Morocco, alhamdullilah!

As I headed into security with mom waving, I don't think I've ever been more terrified to travel! It wasn't the location (which some might cite as a reason for concern), worries about staying in touch (not usually a problem for me...I always find a way) or even the language (I'm eager to learn.) It was the amount of time. I'll be gone for six months, half a year, January until July.

The first unusual thing I noticed in Morocco: the long robes with pointy hoods that men wear. They're called geballahs, although to this inexperienced, United States-born eye, they look kind of like KKK robes but in pretty colors. Needless to say, once I found out they were made of wool and perfectly normal (no political/racist statement involved) I knew I had to get one! I mean, they are like JAMIES worn in PUBLIC. I think this could be very popular back home. Kind of like the Snuggie/slanket but with a hood.

We visited the Roman ruins of Chellah today. A few guards were posted, but mostly there were no rules. We climbed all over, through staircases and down into the baths. There is both a King AND a Saint buried there, but according to Mohammed, the Academic Director of AMIDEAST Morocco, their descendants are not in power and hence cannot take care of their graves (...I'm not sure the descendants know who they are because these guys ruled in the 7th century.)

The current King's palace was right across the road but at Chellah it was the cats that clearly dominated. They are every different color and they stalk the walls and grounds of Chellah as if it had been their city all along. I counted 14 in one small area by the Saint's grave and only because I was stuck for a while; they kept slinking around my legs and fighting each other so I had to stand still. It reminded me of that Cat vs. Dog diary in which the dog is happy to do anything and the cat is plotting the overthrow of the masters. Clearly achieved that goal here.

It's cold here. The coldest it's been in 30 years, they say. My Arabic is slowly creeping out of the cobwebs and I'm enjoying the people on my program very much. Tonight we ate a fantastic Moroccan homecooked meal at one girl's homestay family, (she had been here last semester and is staying on with her family this semester) got henna tattoos and watch Moroccan musicians and dancers.

While four men in full traditional garb sang, played and danced for us, one of the children of the family, an 11-year-old Moroccan girl, played a P2P computer game about three feet away. Talk about a meeting of the old and the new, the ancient culture and the developed world! Kind of like how many of the poor families here don't have running water but they have satellite TV.

I was worried about the length of time, but when I got here I was introduced to the concept of Moroccan time. There are buses here, but no schedule and no one really knows when they will come. There are appointments made but it's not uncommon to be late because you were enjoying some mint tea with a friend. Time is a relative thing. It's relaxing. It's starting to rub off on me.

Sarah