So today my ISP kicks off for real. I have a meeting with my advisor this morning, where I will ask him point blank who I should talk to because I have absolutely no idea. The task of trying to choose somebody to talk to out of the whole Ministry of Culture, and then trying to get in touch with them is daunting.
After my meeting I’m heading back to the library for lunch and Skype, and then I’m going to show up at the Archaeology Museum and start talking. I just have to be ballsy about it. When I visited it last time, there were a few guys sitting in a tiny office by the door, so hopefully I can strike up a conversation. Also today I’m going to email Hefid, the docent I met at the Oudaya gallery last weekend.
In house news, Brenda and I are apparently on the secret murder list of the stove upstairs, because we can’t manage to light it. I’ve never lit a gas stove I my life, come to that, I’ve hardly ever used a lighter in my life. Eventually we had 11 hard-boiled eggs.
Also I think I have a sinus infection. Do you know how I know? I’ll tell you: my snot is yellow. It is not fun.
Showing posts with label our house. Show all posts
Showing posts with label our house. Show all posts
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
new house
So last night was our first night in our new house. Several things went wrong. Firstly, I had to abandon my nook because it was too dusty and I would have awoken in a pool or mucus had I stayed. Secondly, the girls upstairs were being very loud. Thirdly, the gas tank upstairs was leaking, so the loud girls upstairs left the house to sleep somewhere else, lest they die horribly during the night from inhaling propane. This morning the landlord and the handyman came, so hopefully the gas situation is fixed.
The house is pretty nice; a nice price that is. It’s 625dh for 3 weeks. That’s $78. I will say though, I miss my family already. It’s that family vibe I think. Our house, because it’s 12 girls, feels more like a crowded dormitory. It’s nice to have other people around all the time, so it’s easier to make plans, get together running groups, etc.
That said the house is kind of crumbling. I mean, it’s nice for Morocco, but it’s falling apart in a few ways. The stucco on the walls crumbles off if you brush up against it. I think maybe it wasn’t left to cure long enough. I think there’s also a water leak on the second floor, because the wall on that side of the house is rather damp-looking. There are little piles of stucco in the corners. This means we have to wear flip-flops around the hose pretty much all the time, but it’s only for 3 weeks and we’re young and hardy.
Another thing I like about living apart from my host family is that I can eat whenever I want, and however much I want. We get to go shopping on Veggie Street and play at being Moroccans. The produce is very tasty and cheap, and super convenient because we just roll out of our front door with some dirhams and buy fruits, veggies, and hubs (bread). If we were so inclined we could also purchase chicken, fish, rays (the fishy kind), and sometimes shark. I suppose if we wanted a cat we could also pick one up on Veggie Street, but that wouldn’t be for eating.
The house is pretty nice; a nice price that is. It’s 625dh for 3 weeks. That’s $78. I will say though, I miss my family already. It’s that family vibe I think. Our house, because it’s 12 girls, feels more like a crowded dormitory. It’s nice to have other people around all the time, so it’s easier to make plans, get together running groups, etc.
That said the house is kind of crumbling. I mean, it’s nice for Morocco, but it’s falling apart in a few ways. The stucco on the walls crumbles off if you brush up against it. I think maybe it wasn’t left to cure long enough. I think there’s also a water leak on the second floor, because the wall on that side of the house is rather damp-looking. There are little piles of stucco in the corners. This means we have to wear flip-flops around the hose pretty much all the time, but it’s only for 3 weeks and we’re young and hardy.
Another thing I like about living apart from my host family is that I can eat whenever I want, and however much I want. We get to go shopping on Veggie Street and play at being Moroccans. The produce is very tasty and cheap, and super convenient because we just roll out of our front door with some dirhams and buy fruits, veggies, and hubs (bread). If we were so inclined we could also purchase chicken, fish, rays (the fishy kind), and sometimes shark. I suppose if we wanted a cat we could also pick one up on Veggie Street, but that wouldn’t be for eating.
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
not about much of anything
Much to relate from the past few days.
Allison, Rachel, and I went to the Exotic Gardens in Kenitra this past Sunday. They’re not really exotic gardens in my opinion because the subdivisions looked remarkably similar. In any case, they were super fun because there were multiple levels and stairs and bridges tucked into corners. It was really more of a playground. It would make the world’s best game of Hide-and-Seek.
I finally got to go up on the terrace; I went up with Hajja when she was hanging laundry. It’s a shared terrace because the house is divided into smaller apartments, and everybody gets access to the terrace. The terrace is the clothes dryer. The view is magnificent, if you can look past the roofs of the neighbors: you can see the Oudaya kasbah, the Bouregreg River, the ocean, Sale, and way up the Bouregreg valley to where the suburbs of Sale are spilling over the hillside into the valley below.
Aside from the view, I was also treated to a minor rant about Hajja’s neighbors, who don’t keep their part of the house clean enough. I think Hajja also said that the other families rent from Al-Hajj, whose house it is. Mind you, this was all in French. Al-Hajj grew up in this house.
Our house is on the Rue des Consuls, which back in the day was the only street in the entire city where foreign representatives could live. Hajja is sure my room was once the office of a diplomat. She also said that a few years ago somebody knocked on their door and asked to see the house because their great-great-great(-great) grandfather had been a diplomat and lived here
I had never really associated our house with history before. The house is old, sure, but I had never stopped to think that it had a history; it’s just the building where I live. It’s very Moroccan, living in history. In fact, that’s what I want to do my ISP about.
My friend’s host sister has started teaching a belly dance class just for us CCCL-ers. Monday and Wednesday nights we get to see just how uncoordinated we are. Personally, I just don’t think American hips can move like Moroccan ones. And talk about a workout: I didn’t even know those muscles existed. Happily there were also showers at the dance studio, as I believe my brother may have messed up our hot water. You have to turn the gas on manually here to get hot water.
Allison, Rachel, and I went to the Exotic Gardens in Kenitra this past Sunday. They’re not really exotic gardens in my opinion because the subdivisions looked remarkably similar. In any case, they were super fun because there were multiple levels and stairs and bridges tucked into corners. It was really more of a playground. It would make the world’s best game of Hide-and-Seek.
I finally got to go up on the terrace; I went up with Hajja when she was hanging laundry. It’s a shared terrace because the house is divided into smaller apartments, and everybody gets access to the terrace. The terrace is the clothes dryer. The view is magnificent, if you can look past the roofs of the neighbors: you can see the Oudaya kasbah, the Bouregreg River, the ocean, Sale, and way up the Bouregreg valley to where the suburbs of Sale are spilling over the hillside into the valley below.
Aside from the view, I was also treated to a minor rant about Hajja’s neighbors, who don’t keep their part of the house clean enough. I think Hajja also said that the other families rent from Al-Hajj, whose house it is. Mind you, this was all in French. Al-Hajj grew up in this house.
Our house is on the Rue des Consuls, which back in the day was the only street in the entire city where foreign representatives could live. Hajja is sure my room was once the office of a diplomat. She also said that a few years ago somebody knocked on their door and asked to see the house because their great-great-great(-great) grandfather had been a diplomat and lived here
I had never really associated our house with history before. The house is old, sure, but I had never stopped to think that it had a history; it’s just the building where I live. It’s very Moroccan, living in history. In fact, that’s what I want to do my ISP about.
My friend’s host sister has started teaching a belly dance class just for us CCCL-ers. Monday and Wednesday nights we get to see just how uncoordinated we are. Personally, I just don’t think American hips can move like Moroccan ones. And talk about a workout: I didn’t even know those muscles existed. Happily there were also showers at the dance studio, as I believe my brother may have messed up our hot water. You have to turn the gas on manually here to get hot water.
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