced for what you get, gas is expensive. But, we had a nice quality of life, even if we couldn't afford to fly back to the states or even take a vacation. Not sure how other people managed.
Then we talked about the US which has no retirement. The healthcare system is one hospital stay away from a family filing for bankruptcy. I was looking into going back to the states for awhile this summer and was looking into camp for the kids and it was like $1,000 per child for half a day. That's crazy! The prices are insane!! I've got 3 kids. You kind of forget how expensive life is in the US. There is a lot you can do, but it will bleed your wallet dry.
What I really want to do is go back to work, save money, build a wood chalet in Savoie and put all of our American furniture in it since right now it's in storage and I have no intention to ship it all over the world, it's cheaper to buy new furniture. Then I want to buy an affordable townhome in Chicago near my family. The chalet I want to rent out furnished for holiday goers and the house I want to rent out unfurnished yearly. I want to live cheap and save cash while we're here in Morocco.
I want to have a career now. I still don't know what I want to do besides publish novels. I fear I won't make any money writing, but you never know until you try. I haven't worked on my novel in a little while and have no excuse now. The woman who works for me calls me Jennel the princess...ouch. I agree, I don't serve much of a purpose now that I've hired someone to replace myself since I thought I was going to work for Jacobs, which is not panning out at all. Now, we've just hired a chauffeur to drive our car in the afternoon. I drive with Xavier and the kids in the morning. We leave at 7:30 and I get back around 9:15. The afternoon was torture since I have to leave at 14:45 to get the kids by 15:30, then come home by about 4:15-4:30 and attempt to get their homework going but still give them a little break to go outside and blow some steam before. Then leave again at 17:15 to get Xavier by 18:00, only to get home somewhere around 19:00. The kids sometimes get their homework done but have misunderstood the directions. Most often Xavier doesn't want to stay until 18:00, so I will do back to back turn around trips, or take the kids with me to his office and sit outside in the restaurant and have a snack there while we wait for Xavier to finish his work.
I was always the only one at the restaurant with kids. I got to know the people working the kiosk at the restaurant. They're all very nice there. People in Morocco always get to know you and they remember you, from the guy at l'épicerie, to the guy selling fruits and veggies, to the people working at the restaurant. For example, yesterday I had a coffee with Xavier at the restaurant before work. I was in line waiting to give the drink vendor my order. He remembers I always order café au lait and while I was waiting in line, he already got it made for me, so by the time I got to him, he said, "café au lait, right? I've already made it for you, here," and he handed it to me. Very nice.
Last time I had a coffee at the restaurant with Missy. We were waiting for her husband to come down and we started smelling something burning. We were sitting all the way in the back in non-smoking, but the windows were open. People burn trash and all sorts of crazy things in Morocco so weird smoky smells are the norm. So, we figured someone was burning trash just outside the restaurant somewhere. So, as we sat there drinking coffee, we played "Name That Smell". Is it burning metal? Rubber?
Then the lights went out. We figured they were closing up. I offered for us to move outside but it was windy and cold that day and Missy wasn't well covered so she said, "let's just wait for them to throw us out." I said, "no problem."
Other people started leaving and soon we were the last people in the restaurant. Finally the cashier came over and apologized to us in English and said, "I'm so sorry, you have to leave the restaurant, there's an electrical fire." We're like, oh, well that's explains the smell. No one seemed stressed or rushed. As we left we looked up at the air vents and black smoke was pouring out. We couldn't see it from where we were seated in the restaurant.
Another nice thing that happened not long ago. I usually shop at the nearest little grocery store called le Littoral. There are only 2 young men who work there. Najat knows both of them, I guess she went to school with them. She seems to know everyone in the neighborhood. Anyway, I went in there last week doing the usual shopping spiel and as I got to the checkout, he handed me a teapot and said, "un cadeau pour toi." (Here, this is a present for you.) That was very sweet. It made my afternoon.
Service: people at the grocery store will carry heavy items for you and carry your bags out to the car for you and load it. Very nice. This seems to be a standard practice. Other things, lots of street attendants for parking. You give them a tip and they may even wash your car for you while you're out shopping or doing whatever. Fantastic, since our car is constantly dirty. Of course now that we have a chauffeur, I've asked him if he would be so kind as to wash the car in between car runs.
It's odd. All of my jobs seemed to get outsourced. I'm left now with a whole lotta time on my hands to figure out what the heck I'm going to do. Xavier says, "make money!!!!" Now there's an idea! That was the original plan. I was so smug when I arrived in December because I had a lead for a job and the papers were done, but nothing ever happened. I've never seen anything like it, so it just stagnated and never went anywhere. I kept calling, but nothing materialized. So, to continue with my 13 yr long identity crisis...and running.
There were a few things I really wanted to do in my life in order of importance
1. Travel - leave the US and travel around the world
Check (Beginning in 1998 Paris, Austin TX, Dresden Germany, Munich Germany, South of France, Casablanca - and counting)
2. Find hot guy...oh I mean love
Check (New's Year's Eve 1998 Xavier)
3. Have kids
Check (2003 Anaïs, 2005 Austin, 2008 Nicolas and counting....)
4. Learn a few languages (namely French, Italien, Spanish and German)
Check French, German, beginning Arabic
5. Become accomplished professionally....hmmmm.....not quite there. What to do???
6. Publish novels
Started Isabelle, but not yet finished (or even close, originally I wanted it to be done by feb)
I have 4 other novel ideas in my head that I want to write. They're all fiction, all are around women, and are all based in the countries I've lived. So, we'll see. It's better to write novels based in a country while you're actually in that country because when you leave, you forget the little things about the culture. You think you'd remember, but you really don't. Half the time I can't figure out how to spell words in English. It's strange how fast you forget words and your spelling. When I reread my blogs I'm horrified by the blatent errors, but am too lazy to correct them after the fact.
Last weekend we flew back to France. We have to leave the country every 3 mos because our residence permits are not yet ready. So, 3 months ended last weekend. We flew to Lyon to spend time with Xavier's family, then drove down to Gréoux to pick up my car and do some more paper work. We spent the night at a friend's house and I went out to dinner very last minute with some girlfriends since this was a last minute trip. My friend's husband was telling us we were probably going to get mugged being out alone. I never had a problem, but you never know, so I emptied my purse of the passports. However, my car papers are roughly the same size as the passports, so I emptied those as well by mistake.
I had a really nice time. I drove my friend there, while Xavier stayed home and ate pizza and drank beer with his friend. I had a nice meal, and drank 2 glasses of wine. On the way home, the police were doing a check. I never knew how much I'm legally allowed to drink, but 2 small glasses of white wine seemed ok to me. My friend said, you're not going to pass the breathalizer test. I thought, "oh, shit." I felt completely fine, but became totally self-conscious. The cop was a chick, she asked me for my papers. Sure, I had them earlier, no problem, I look through my purse, "oh, shit," can't find the papers. I emptied the contents of my purse and wracked my brain since I was the one who packed them in the first place. Now, I'm panicking, but trying very hard not to show it.
I'm thinking, I'm going to get handcuffed and brought to jail, all for 2 glasses of wine!! I'm thinking my friend is going to go down with me, since she had about 2 glasses as well and the cops probably won't let her drive either. I'm thinking I'm going to have to make the phone call of shame to my husband to come and pick me up, but then again he might be drunk off beer anyway. I'm thinking my friend's husband is going to have an issue with me hanging out with his wife if I get us landed in jail. He'll be really, really upset and never let us forget it.
The only reason I could think of is that my husband drove my car earlier that day and maybe he just kept the papers with him. She asked me if I have insurance and if my controle technique was up to date. I never know when my controle technique is expired, so I hoped for the best and said, yes. She checked, it was up to date. Phew... She told me all 4 tires are bald and that they can explode. She said insurance won't cover if your tires are old. I explained to her that I moved to Morocco and that my husband and I came back to pick up my car and bring it into storage in Lyon and that we're leaving tomorrow. She said, "alright," and let me go.
I was very happy. That was the first time I've ever had a traffic control in France.
When we were in Lyon it was cold, windy, grey and wet. The streets all over France were dead. No one was out and about. Oddly, I longed to come back to Morocco!!! I wanted to be in warm sunshine and palm trees. I wanted to come back to Casablanca where life is happening everywhere. People are always out and about on the streets. People seem to live outside. Oddly, I really missed that. I was happy to come back to Morocco. Xavier was very homesick and had a hard time leaving his family. I understand.
The only thing is I think Casablanca is killing me the same way Germany killed me. I've been here 3 months and have hacked my lungs out for 2.5 months. Here there is so much dust in the air and pollution. I'm afraid I have some kind of lung weakness and it's actually damaging me. It might all be in my head, but I feel like it's significantly lowering my overall lifespan. In, Germany, I was constantly ill with sinus infections and coughing. It was on a year round basis, absolutely horrid. Germany had done tremendous damage to my bronchi. Our family doctor in France had me take an x-ray of my lungs and it looked like 30% was damaged from asthma. Xavier also had bronchitis at least twice in Germany. I feel like I was so much healthier in TX. My bronchi are constantly irritated by something, not sure what??
It rained for the first time in a long time yesterday and it was like liquid mud had fallen on the car. I've never seen anything like it. The sky here has so much crap in it, it's actually brown. I think it's a combination of pollution, ozone, dirt, diesel engine fumes, and smoke from people burning their trash. Every morning we get on the toll road and have to take a ticket. Every morning this toll booth is engulfed in smoke, not like nice lets burn a campfire smoke. Imagine a garbage dump being on fire. I want to die every morning. We sit there and choke and sputter out the last remnants of oxygen, then drive further away, roll down all the windows just to change the air in the car. It's awful. It's every single day. We feel for the people who work at the toll booth. I'd love to call the police to complain, but what do I say? Someone, somewhere, the exact location I cannot pinpoint is burning something awfully toxic and a lot of it, please ask them to stop. I think that's not likely to happen.
I'm just shocked by the amount of carbon, Moroccans readily put into the air. When they prune trees, they burn the clippings. You'll see giant blazing fires all along the road underneath large trees that have just been pruned. I'm thinking wild fire, oh my god this is going to get out of hand!
Nothing has burned down yet, including our house. However, electrical fires seem to be the norm. In our area alone, it seems everyone at one point or another has an electrical fire. Apparently there is nothing holding the electrical current stable, therefore it fluctuates. In the west, there is something that keeps the current stable before it comes to your home. Apparently, they are trying to put this system into place, but it's not quite here yet. So, my understanding is this. Because the current in unstable, it literally vibrates the wiring outside. Slowly the vibration shakes the wires loose and given the humidity in the air, the two wires shake themselves close to one another. In conjunction with the humidity, acting as a conductor, the current hops and touches the other wire without being grounded.
Conclusion: We had a sudden voltage of about 300V surging through the house. It literally melted the fuse box outside and fried a bunch of our electrical components. Now, we have to be careful.
Car Tow
On Route d'Azemmour, you can usually park on the street except when the Moroccan flags are flying which means the king is in residence. He has a palace on the beach in Dar Bouazza and another palace in Casablanca and probably others.
On this particular day Xavier had to get an x-ray, nothing serious, but anyway....So, I drove him to this area to get an x-ray. Parking is usually a problem. Lots of people were parked on the main street Route d'Azemmour, so I figured we'd be ok, but still I was a little nervous.
An hour goes by, I'm getting nervous. When we finally went outside, we saw all of the cars were towed. Sugar Honey Ice Tea! I see my car down the lane and directly behind it is a tow truck. Xavier yells, "you're being towed, run, run!" So, there I go, running away down the street, preparing to arm myself all of my feminine wiles available to use in negotiation with the driver.
By the time I got to the car, I saw that the tow truck that was about to tow me away actually broke down behind my car. Luckily, the tow trucks here appear to be from the 1950's, so they break down a lot. That day, I just got really lucky, so now I know to never park on that street again. It seems like it's the only street in Casablanca where they actually tow people.
Cheers!
On this particular day Xavier had to get an x-ray, nothing serious, but anyway....So, I drove him to this area to get an x-ray. Parking is usually a problem. Lots of people were parked on the main street Route d'Azemmour, so I figured we'd be ok, but still I was a little nervous.
An hour goes by, I'm getting nervous. When we finally went outside, we saw all of the cars were towed. Sugar Honey Ice Tea! I see my car down the lane and directly behind it is a tow truck. Xavier yells, "you're being towed, run, run!" So, there I go, running away down the street, preparing to arm myself all of my feminine wiles available to use in negotiation with the driver.
By the time I got to the car, I saw that the tow truck that was about to tow me away actually broke down behind my car. Luckily, the tow trucks here appear to be from the 1950's, so they break down a lot. That day, I just got really lucky, so now I know to never park on that street again. It seems like it's the only street in Casablanca where they actually tow people.
Cheers!
Knockoffs
I went to the medina today in Casablanca with a new friend. I learned something wonderful, knockoffs. They have luxury purses that are imitation that look like the real thing, but are all Chinese knockoffs. They have all the top named brands, Guess, Fendi, Prada, etc. I don't know much about brands, but the Guess purses looked exactly like the real deal. Except, most of them are NOT made out of real leather.
The price? 200-400 dhms ($20-$40.) Najat told me that is way too expensive, that the owners are charging me too much because I'm white. She said she can get me a better deal. Apparently, fake purses are NOT illegal in Morocco. Some were not so great knockoffs, ie really cheap looking. Others, were fantastic. I didn't buy any because I didn't have enough money, but the next time I go, I think I will get one.
I did decide to cover my head today at the Medina with a scarf. I took Xavier's ugly green winter scarf and wrapped it around my head. My goal was to buy some scarves at the medina. I found 3 great knock-offs for very cheap, a silk Louis Vuitton for 50 dhm ($5) that looks exactly like the real deal, except it has a tag that says made in Itrly. I got a Gucci and Dolce and Gabbana scarf for 40 dhm ($4). Somehow, I found these prices expensive?? I tried to lower it. I couldn't lower the 40 dhm price, but my silk scarf was originally 60 dhm and I got him down to 50.
learned that there are knockoffs here. I'm looking for clothes, but haven't found it yet, outside of purses and scarves. Needless to say, all knockoffs come from China, like everything else in Morocco. There is a quality issue with Chinese things in the states, but the quality is actually worse here, if you can imagine. Everything breaks within a week, batteries, power cords, clothes, you name it. I'm very cautious now about where I buy my things, though I don't actually shop that often. I don't really care. Xavier bought knockoff DVD's. You never know what you're going to get. He bought Tintin and someone actually played the movie on the tv, then put a recorder up next to the screen and recorded. It is not a proper copy, so the sound quality is God awful.
Interesting things....
The price? 200-400 dhms ($20-$40.) Najat told me that is way too expensive, that the owners are charging me too much because I'm white. She said she can get me a better deal. Apparently, fake purses are NOT illegal in Morocco. Some were not so great knockoffs, ie really cheap looking. Others, were fantastic. I didn't buy any because I didn't have enough money, but the next time I go, I think I will get one.
I did decide to cover my head today at the Medina with a scarf. I took Xavier's ugly green winter scarf and wrapped it around my head. My goal was to buy some scarves at the medina. I found 3 great knock-offs for very cheap, a silk Louis Vuitton for 50 dhm ($5) that looks exactly like the real deal, except it has a tag that says made in Itrly. I got a Gucci and Dolce and Gabbana scarf for 40 dhm ($4). Somehow, I found these prices expensive?? I tried to lower it. I couldn't lower the 40 dhm price, but my silk scarf was originally 60 dhm and I got him down to 50.
learned that there are knockoffs here. I'm looking for clothes, but haven't found it yet, outside of purses and scarves. Needless to say, all knockoffs come from China, like everything else in Morocco. There is a quality issue with Chinese things in the states, but the quality is actually worse here, if you can imagine. Everything breaks within a week, batteries, power cords, clothes, you name it. I'm very cautious now about where I buy my things, though I don't actually shop that often. I don't really care. Xavier bought knockoff DVD's. You never know what you're going to get. He bought Tintin and someone actually played the movie on the tv, then put a recorder up next to the screen and recorded. It is not a proper copy, so the sound quality is God awful.
Interesting things....
Saturday, June 23, 2012
L'Amphitrite Palace Hotel
L'Amphitrite
Palace Hotel, Rabat
I
just feel the need to share this with you. One response in Morocco
that drives me nuts is « procedure .» Their response to
me is always « C'est la procedure, madame. » The classic
response for something truly stupid and useless (as far as I can
tell)
* * *
Here
we are in the lobby not able to get into the hotel room. An hour has
elapsed. I drove Xavier to Rabat which is 1 hr from Casablanca, 2
hours from our home in Dar Bouazza where his passport is.
Xavier
has a room rented for a management training starting tomorrow that
should last 2 days located in this truly beautiful, upscale, posh
resort hotel located on the seaside in Rabat. As custom when you
arrive at check-in, you show an ID. Xavier showed them his French
National ID. « Sorry sir, we can't accept that. We need your
passport. » Whoops.
One
thing we have learned here in Morocco given crooked cops who stop you
at routine road blocks and wallet snatchers, NEVER ballade around
with your passport. We all have copies of our passports in our
wallets. However, since we got back from France last night, Xavier
left his wallet in the garment bag, upon which our lovely, high
maintenance cat, Zoé, took a vengeance on and peed inside the
garment bag soaking his wallet through, including ticket stubs for
expenses and the photocopy of his passport. He left the photocopy out
on the counter to dry.
So,
here we are at the hotel, now drinking tea that will probably cost
about 100 dhm, and still not able to get into the hotel room. Xavier
called HR at Jacobs who sent the the hotel a faxed copy of his
passport. Thank you sir, but that will not suffice. When you enter
the country, inside your passport, there is a stamp from la Douane.
We need a photocopy of this stamp. Without this photocopy, we cannot
let you have the room.
So,
does that mean, I have to drive 2 hrs back to Dar Bouazza, then 2
hours back, not including the hour drive I spent from Casablanca
today, just to have a picture of this stamp? « Yes sir. »
So,
I got kind of angry and started raising my voice a bit at the poor
guy saying « what purpose does this procedure serve? The
response in this country is always procedure. What counts is that you
get paid. He's here standing in front of you, obviously he got into
the country, that's the only proof you need. »
So,
they have a scanned copy of Xavier's passport on the internet. They
have a faxed copy of Xavier's passport, still nothing has advanced.
Driss is driving around Dar Bouazza trying to find a fax machine for
Xavier's passport. Unfortunately the stores are still closed in Dar
Bouazza.
So,
I called a friend who has a phone with a camera and internet access.
Driss is now driving to her house with Xavier's passport in hand to
take a photo of this necessary document and then email it to the
hotel. I'm sure once this is through, they will say, « I'm
sorry, we need the original. Or I'm sorry, I can't read the type in
the picture. »
Maybe
they don't like our faces? (Ils n'aiment pas notre geule) Maybe they
want a bribe? My preference is to get the manager outside and rip
his/her head off. I've raised my voice to 2 different people. No
help. The head of HR for Jacobs came and tried to resolve the issue
with all of her intelligence, class, grace and no conflict. Nope,
nothing, no help. I'm never sure how I should react. Do I yell? I
really dislike yelling at someone. Do I give them a real superiority
complex and talk to them as though they are far beneath me? No, I
don't like that either.
New
development, the email address they gave us doesn't work.
* * *
Conclusion
After
about 3 hrs, me raising my voice and getting all red in the face at
the stubborn woman in reservations, after all our efforts, faxes,
emails, etc and to no avail as to what the hek they need...Xavier
finally said, you know I've been waiting here 3 hours in your lobby
not having access to my room....
The
woman finally said « Ok, I will take full responsibility and
finished the paperwork and gave Xavier a key to his room. »
Then, she lectured him about traveling without his passport (as if
she herself owns one.)
I
left, when I got home about 1,5 hrs later, I scanned the part they
needed into the computer and emailed it to the correct address
including a heated letter of discontent. I never got a response.
When
Xavier checked out yesterday, the same woman in reservations asked,
« so will you come back and stay here again? » Xavier's
response, who could guess is « Non. »
When
I came home and told Najat of our horrible misadventure at a hotel
that is actually a palace therefore it is so high in luxury it
doesn't require any stars she explained it to me in plain french.
1
People in Rabat are racist
2
People in Rabat are afraid. The king lives there, so they will follow
everything by the book since they are afraid of getting into trouble.
I
feel that what took place is more number 2 than number one.
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