The only real failure is the failure to try – and the measure of success is how we cope with disappointment – as we always must. We came here – and we tried – all of us in our different ways. Can we be blamed for feeling that we’re too old to change – too scared of disappointment to do it all again? We get up on the morning and do our best – nothing else matters. But it’s also true that the person who risks nothing does nothing. – has nothing. All we know about the future is that it will be different. Perhaps what we fear is that it will be the same. So, we must celebrate the changes, because, as someone once said, ‘Everything will be alright in the end. And if it’s not alright, it’s not the end.’    —The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel
I get up in the morning and I do my best.  So the turtle guy from the previous post was upset with me for not buying more.
“But I gave you a presentation and let you take my picture.”
“Yes, but I didn’t ask for the presentation.  In fact,  I asked you for the prices of the spices and you said I needed to allow you to practice your English and give me a full presentation before you could speak about price.”
I am learning to be more assertive.  My friend, Dana, who taught in Casablanca, said the most important Arab word I need to learn is la which means no.  She said as a Southern girl,  she became stronger in Morocco.  I get it. Starting with the full-court-press-souk-salesmen, I am learning not to confuse assertive with being rude.  Not to be talked into something I don’t want.  To walk away if the price is too much.  To buy from the guy who doesn’t push, who will take a fair price.  Not the guy who pushes, then acts offended when I don’t buy.  In the souks you can see how leather goods, textiles, many home goods of quality craftsmanship are made. I’m learning the difference between the real deal and the imitation.  And rule-of-thumb is start by offering 1/3 of the price they ask.  Dealers expect to haggle and will finally ask for you “final price.”  If they want too much, walk away.  They will usually follow and offer a better price.  Thankfully I was warned to agree on a price BEFORE shooting a picture of the snake charmers. I left the souks on Friday after one of the five calls to prayer.

The Kautoubia Mosque in the medina (old city)  holds 20,000 people for prayer inside and 20,000 outside on its plaza.  Many of that number were exiting as I caught a cab.

Many have asked me, “Where is Morocco?”  Slightly larger than the state of California, it is located in North Africa. The country borders the Atlantic Ocean at its west and the Mediterranean Sea in the north. Approximately 31 million people live in Morocco, of whom 99% identify as Arab-Berber. More than 98% of the population identifies as Muslim.  There are over a million people in my city. Following the Arab conquest of North Africa in 788 BCE, Morocco was ruled by Moorish dynasties for centuries. Marrakesh, known as the “Red City,” was founded in 1062 as Morocco’s capital of an empire spanning from Spain to Senegal.   Moroccan sovereignty steadily declined beginning in the late 19th century, when Spain occupied northern Morocco and instigated a European trade war. France ultimately dominated, and imposed a 44-year protectorate over the country. Morocco regained its independence in 1956. Today, the country is a constitutional monarchy. The Moroccan dialect of Arabic, Darija, is commonly spoken, though Modern StandardArabic is the official language. Much of the population also speaks French. Many Moroccans also speak a local dialect of Berber. In the 1960s the city became known as the “hippie mecca” which attracted music legends like The Beatles and The Rolling Stones.  Today my city, consisting of a walled imperial city (the medina), and an adjacent modern city, known as the “Ville Nouvelle,” is the main tourist attraction in the country. After hours in the souks, I checked out the Plaza–the new city shopping district a 10 minute walk from my home in the Guéliz district.  I didn’t buy anything since prices here are “American.”  Just wanted to feel comfortable moving through my new city solo.
 I followed the scent of grilled meat to my neighborhood and had brioche and the ubiquitous french fries.  Funny that I had always thought of “french fries” as not French, but American fare.


My lunch companion napped under my chair.  Cats are EVERYWHERE here but dogs are few which is why I left my darling Ella (rescued yellow lab mix) with Mom.  Living on the third floor (technically 4th since the ground level is floor 0) and my work schedule (gone until 4:30 PM) would not have been best for Ella.  She and Precious the Persian are getting royal treatment with my mom, and Mom’s doctor told her today they are good medicine for her. So after Cindy’s Amazing Adventure–first day on the town solo–I went home to my apartment, a cool oasis in the city.
I recovered the Moroccan couch with a piece of fabric I bought in the souks.  I was hoping to buy a pre-made cover and pillows to match but apparently the fabric is sold and tailors do the sewing.  This is my living room.     So far CNN is the only channel I’ve found that has tv in English. Below is  the view from the balcony off the living room.  On a clear day I can see the Atlas Mountains.     My neighbors below have a pool.This is the balcony off of my bedroom.  I look forward to adding flowers and a chair once the weather cools off enough to enjoy it. I pretend I’m Diane Keaton in Something’s Gotta Give writing with a view. Cooking with propane gas indoors is a first.  I like it. My friend, Pablo, friend and DJ at my Bon Voyage Party wanted me to remember my hometown. My first experience with the washing machine involved two hours and a lot of soap suds for one item of clothing.  I couldn’t read the buttons so had to wing it.  I look forward to decorating the apartment, but with a long time to do it, I am taking it slow, adding only what I love. Maybe a Moroccan wedding quilt or silk comforter…artwork…lanterns….many possibilities in the miles of souks. Saturday the school provided a tour of the souks and other landmarks. Below, our Moroccan guide showed us the Jewish quarter and explained that Muslims in Morocco have lived at peace with Jews and Christians for centuries. In fact, only one Koranic school of learning still exists in Morocco to avoid conflicts over religious belief; it is in Fez.   Berbers, considered the “first Moroccans” wear traditional dress in the Square.     Spice souks in Jewish quarter     We took a tour of the Bahia Palace and gardens.  Built in the 19th Century by a sultan for his harem, it is still a royal residence when the king chooses to use it.  Morocco is a country lush with spices; lime, orange, and olive trees. Our guide took us through the souks to Ben Youssef Madrasa, a former Islamic college founded in the 14th century.  It is now a historical site.  Built of cedar, marble and stucco, the courtyard is surrounded by small windows of dormitory cells for students who lived there.   Below is the Shell of Santiago, a Christian symbol of St. James’s spiritual journey (Camino de Santiago) and Jesus as explained by the Quran– a prophet of Virgin birth but not the crucified son of God (thus, no cross). After the tour I had lunch with the Woods family at a cafe down the street from my apartment and around the corner from the plaza.  I went alone to the mall area as I had done on Friday to buy a purse to hold my hat (a must for me here), my camera, my small purse.  I didn’t feel like a tourist anymore.  All the women I’d seen shopping the day before had chic purses and clothes; the neighborhood was built by the French and the French sense of style is big here.  I found one I liked for a good price so I strapped it across my body for the walk home just to be safe.  I was feeling all Gigi- in- Paris/Audrey- Hepburn- Happy when two guys on a motorbike drove up on the sidewalk straight at me. They cut across me and it seemed they hit me in the throat as they yanked my purse.  I realized later from the red strap mark I had been clotheslined by the purse strap. Thankfully I yanked back and they didn’t get it.  I screamed as they zoomed off out of frustration, anger, fear.  I looked around and saw only one other person–a man stopped at the corner on a motorbike.  He stared at me and I wondered if he was with them, if he’d circle back and rob me.  I stared at him, then started walking home, looking back to let him know I was watching him.  He drove on.  I was shaken but felt protected. That night I didn’t go out.  I went up.  Tomorrow I’d take a cab to the plaza and buy a picture frame so Taylor and Cole would be on my desk as I wrote.  I’d get a shade for my bedroom ceiling light, a pitcher and glasses.  I’d take the suggestion of a colleague who also loves spicy food and eat at Wok to Walk.  I’d get teary eyed when the American music they play is a song my daughter loves.  But that first Saturday night, one I’d normally spend with friends or family, I’d take the elevator to my apartment complex’s rooftop to watch the sunset.  To thank God for protection.  To look at this city He loves, and as the Call to Prayer sounded around me, pray I’d see the good and the bad through His eyes.  That I’d learn valuable lessons.  That I’d grow stronger and come to love this new place, too.

All we know about the future is that it will be different. But perhaps what we fear is that it will be the same. So we must celebrate the changes. Because, as someone once said, everything will be all right in the end. And if it’s not all right, then trust me, it’s not yet the end.
—The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel
 Never lose your childish enthusiasm and things will come your way…Unthinkably good things can happen even late in the game. It’s such a surprise.—Under the Tuscan Sun
I am in Marrakesh. I arrived Tuesday on Royal Air Maroc. As I waited for take off from JFK last Monday, tears flowed. For the first time since April, my To-Do List was done. I’d packed up my classroom of almost three decades. I’d cleaned out, made improvements, and boxed up the home my children and I lived in for 21 years. I’d weighed my luggage obsessively and completed the immunizations and paperwork required to live in Africa. I’d said goodbyes. Hard ones. The kind that make you wonder why you started this journey in the first place.
It seemed the pain of leaving loved ones was too great, our bonds too strong for me to take flight. As I texted my sister the final farewell, tears dripped into my lap. I resisted all that was already set in motion, but the plane, stronger, thundered into the sky.
“I know how you feel,” the beautiful lady sitting beside me said softly. “I cried all the way from Miami to New York. My son is in university there where I have been visiting him.”
“My son is in college, too; and my daughter is starting a new job today. I hate leaving them.”
She understood. Completely. She, too, teaches in an American school. She is from Rabat, and her husband, a university teacher, is from Marrakesh. The next morning she helped me get through Customs  and we exchanged information as colleagues- now- friends.
In the seat in front of me was another kind stranger. While texting my sister my glasses had fallen from my lap and someone had stepped on them while boarding the plane. While he and his wife were busy juggling three small children he found them, bent with a screw missing, in the aisle. He tried to fix them for me though he had his hands full–literally.
When I landed Tuesday morning, my driver, Younes, took my luggage and led me to the van. With the enthusiasm and smile of Sonny in The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel he welcomed me to Morocco: “You are not a tourist. This is your home. What do you think?”
I saw the bluest sky, palm trees swaying in a slight breeze. I said it didn’t feel as hot as everyone warned. He laughed, “That’s because we’re in Casablanca near the sea. Marrakesh will be different.”
We rode about an hour and I learned he worked for a tour company and had led excursions throughout Morocco. He spoke multiple languages and previously worked as an entertainer for Club Med. Among dances he performed and taught tourists was salsa. We stopped at a rest stop where he bought me a coffee. As we sat on the patio surrounded by Moroccan families on holiday, the school called to say a colleague’s flight had changed and we needed to go back for him and his family. Something told me they were my neighbors from the seats in front of me. I was right.
And to quote Bogey of the family I spent Week One with and our new city… “I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

We hailed two petite taxis and set out for Marjane–the Marrakesh version of Walmart– to set up households.  An inner mini meltdown began somewhere between the cookware and cleaning supplies aisle.  I’d cried on the plane and a couple of times those last weeks before the flight wondering why I’d leave such a great life–family, friends, and a home I loved.  I’d given away and packed away a lifetime of household goods.  I’d embraced the book on minimalism my brother-in-law, Jeff, gave me, Everything That Remains.  So why was I now buying the very things I had taken out of my bags because of weight restrictions–the very things I already had?
More than that, I feared I wasn’t ready for a new home.  I’d watched the first half of Under the Tuscan Sun the night before and like Frances, was wondering what in the world I was doing.  As we left Marjane, crossing the massive parking lot and streets to check out Kitea–Marrakesh’s Ikea–my doubts melted.  Because I melted.  Forget Frances.  And forget the looking- like- Kristin- Scott- Thomas- in- The- English -Patient-thing I’d envisioned, all gorgeous in the Sahara, sheer veils flying behind her/me in the breeze.  In that heated moment I longed for her cool cave but instead was Ralph Fiennes, trudging along beet-faced across the desert.  We all fell into taxis and headed home.
Hours later I was in another movie, the movie of Morocco.  (By the way, I chose Morocco as top of my Bucket List for many reasons–a colleague which had taught here and loved it; a school with a vibrant academic, collaborative, close community; expenses paid to allow saving money; a history dating back to the first century; the souks; the camel excursions/campouts in the desert; the proximity to Spain where dear friends live and affordable travel to all of Europe via its Ryanair hub; the food and friendly people; the French influence; the creative culture that drew the Beat Poets and music legends of the 60s.  And then there are all the legendary movies made here: Indiana Jones, Star Wars, Gladiator, as well as parts of Captain Phillips, Inception, and Sex and the City II (filmed in the souks and the Taj Palace).  The Marrakesh Film Festival, which has  honored such actors as Juliet Binoche and drawn icons of Hollywood, is second only to Cannes in these parts.)
We’d freshened up and ate where our colleagues recommended at the end of our street, Casanova’s.  And while I love all-things-Italian, it seemed more like Rick’s Place.  All was right with the world again.










 



 


 













Time to stop now because tomorrow I start school.  New teachers will be picked up on the school bus (a coach tour companies use in the US) for inservice.  More on my apartment, the weekend, and my first day of school later.