Morocco: We're back

We're back. We're tired. And we're so happy we went.

We'll write about the trip and post more pictures in the days and weeks to come. For now, however, here are some of our favorite pictures from the two-week trip.

Sunset in the Sahara

Giddyup.

Befriending the blue men guides.

Cooking on Marrakech's main square.

Rugs in Marrakech.

Tanning Fes' hides.

Cooking in the souqs of Fes.

Fes mosaic in detail.

One of Fes' main gates.

The markets - olive, anyone? - of Meknes.

Essaouria, which inspired Jimi Hendrix's "Castles Made of Sand."

Ordering lunch at a roadside cafe.

On the way to class.

The streets of Chefchaouen.

More from Chefchaouen.

Abdul's mom says goodbye from the family home in Chefchaouen.

Where do you insert the pump?

Forget Paris. We'll always have Casablanca.

marrakech day 2

day 2 in marrakech began with a tour of the souq - the maze-like market in the sprawling medina

saw everything from metalwork to ceramics to carpets to all varieties of animals - from beasts of burden hauling massive loads of goods to critters or parts of them bound for a plate somewhere for dinner in town tonight

plus we got to meet many friends of abduls

then broke off from the group for a nice lunch and people watching in the giant main square

then amy and i went to a private hammam -- a spa-like place where we had two-plus hours of steamrooms, scrubbings and massages

ahhhhh

we feel like jello

now we are hanging out at the riad before dinner

tomorroiw we drive to the coast and essouria

marrakech

we are now in marrakech
arrived here after a few days in the sahara, where we battled through some food poisoning but now we are well
had a beautiful drive through the high atlas mountains
whew
they take those curves fast
staying at another beautiful riad, a bed and breakfast type place tucked away in the bustling medina
tomorrow we are off for some more shopping in this city that has the largest market in all of africa
seth got his drum
also got a clean shave with a straight edge razor for 2.50 usd
watched drumming, snake charmers and monkeys in the square
on wednesday we head to the coast for a day on the beach
still having a great time as we near the end of the trip
cannot wait to share photos and stories
take care

Technical difficulties

The keyboards here are nuts. Because of that - and the fact we would rather go see more of Chefchaouen than the interior of one of its cybercafes, we am giving up hope of long-form blogging during this trip.

We are both keeping detailed journals, however, and will post from those upon returning.

The trip so far is better than we ever imagined. And we have great pictures, too.

The food has been amazing such as the lamb we had today where we watched the butcher cut it up. We are having lots of fun and feel safe. Our guides are great.

That is all from here for now. We are off to dinner.

Packin'

In order to pack light, I have now made three trips to Target, two trips to Columbia, two trips to REI, two trips to GI Joes, a trip to Walgreens and a trip to Safeway.

I've searched the pharmacy shelves and shoes stores for just the right medicine, shoes, and dozens of other American staples.

The absurdity of all of my shopping hit me as I spent time sighing in the aisles. I was looking for a gift to take to Abdul's parents, who will host us for a dinner in his hometown in Morocco. The typical hostess gift -- a bottle of wine, flowers, a candle -- seemed inappropriate or downright impractical.

So, I called Abdul's wife, Jenna, and asked her for a suggestion. She paused for a second, thinking.

"Socks," she said. "Something nice and warm. It's about to get cold there, and they have cement floors. Oh, and some nice smelling soap. They only sell two kinds of soap there, and one's this paste, it's yuck."

Socks and soaps. She went on to tell me that any gently-used piece of clothing would be nice to hand off to Abdul's sister.

Socks, soaps and old sweaters.

I suspect that if I showed up at an American's house with such practical gifts, I'd either make a great story for the hostess' next cocktail party, or I'd be made to feel sheepish as the socks sat on a bar next to Pinot Noir and brie. I can just imagine myself saying, "I just thought this sweater would fit you, and I'm kinda tired of it after three winters."

I expect I would be treated wonderfully with gift or no gift in the home of Abdul's parents. It's amazing, though, that socks and soaps could foster such a beautiful relationship with otherwise strangers.

I cannot wait to share a meal with them. Bowls full of food, glasses steaming with tea and baskets full of bread. And the socks and soap.
-Amy

9/11

At work, as today's fifth anniversary of the 9/11 attacks has drawn near, we've had plenty of stories about what's changed, what hasn't and what it all means.

Maybe I'm not engaged enough. Maybe I have war-on-terror exhaustion. Maybe being in Oklahoma at the time of the Murrah bombing makes 9/11 feel a little like someone else's tragedy. Maybe I hit the five-year benchmark for the OKC tragedy and realized it was just like the fourth anniversary and the sixth anniversary.

I'm not sure, but at some point, the coverage all blurs into a giant gray mass. And for me, that point had hit Saturday night as I grabbed a seat on the MAX after wrapping up another shift. I'd absorbed all I could on the subject.

Then, in the sliver of space between the wall and the seat in front of me, I saw this slip of paper:



A fitting thought for today, no?

This being Portland, it is probably someone's public art project. But however that note got there, and whatever led me to pick that seat, on that train, and to look down in that space and see it at that time, well, I'll take it.

Because, in a way, that sentiment slices through the talking heads, the politics, the madness of it all like little else. In this crazed world, we have to savor those little moments of clarity and beauty whenever and wherever they arise, be it in Oklahoma, Portland, or, next week, Morocco.

Being an editor, though, I'd suggest the present tense:

"We should live like we are skyscrapers."

15 minutes of fame

Our friends Juliana and Claire run a great new coffee/crepe shop around the corner. And at this shop, which is called Mon Ami, they have Portland's most outstanding coffee, Stumptown. And I mean "coffee" in the same way we Southerners say "Coke" when we want a Dr Pepper.

I don't drink coffee. I drink chai, which is a tea. And no matter what my friend Ellen in Denver says, it does not taste like feet. And I prefer not to think about what basis of knowledge she'd have for such a statement.

Anyhow, a local filmmaker has been at Mon Ami lately, starting work on his next documentary, which is about coffee and has the working title "Burnt Chocolate Water." Well, Amy was writing about him recently, and I went down on a Saturday morning after her interviews finished to meet her for breakfast and hangout for a bit at the neighborhood shop.

The guy was still filming and I ended up being interviewed. He now has a working trailer up for the project, and it turns out my dumb ass ended up making the cut. Next stop: Oscars.

Check it, and a link to Amy's article, out here.