The Warmth

"So don't let the world bring you down,

Not everyone here is that fucked up and cold,

Remember why you came,

And while you're alive,

Experience the warmth,

Before you grow old."

'The Warmth', Incubus, Make Yourself 1999

They say that a year into service one senses a lull, a dragging, a low point on the roller coaster of emotion that is being a PCV. After 14 some-ought months, work is routine, experiences familiar, cultural integration commonplace. For all intents and purposes, things are just less shiny and new. Thoughts steer away from immediate surroundings to ever-closer holidays and post-PCV life.

Now, I wouldn't say I've been completely enveloped by this state of mind, but I'm sure about 50% of my allocated active-imagination time most certainly revolves around the aforementioned topics. The thought of going home, being with my parents, seeing the beach, playing with my dogs, eating and drinking till my holiday heart's content - I can taste it. [Quite literally as I'm expecting to gain some serious pounds during Christmas - I'm planning on near double figures (ha, pun apparently intended).] Only 24 days until I'm free to be me. For three weeks at least.

Honestly, I don't attribute this case of cabin fever solely due to being a PCV. Being anywhere for 15 months, with only 4 days of taken vacation, will drive anyone stir crazy. As lovely a place as St Andrews was for Uni, I was itching to go home both at Christmas and summer alike. Never mind the fact Scots speak English, that I had a Starbucks in town and that some of my closest friends were at hand - I still needed out. And obviously a girl who went to Uni abroad and swiftly joined up with the Peace Corps soon after gets sick of home just the same... this roller coaster of emotion Peace Corps warns you about apparently applies to my entire life, not merely my two year stint in Morocco.

However, during a rather testing bus ride this past week - one that included a near-eighty people in a fourty-something capacity, two drunks, one crazy, ticket checkers, two fights between ticket checkers and said drunks, crying children, livestock, and an hour late, two-hour time-span on a usually one hour bus - I was truly about to lose it as homeboy in front of me would not stop turning around and unsubtly staring. Luckily, Branden Boyd and Co. came to the rescue on the good old ipod random shuffle (a serious life saver future PCVs readers) and reassured me that I shouldn't let crap like this get me down and I should, indeed, remember why I came and enjoy the warmth around me while I'm here. There are so many here who have showed me so much love and care and who are more than worth the sacrifice. I just need to recharge my batteries at home it seems and return refreshed and anew. [Shaking it off.]

Chilling Challenge

''Consider this dismaying observation: this chamber has no windows, and no doors. Which offers you this chilling challenge: to find, a way out!'' - Ghost Host, Haunted Mansion

This week is not my favourite. I'm in the midst of a pretty relentless cold, temperatures have taken a serious nose-dive, and my favourite PCV & fellow Sedona-miz-ian has abandoned me. And by abandoned I mean successfully completed his two-year service and is moving on with his life to San Francisco via Paris and Copenhagen. Jerk.

Night before last was his last in town, so we celebrated with Risotto and Key Lime pie. I made the mistake of over-pushing dessert when the poor kid had been making the rounds and stuffing his face with sweets all day. Nothing like a cavity or two as a souvenir of his stay. Any-who, in order to combat any potential waterworks, I attempted to remain devoid of any emotion. Assertively telling (aggressively yelling at) him to avoid any mention of 'I'll miss you'. I think I leaned too far that direction, as upon reflection, I think I came off pretty nonchalant about his leaving... oops. Either way, I'll miss you dude! Officially the best sitemate ever. Not that the replacement has big shoes to fill or anything...

Speaking of new guy! I got to have him, Nathaniel, & Heather (wonderful friend visiting from Scotland) over last Sunday, which also happened to be Halloween night. We had curry pumpkin soup, some pumpkin seeds, and a spectacularly carved Jack-o-Lantern by Nathaniel. It was a perfectly misty night and lots of candles, my meowing cat, and the soundtrack to the Haunted Mansion at Disneyland (don't judge me) helped set the mood. The evening was brought to a close with a group viewing of Shutter Island. Not too shabby, Halloween 2010, not too shabby at all.

Nathaniel & I

Halloween Feast

AHHHHHHHHHHHH.

Carving in Action

So after two years of hard work, it seems he did, indeed, find a way out. Well done & good luck!

That one story about my cat...

So a few of you may have heard through the grapevine that while I was up North helping out with the new staj's training, a bit of baiting and switching occurred here in Sedona-miz. It went a little something like this:

I was happily up north, in a gorgeous mountain town near Fes, enjoying my time with five bright-eyed PCTs when I get a text from the sitemate.

'So, I went to your house to borrow some butcher paper [to wrap his backpack and ship it home] and there's no sign of Jeter. There is, however, food, water, and shit all over the place. Would your family have taken him? Or should we be worried.'

Panic set in. I was about 11 hours away with only my host-sister's phone number who is currently living in Marrakech... Hmm. I text her anyways asking about my kitty's whereabouts. I text her again the next day. And again the next day. To no response. I get another text from the sitemate maybe three days later stating:

'So I'm 99% sure the cat that is now in your house is not Jeter.'

?!?!?!1alhj92i3d$!35oj3i1?!?

Right. Time to call the host-sister.

'Hey! No evil? Everything good? Thank Allah. You know where my cat might be? Nathaniel is pretty darn sure the one in my house isn't Jeter'

'Nope, it's definitely him. He just gained a lot of weight, he got really fat!'

'Where was he? How did he get out/back in?'

'He was ... at the neighbours... through a window... lots of food... scratching host-brother... I brought him back when I was home this weekend.'

'Okay, I'll trust you! See you next week, Take care of your head'

And so I then called Nathaniel.

'Um so host sis said [insert aforementioned scenario here]'

'[Guffaw] HA there is no way that this cat is Jeter, but let me know what you think when you get home tomorrow'

So I travel back to Sedona-miz, debating any and all possible scenarios of what the heck went down while I was gone. Did Jeter jump out the window in desperation due to loneliness? Due to starvation of host-family innocently forgetting to feed him? Did he scamper out the door when the opened it? Was he hiding/dead inside? Is this even my cat in my house? Why would they have switched him? Do they think it's really him or do they feel guilty for losing/killing mine? Whaaaat happened?

The bus arrives. I drag my belongings up the hill. I put the key in the door and hear a meowing on the other side. After opening the door I was face to face with one BEAST of a feline. Other than mild colour similarities, this most certainly is not my animal. This monstrosity was at least three times the size & weight of my cat, snarling, and following me around the house incessantly. W.T.F. So I called Nathaniel to help a) get rid of this grotesque freak of nature and b) find my poor little kitty. We accomplished goal a relatively quickly, disposing of the vermin just up the street. Part b proved more difficult.

It wasn't until three days later, while getting dressed for work, that I heard a familiar meow outside my window. There, in the garden, was Jeter. I booked it down the stairs, down the street, and around the corner half dressed and in slippers to grab my emaciated and affectionate little kitty.

For the record, I still have no idea what actually happened.

Jeter

The imposter.

Random McRandom

This Sunday, I'll be leaving Sedona-miz for a couple of weeks in order to help out with the new staj's training up north. Thus, my presence here in blog-land will be scarce if not non-existent. So without any further ado, and with brevity on my side, here are a few random musings over the last little while:

- The horrible sensation of spiderweb passing over my face, dragging it's sticky appendages along my cheek and forehead, has not happened in over a year. Until Tuesday. When I took a shortcut home from the Dar Chebab. One I won't be taking again any time soon.

- While bucket bathing today, I managed to get some water up my nose while rinsing off my face with my mini-rinse bucket. At first I had the usual 'gack-ahh-uckha-fmmmmmsh-sniffle-woah' reaction. Until, all of a sudden, I was back swimming in the pool with my dad, while he incessantly dunked me over and over again, until - like today - some chlorinated agua would find its way up my nasal cavity. The memory, however, was a happy one. The stinging, gaging sensation seemed to come with a side of nostalgia... sigh.

- I had my first sweet potato in over a year yesterday. It... was... MAGICAL. Why didn't anyone remind me how delectable those are? I literally, like, exclaimed out loud - to no one in particular, mind you - that this was the most fantastic thing I've eaten all month. All year, even. I mean, my God. How long does batata hlwa season last here in Morocco people? Anybody? Bueller?

- People in my town LOVE the fruit-in-baked-goods thing. It's not something you find much around Morocco, but it is obviously a good old American past-time. Banana bread, peach pies, carrot cake, zucchini bread, and today's apple cake have all been big hits with my local friends and family. However, gingersnaps have been met with some serious suspicion. Traditionally, ginger is strictly used in savory cooking here in Morocco. So for me to use it in a dessert makes them seriously question my cooking ability. It'd be like them serving us garlic-chocolate cake... or something along those lines. I hear a few other volunteers have had their communities love them, however, so maybe I just have to sell the idea better.

- For the first time in over... it's got to be at least 10 years now, my bangs - fringe to some of you readers - are finally long enough to put in a ponytail! I know, not news worthy stuff right there, but in Morocco - where showers are in frequent and styling is unheard of - this is a happy day indeed.

- A few weeks ago, the sitemate, my mother, and myself had an unlikely conversation about which Bruce Springsteen song was the sexiest... the candidates included:

I'm on Fire

Dancin' in the Dark

Fire

Though all three of these songs do carry the theme of 'fire' throughout, the latter, I feel, is the most worthy contender. I mean... C'MON people. So do any of you all out in blog-land care to weigh in on this superiorly intellectual debate? Feel free to submit your own nominations below.

This guy.

"You know the difference between you and me? I want to be the guy. You want to be the guy, the guy counts on."

- President Bartlett to Josh Lyman, The West Wing

Sometime during season 4

In addition to adding one more reason to the infinite list on why Josh Lyman and I are soul-mates, the aforementioned quote, I have recently realized, succinctly defines my current assessment of self.

Within the scope of career, of relationships, and of life, I've prided myself in being a person - that for lack of a more refined, scholastic term - gets shit done. My resume and past employers would croon over my willingness to do what others might not, to accomplish more than what is asked for, and to do it all with a smile on my face. I consistently expect myself to overcome any self-doubt and push aside any self-interest in order to facilitate the most efficient outcome for that of the greater good.

It is only recently I've been wondering to myself - why? Since a young age, I've seen myself wanting others to foster an image of me as responsible, reliable, and true to my word. In recent conversations with my best friend back in London and my current sitemate-extraordinaire, I've been challenged with assertions such as 'well, why aren't you 'the guy'?', 'what makes you feel the need to carry those expectations?' and 'why can't you just say no?'. Honestly, I'm not really sure what the answers are to any of those questions at the moment.

What I am sure of - after a year of facilitating cross-cultural communication while being a PCV, after a year of lobbying in Orange County for environmental legislation with Greenpeace, and after four years of studying International Relations at a truly international university - is that I'm looking forward to the path I've dictated for myself in being civil servant. Somewhere along the line, whether it be my parents, my superiors, or my surroundings, something has instilled a sense of duty within me I recognize I am not one to avoid.

Despite the difficult times I've been through, will go through, and most certainly am experiencing right now, it's important to contextualize those events and resolve them as not being a part of the bigger picture. F. Scott Fitzgerald once said, 'The test of first-rate intelligence is the ability to hold two opposed ideas in the mind at the same time, and still retain the ability to function.' For me to simultaneously hold the frustration, resentment, and disappointment I may feel at times with my current situation in conjunction with the perspective, hope, and determination I have to not only make it work, but to make it better, I believe speaks to what Mr. Fitzgerald was alluding to.

To put it very ineloquently - I do believe I embody a certain level of intelligence, and I want to use that power for good and not evil.

So I address this to you, future bad guys - watch out. This guy, a guy some other important guy counts on, is ready to battle.

Ps. I truly apologize for any self-righteousness or pompousness that may have come across during this entry. I simply felt compelled to put my internal mission statement to paper, er, blog.

The Times They Are A-Changin'

The October 15h issue of Rolling Stone features an interview with Obama, reflecting on the usual agenda such as the economy, global warming, and the BP oil spill. However, things you probably won't read anywhere else but RS include the following:

What do you think of Fox News? Do you think it's a good institution for America and for democracy?

[Laughs] Look, as president, I swore to uphold the Constitution, and part of that Constitution is a free press. We've got a tradition in this country of a press that oftentimes is opinionated. The golden age of an objective press was a pretty narrow span of time in our history. Before that, you had folks like Hearst who used their newspapers very intentionally to promote their viewpoints. I think Fox is part of that tradition — it is part of the tradition that has a very clear, undeniable point of view. It's a point of view that I disagree with. It's a point of view that I think is ultimately destructive for the long-term growth of a country that has a vibrant middle class and is competitive in the world. But as an economic enterprise, it's been wildly successful. And I suspect that if you ask Mr. Murdoch what his number-one concern is, it's that Fox is very successful.

What do you think of the Tea Party and the people behind it?

I think the Tea Party is an amalgam, a mixed bag of a lot of different strains in American politics that have been there for a long time. There are some strong and sincere libertarians who are in the Tea Party who generally don't believe in government intervention in the market or socially. There are some social conservatives in the Tea Party who are rejecting me the same way they rejected Bill Clinton, the same way they would reject any Democratic president as being too liberal or too progressive. There are strains in the Tea Party that are troubled by what they saw as a series of instances in which the middle-class and working-class people have been abused or hurt by special interests and Washington, but their anger is misdirected.

And then there are probably some aspects of the Tea Party that are a little darker, that have to do with anti-immigrant sentiment or are troubled by what I represent as the president. So I think it's hard to characterize the Tea Party as a whole, and I think it's still defining itself.

What has surprised you the most about these first two years in office? What advice would you give your successor about the first two years?

Over the past two years, what I probably anticipated but you don't fully appreciate until you're in the job, is something I said earlier, which is if a problem is easy, it doesn't hit my desk. If there's an obvious solution, it never arrives here — somebody else has solved it a long time ago. The issues that cross my desk are hard and complicated, and oftentimes involve the clash not of right and wrong, but of two rights. And you're having to balance and reconcile against competing values that are equally legitimate.

What I'm very proud of is that we have, as an administration, kept our moral compass, even as we've worked through these very difficult issues. Doesn't mean we haven't made mistakes, but I think we've moved the country in a profoundly better direction just in the past two years.

You had Bob Dylan here . How did that go?

Here's what I love about Dylan: He was exactly as you'd expect he would be. He wouldn't come to the rehearsal; usually, all these guys are practicing before the set in the evening. He didn't want to take a picture with me; usually all the talent is dying to take a picture with me and Michelle before the show, but he didn't show up to that. He came in and played "The Times They Are A-Changin'." A beautiful rendition. The guy is so steeped in this stuff that he can just come up with some new arrangement, and the song sounds completely different. Finishes the song, steps off the stage — I'm sitting right in the front row — comes up, shakes my hand, sort of tips his head, gives me just a little grin, and then leaves. And that was it — then he left. That was our only interaction with him. And I thought: That's how you want Bob Dylan, right? You don't want him to be all cheesin' and grinnin' with you. You want him to be a little skeptical about the whole enterprise. So that was a real treat.

Below is a clip of Dylan's performance at the White House during an event celebrating the Civil Rights Movement back in February of this year.

Full article available at: Rolling Stone

Ground Control to Major Tom

My friend Matt - whose blog can be checked out via the links on the right - recently wrote a post about competition and rivalries within the PCV community - in regards to whoever 'roughs-it' more is somehow a more valid PCV than another. I'll let you read his blog in order to weigh in on that argument, but it got me thinking how my own home stacks up against others within the PCV world.

At one point or another, every person I've spoken to on Skype has wanted a virtual tour of my home here in Sedona-miz. And though I do have internet in my house, my computer is attached to at least three cords and the telephone at any given time. Thus, not the most portable thing to lug around in a spur of the moment interest in my living quarters.

So, after doing a massive clean yesterday - which included squeegeeing water from one end of the house to the other and out through a tiny mouse hole - I felt motivated enough to do a little video tour which can now be viewed below. I apologize in advance for my utter awkwardness.

My Home in Morocco:

And for comparison's sake:

A PCV's Hut in Zambia:

A PCV's Apartment in China:

Today is a Horse of Many Different Colours

"I'm not comfortable with violence, I know this country has enemies but I don't feel violent towards any of them."

- 'President' Bartlett, The West Wing

Today began my adventure to make my way through the entire series of The West Wing. I found myself, by the second episode, physically compelled to hug Martin Sheen after hearing him speak the words above. If only every world leader felt this way.

On the ninth anniversary of September 11th, I find myself exhausted. Not by daily activities, not by overbearing responsibilities, and most certainly not by current work load (Happy L'Eid everyone!), but rather by the media coverage surrounding a certain Terry Jones and his Dove World Outreach Centre. The volume at which this has received attention is deafening. And I'm still uncertain as to how exactly the world let a maniacal, single, radical, voice speak for an entire nation.

What surely began as a Gainesville local news blip about an off-his-rocker pastor with a demented plan to mark this tragic day, the international media followed - chomping at the bit of a shock-factor headline. In allowing a minuscule fraction of radical opinion to penetrate the image of America both domestically and to the far reaches of the world, ignited an equally radical response from those nations we have already been building to resolve unsteady relations. From Pakistan to Afghanistan, burnings of American flags and effigies of Mr Jones followed mere mention of their holy scripture being torched.

With both ideologies being so utterly rash and audacious, the impulse to grab each side by the ear and drag them to separate corners permeates my instincts. The level of frustration, bafflement, and helplessness goes beyond words. Being an American and realizing these bonfire planners also call themselves American is nauseating enough. Being an American in an Islamic Kingdom watching this blasphemy on television with your Muslim family is frankly embarrassing, if not mortifying. With all the love and generosity that has been shown to me over the last year of my service, I can't imagine how some Americans are being brainwashed by such a man as Mr Jones.

He mentioned at one point that he would only suspend burning plans if he was to meet with the Imam (or Iman as he incorrectly put it) and was promised that the Islamic Centre would not be built near ground zero. To quickly list few of the infinite reasons why this completely illogical and uncalled for - the centre would be two blocks from ground zero not marking where the two towers once stood, remember that one time we had a first amendment?, the centre includes multi-faith prayer rooms, a swimming pool, a children's play space, classrooms - anything a successful community centre would have. The entire discussion over the ill-placement of this compound is beyond me.

America desperately needs to be reminded that 'It was not a religion that attacked us that September Day, it was al-Qaeda', as President Obama spoke recently. Islam is a beautiful religion. As is Christianity and Judaism. And so, this weekend marks significance in all of our walks of life. Whether it is celebrating our first year of Peace Corps service (pats on backs fellow '09 volunteers), remembering those we lost on that fateful September day, celebrating L'Eid al-Fitr and the end of Ramadan, or Rosh Hashanah and the Jewish New Year, I urge you all towards peace, love, and compassion, and at least an attempt at understanding.

Top 5...

So due to my lack of cognitive function while half-assting, this entry will be in list form.

Top 5 things that occupy my time right now:

- Finding random things to blog about (which can be counter-productive to my intelligence level... see my recent hair-related post.)

- Talking to my cat like he understands me (who else can I vent about how big a douche Don Draper is? A remarkably attractive douche nonetheless.)

- ...Watching Mad Men. I recently acquired the entire series on my external hard drive . Dangerous.

- Hanging out with the site mate. He brought me banana bread today. He made banana bread yesterday so he could bring it to me today. We literally schedule fake activities in order to occupy time. Oh, Ramadan.

- Tidying. Sometimes I just bake something so I have something to clean up. I can't wait for work to start again.

Top 5 things I google to kill time:

- http://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com/ (you're welcome.)

- http://www.2birds1blog.com/ (again, from Alli & I to you, you're welcome.)

- Things vacation related, so mostly things London & St Andrews. Just recently Paris as Alli & I are beginning to plot...

- http://www.foodnetwork.com/ and http://allrecipes.com/ to make the most of what produce is available this season.

- My favourite restaurants' menus at home. It's like food porn. I'm ashamed. Only a little though.

Top 5 foods now available at souq:

- Figs! Oh the glory.

- Melon, more specifically one we call bitekh. Not sure what the equivilent is in English, but it kind of looks like 'Hey Arnold!' 's head but yellow with parallel grooves. Delish.

- Cauliflower. The closest I or my pocketbook is ever going to get to broccoli, so I'll take it.

- Grapes. Though, if only they were seedless.

- AVOCADOOOOOOOOS. Alhamdulilah.

Top 5 newly acquired albums:

- Buena Vista Social Club - Buena Vista Social club.... what took me so freaking long?

- Otis Redding - The Very Best of Otis Redding... his cover of The Stone's 'Satisfaction' is spectacular.

- Espoire 2000 - Calculeuse - I dare you to not dance around the room you're in right now to this. I dare you.

- Gorillaz - Demon Days - I had completely forgotten how good they were. Kids with Guns strikes a chord somewhere within my shoulder-control-nervous-system. I can't help grooving along even at inopportune times. In public places.

- Edith Piaf - The Very Best of Edith Piaf - You know, preparing for my Spring Paris trip... and being Marion Cotillard in my next life. Padam, padam, padam....

Top 5 reasons I wish I had been in the states this summer:

- My brother's Anchorman themed going away party. Neat-o gang!

- Seeing Wolfmother do this. And this. A little piece of me dies every time I watch that.

- Summer + beach + booze + bbq + sports + music festivals

- I miss my dogs.

- Air conditioning.

Top 5 reasons I'm glad I was here instead:

- Avoided getting too heated over Arizona SB 1070

- Moroccan Summer Camp on the beach

- Experiencing a full-fledged Ramadan

- Hanging out with the host-family

- 4's good.

Top 5 movies I wish I could have seen in theatres:

- Inception

- Scott Pilgrim vs the World

- Shutter Island

- Alice in Wonderland

- Black Swan (but, wait, I do! I'll be home when it's still out insha'allah)

Top 5 things I hated about Sex & the City 2:

- 3 couture outfits on a camel trek? Seriously?

- The fact the whole thing was blatantly Morocco with CGI'd Abu Dhabi-ness cut & pasted into the background.

- The pretty disgraceful comments the made against Islam and the ridiculous scenes that followed them.

- The karaoke sequence made me physically uncomfortable.

- The entire thing.

Top 5 things I love about Ramadan:

- How satisfying anything and everything tastes the moment the sun goes down.

- Harira. My host-mom makes a grated carrot based version. Fantastic.

- Fish balls. My family is a big fan.

- Village's communal daylight hour suffering.

- The fact it's ending in less than a week.

Top 5 things I'm looking forward to these next few months:

- Dar Chebab opening again and more posts about actual work than what I'm biding time with.

- Helping to train the newbies once they arrive in country in a few weeks and getting to go to Fez to do it.

- Eid Kbir and all of the meat and nasty bits that goes along with it.

- Heather visiting at the end of October and the arrival of my new site mate!

- Going home via London on the 13th of December. Only three months to go.

Top 5 things I'm not looking forward to these next few months:

- Travelling out of my site A LOT and working a total of around 5 weeks in Sedona-miz before shipping out in December.

- Smelling like sheep for the month following L'Eid

- My host-sister moving to Marrakech for University... tear... but I'm so proud!

- My brother leaving tomorrow for Iraq and not seeing him for two straight years.

- My site mate leaving in November. I may or may not cry. You can probably bet on it.

Ps. Remember that one time people used to comment on my blog? Where'd you all go!

Operation New Dawn

“Operation Iraqi Freedom is over, and the Iraqi people now have lead responsibility for the security of their country.” - President Obama

Yesterday, President Obama spoke from the Oval Office to the American people, informing us that the combat mission, which has lasted for the last seven years in Iraq, is now over. After 20 months in office, the President has begun to follow through on his campaign promise. With Operation Iraqi Freedom now complete and the remainder of troops due to return by December 2011, his attention will now focus on the domestic economy and the ongoing war in Afghanistan. As of today, the majority of troops have been pulled out of Iraq, leaving nearly 50,000 in-country to help rebuild and reorganize as part of Operation New Dawn.

Source: Centcom via http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-us-canada-11147300

"We have sent our young men and women to make enormous sacrifices in Iraq, and spent vast resources abroad at a time of tight budgets at home... Through this remarkable chapter in the history of the US and Iraq, we have met our responsibility. Now, it is time to turn the page." - President Obama

Joining rank with those still stationed, my brother will be deployed next week, exactly one year to the day after my own departure to Morocco. Despite any apprehension or anxiety about my brother's deployment, this seems as good a time as any to be there. Combat having, in theory, come to a close, his role will now be to train, advise and support those of a war-torn country. It seems we may not be so far apart in job description as we once thought.

My mom always says she doesn't know what her or my dad did wrong to drive both of their kids so far away from home. I, for one, think it speaks more to what they did right.

State of the Hair Address.

I'll refer you to my favourite The Roots song in order to best appreciate this post.

So, remember that one time I've been in Africa for a year? Well, in addition to losing my ability to speak English properly and developing questionable showering patterns, I've also let my hair do as it pleases. Which means getting really effing long and returning to its natural darker blonde state. Resulting in this:

An obviously flattering picture of me giving Pete a thick-cut Mohawk

Which I was originally disappointed in letting happen. Until, wouldn't you know it, I realized my progressively darkening locks were hippest of trends back in the good old US of A. Please turn your attention to exhibit A + B:

Lauren Conrad & Kristen Cavallari of Laguna Beach & The Hills

Two fellow Orange County-ans recently sporting intentionally darker roots & lighter ends. Though this is hardly remarkable I suppose, as Southern California beach hair has almost always resembled this. But I stand by my case due to the following examples:

On set Blake Lively and Drew Barrymore

Both these celebrities are working this trend hard. And not only is Blake Lively sporting it, this photo was taken during a shoot for the upcoming season of Gossip Girl. Serena Vanderwoodsen is embracing it all the way in Manhattan, far away from the beach bum excuse in California.

So whether or not it looks good - and let's be honest, it doesn't - I, apparently, am schwiya in-fashion all the way out here in Morocco. Boo-ya.

Alli & I flashing some pearly whites.

Sur La Table

"I write. I travel. I eat. And I'm hungry for more." - Anthony Bourdain

I can't believe it took me this long to tap into the secret foodie society within Peace Corps Morocco. Within the last few weeks I've found others, like myself, who are volunteers by day - food aficionados by night. Sharing a common bond of all things Food Network, Top Chef, and Food & Wine Magazine, I've been able to let my gastronomic geek side of me run free for a bit.

For the last few nights my friend Kathryn has been staying with me and after a few dropped cues - her Marrakech article in Food & Wine, my Anthony Bourdain t-shirt, and a mutual decision to have huevos rancheros for brunch - we realized we had much more in common than we originally thought. Thus, our morning quickly turned into a Top Chef season 7 download session and a heated debate on whether Angelo, Ed, or Tiffanie was going to win.

Debate then turned to discussed frustration on the inability to cook pretty much anything seen on the aforementioned Bravo program. Any given dish on this series requires at least one key ingredient that is nowhere to be found in this village, this province, this country, let alone region of the world. If it doesn't consist of a base of onion, potato, carrot, or green bell pepper, I can pretty much guarantee you it can't be done. Don't get me wrong, I'll experiment and substitute until almost no stretch of the imagination can get you back to it's original identity, but I'll still make damn sure it tastes good.

Between Kat and another few foodies at camp, I've gotten my momentary fill of Paula Dean, Two Fat Ladies, and Tom Colicchio, followed by marathon viewing sessions of No Reservations and a late night screening of Julie & Julia.

I think I'm going to bake today.

Wet Hot Moroccan Summer! ... ish.

So after successfully hibernating in my house for 48 hours now, I have mustered the courage to combat this here blog and rejoin the land of the living. Huzzah! The need to hide out for a wee while in my humble abode was due to being on the road for just over three weeks - a little vaca, a little camp action, a little visit up to PC headquarters. The month of August had treated me pretty well, up until the start of Ramadan. With the help of some seriously sub-par food served towards the end of our camp extravaganza, my bowels and I were at war and decided to take cover once back in Sedona-miz, much to the chagrin of my host family, who has tried baiting me out of my fox hole for many a day now. Tomorrow, insha'allah, tomorrow.

Despite any gastrointestinal pyrotechnics I may have been dealing with, this last month has been one of my favourites here in country. I got to spend a lovely couple of days with some of my best friends in country down in Agadir just before camp started. We ate, we drank, we burned. Us white folks will never quite learn our lesson when it comes to pacing ourselves in the sun. Nevertheless, ice cream, cheeseburgers, and beer healed our summertime wounds and refueled our group morale just before the start of the last session of camp.

Now, I can't speak for anyone else, but I was a-feared going into session 4, Ramadan session, of camp. I'd heard some horror stories from previous sessions about inter-staff tension, inter-pcv tension, crap food, bratty city kids picking on our bled kids, the sub-par living conditions we had to look forward to. I may not have emitted it, but going in as co-coordinator of this session, I was definitely glass half empty. Hamdullah, was I wrong or what.

I don't think our camp could have gone smoother if we tried. Though there were a few minor things out of anyone's control - the barracks we were sleeping in, the humidity, and some inter-moroccan-staff issues - I can safely say all PCVs involved had a freaking blast. I couldn't believe how great the kids were during our session. With just over 80 total, half bled, half city, they got on like a house on fire and treated all of us counselors with respect and like friends. We had no issues between the most urban Casa kids and the most backwater rural kids. Everyone intensely bonded with their country teams and camp played out like we all hoped it would.

I was also pleased to find out how much I really enjoyed the company of the second year volunteers working with us. I had heard great things about all of them previous to arriving in El Jadida, but I didn't expect to bond with them as much as I did. It's a shame that within Peace Corps Morocco, we are all so separated from each other within the country. This was my first time meeting a few of them, and unfortunately, probably my last before they COS in November. A truly great group of people though, whose company I enjoyed very much - air guitar sessions, halloween dress-up, that's-what-she-said-ing, and 4am ftur-ing all included.

If you want to be in the correct mind set for picture viewing, I will refer you to these tunes as the happenstance soundtrack of summer camp:

Stromae - Alors on Dance, or what we PCVs commonly referred to as ' I LOVE DANCE ' complete with Night at the Roxbury head tilts.

Shakira - Waka Waka, this is like dance party GOOOOOLD in Morocco. This was played at least a handful of times any place I've been before, during, and after the World Cup. After learning the dance that goes along with it, us PCVs are an African force to be reckoned with.

The Isley Brothers - Shout!, us PCVs definitely performed this during the final show at camp, Duncan holding down the fort with lead vocals and us ladies working the ever present 'wooooooo' and 'shoobie doowa dowa wa wa wa'-s. Good times.

Ali, Audrey, me and Alli in Agadir

Shakira's 'Waka waka' in action

David, Alli, and myself in Essaouira at sundown

Beach time in Agadir

Beach time continued

A little Bohemian Rhapsody air guitar session never hurt anybody

Kid's lining up for announcements

United Arab Emirates Club in action

Legit boy band status during 'spectac' our last night at camp

Most of the PCV staff involved in session four

Rrose Selavy

Prepare yourself for a totally un-related to PC rant.

I had an unfortunate run-in with this yesterday. At an exhibition entitled 'Inside/Out' held by SHOP at SHOWstudio.com, Lady Gaga decided it was her place to contribute an original piece to an exhibition that focused on 'the idea of seeing inside ourselves, using body parts and internal organs as visual imagery'. By simple description of this show's expectations, it seemed appropriate enough Gaga could contribute some wack-a-doodle something-or-other with enough shock value to satisfy the press. However, she decided to tread on dangerous territory, one close to my heart.

Gaga took it upon herself to mimic and/or mock my favourite artist of the 20th century, a one Marcel Duchamp. Duchamp was a driving force behind the Dada movement, which thrived around the time of the first World War, roughly 1916-1922. An artistic, social, and cultural phenomena which was mostly labelled as irrational, illogical, and anti-art, was in my opinion, largely underestimated in it's intelligence and wit, Duchamp displaying both these qualities at their finest.

Though The Fountain of 1917 was never my favourite Duchamp piece ('The Bride Stripped Bare of Her Bachelors, Even' of 1915-23 (one which he wrote an extraordinary book analyzing) and 'Etant Donnes' of 1946-66 would hold that honour), the role it played in identifying what made art art, was crucial to what would come after it. By taking an everyday urinal, turning it on it's side and choosing to have it serve a different purpose, gave it it's freedom to become something else entirely. In his own words:

"Whether Mr Mutt made the fountain with his own hands or not has no importance. He CHOSE it. He took an article of life, placed it so that its useful significance disappeared under the new title and point of view – created a new thought for that object." - Marcel Duchamp, 1917

The historical importance of it's creation was the most significant definition of art qualification until Brancusi's 'Golden Bird' of 1926. In short, Brancusi's sculpture had been sent to a buyer in America and was highly taxed due to it being deemed an import of raw material rather than a tax-free import of art. Thus, igniting a further dialogue of what qualifies art as being art. A mission Duchamp fought for the duration of his career.

So, as long winded as my point may be, for Lady Gaga to have the self-righteous arrogance to write 'I'm not fucking Duchamp but I love pissing with you' on the side of rotated urinal is just ridiculous. What's more frustrating is to think that if it had been someone else, anyone else really, Duchamp may have gotten a kick out of it himself. He was a fan of manipulating other's work after all -L.H.O.O.Q of 1919 - but this dumb pop-star I'm sure knows nothing of his career besides this single shocker, which I'm sure she's only seen on a postcard in a gift shop somewhere. I'll refer you to a few posts back when I displayed another one of her 'inspired' references.

Anyway, listen here Gaga, stick to your music. Keep dancing around in malleable pvc, making out with Alexander Skarsgard, and dying your hair until most of it seeps into your brain. I'm down with that. Just leave physical art out of it. It's not your forte. Leave my Marcel alone. Thank you.

Gaga's poor interpretation

Duchamp's The Fountain - 1917

Happy, happy, joy, joy.

I don't know how to pin-point it exactly, but I am one happy camper today. Could have something to do with this spectactular iced latte I've made myself (thank you Miss Allison Moss for the fantabulous suggestion), or maybe the couple of beers I had poolside yesterday? Fresh laundry on the roof drying? Hot but breezy weather whooshing in my bedroom window? Whatever the cause, it is a welcome change from the gloomsville mood I was in last week. Mrhaba crazy grin.

One thing that has put in me in this joyous mood is the state of all of my close friends' relationships. As a bit of background, starting around February, it seemed as if everyone I knew was getting engaged. Mind you, this is not an exaggeration. Literally all but one of my flatmates from University had rings on their fingers within weeks of each other. Then others slowly followed the trend, and before I knew it, as of today... nine of my uni friends are engaged. Not to mentioned the few that are already married, a couple that have kids, and some who've been together as long as I've known them. Just recently a friend shared with me she's picking up and moving country, making the good old grand gesture to be with her fella. Others just returning from a Filipino engagement extravaganza. And even though I live as far away as Africa, they continue to make the effort to keep me in the loop and involved in all of their romantic life-changing bliss. Which, by the way, this girl needs when her closest male companion is a dumbass, albeit goodlooking, kitten named Jeter. I'm so genuinely happy for all of you. Despite the initial questioning of my life choices (what the balls am I doing in a rural village in Africa? My friends have real jobs and fiances! I need to shower more...) I couldn't be more grateful to have what little involvement I do in my friends' happiness.

Another endorphin stimulator can be attributed to the brewing vacation plans I have for the rest of my service. Given I've only taken one out of country trip (6 days in London) and one in-country stint (3 days at Gnaoua), that leaves me with... 15 days for this year and all 24 for next. That's 39 days of awesome to look forward to. 20 of those are going to my Christmas trip home. Well, technically 13 will as I'm spending a few days before and a few days after (through New Year) in London. Yay! I had contemplated not going home, and then only going for a short while. But as it's recently been decided my folks won't be heading out here next year, I decided to spend more time with them now. Plus, the brother will be in Iraq starting September, so I think a good dose of their daughter will do them good.

As for next Spring, I'll be heading to East Africa! After almost being wooed into a West Africa trip with Felicie (which I would have loved to do) an old friend from London told me he got a placement doing economic development work in Ethiopia starting this September. Ding, ding! We have a winner. So slowly but surely, I'll be convincing Ravi to not only let me visit (luckily the invitation was there as soon as he found out), but to accompany me through Kenya to Uganda and Rwanda, ending up in Burundi where his friend also has a placement. Let the plotting begin. I couldn't be more excited to cross some of my 'top 10 countries to visit' qualifiers off my list. Long has this little girl dreamed of going to Uganda and Rwanda, so if any of you have contacts, friends, or know other PCVs there, let me know! I'd be more than grateful.

The last bit of my vaca time will be a week at the end of July in Scotland for my best friend's wedding. I couldn't be more ecstatic for something that is, well, almost exactly a year from today. I could get all gushy about how much I love them and how I'll be able to see all my uni friends as this will be a reunion of sorts, and what I'll be wearing and... but I'll save that as I'm sure they'll be many future posts including those details and emotions as the time gets closer. And though it is a whole year away, I've been in Morocco for almost a year now and that time has seriously flown, so I'm sure it'll be here before I know it.

So as thrilled as I am to be in this oven of a country right now, times do get tough, so I'm happy to have these check points to look forward to. It makes the isolation seem less lonely and the time here less infinite. Now all I have to do is get my friends to cement their plans to come out here. Though as of last night, my good friend Heather will be coming at the end of October, so three cheers to that!

Wedding Season

I'll have you know that while sitting on my bed typing this, I have sweat dripping from the back of knees down my thighs, from my neck down my what passes as cleavage, and from the small of my back down, well, just down. I have two frozen water bottles at my sides and a fan about 12 inches from my face. Hello 110 degree late afternoons in Sedona-miz. Which to be honest, isn't all that bad, I just need to wash my clothes (and sheets) way more often. However, it's the nights that are the real killer, it only gets down to about 90, mid-80s if we're lucky. Though, unfortunately, I don't have the worst of it. Those volunteers further south than I, over the Atlas, are at least 10 to 15 degrees hotter than we sort-of-south folks. Tip of the hat to their survival techniques.

Anyway this past roasting mid-July weekend was a whirlwind of activity that has now, alhamdulilah, come to an end and will be followed by about three weeks of pretty much nothing before camp begins. Las week I was invited along to my host-cousins wedding in a tiny, like 10 house village east of Marrakech. We arrived Friday morning welcomed buy numerous Aunts and small children all lounging around the house chatting and catching up on the latest gossip. After copious amounts of (mostly bread) eating the Henna application began, done by a special lady hired in for specifically 'Mrrakshi' henna - a more angular, detailed pattern than the traditional flowery, curvy design you typically see. We then napped, ate, and food prepped through the super toasty afternoon before heading out on a walk around the village.

A few of the children, my host brother, host aunt, and host cousin walked me around the property and to the various wells and water sources. It was a perfectly beautiful evening in the middle of nowhere and I thoroughly enjoyed the company. When we returned to the house I was hoping for a quick dinner and maybe sleepy-time as we'd woken up at 6am that morning in preparation to leave. No such luck as more arrivals would be coming through the night and dinner was to be had at midnight... or only 11pm old-time as that's what this particular village runs on. As you would expect, being tired, hungry, and sweaty, I had my grumpy pants on that evening and was slowly losing my ability to keep my game face on. As midnight approached the kind women were beckoning me to sleep on their laps outside on the floor as we waited, I politely declined and attempted the perma-smile until sleep.

Once the food was consumed and I was allowed to retire to the salon and a welcoming ponj, I realized I was not alone... not only was there a frog attempting to share my room with me, a black massive bug/scorpion/beetle thing was attempting to share my bra. I'm well aware there's room down there for the little guy, but a 1am freak out as I'm squealing and shoving my hand down my mumu isn't the kind of goal 3 cultural exchange I was planning on. Bleurgh.

As the sun rose on wedding day I awoke to 40 chickens being gutted and cleaned outside the window, assembly line style by the women of the family. I nudged my host brother, asleep at my feet, and we stumbled out of the sauna-esque room towards the coffee. Once awake and dressed I had the honour of accompanying the bride to be with a couple other lady family members to the coiffeurs to get their hair and makeup done. After a two-hour set back (another wedding party was already in there) and a quick nap at her aunts, we returned to the glory of Moroccan nuptial preparation.

Now here might come a controversial statement: I can't stand the traditional Moroccan wedding get-up. The Korean drag queen make-up, the alien bee-hive, the gold-painted (note: not gold-plated) plastic tiaras... it kills me. Moroccan women are some of the most beautiful women on the entire planet, my host cousin seriously one of the most beautiful among them, so to have her be slathered over with layers of whitening foundation and cheap tranny eyeshadow? Breaks my heart. This day should be about looking your most beautiful in front of all of your family and new husband to be, not looking like a paint-by-number sheet filled in by one of those 'talented' Asian painting elephants.

Anyway, after finishing up at the salon, we returned to the house to find at least a hundred more people there than when we left, and lots of getting ready happening every where. After a minor freak-wind-storm accident (orange-mocha-frappaccinos!), we got dressed, ate some deliiiiiiiiicious food (I LOVE Moroccan wedding food) and then we pretty much danced until dawn. Amidst at least five costume changes from the new couple (love that tradition), the family dragged my butt up to the dance floor, and much to the surprise of the locals, white girl has got some moves! After being mostly ignored for the first hour by the 300 some-ought guests there, this girl busted out some butt moving and shoulder shimmying and was swiftly passed around like the neighbourhood bicycle. Everyone wanted a piece. So, thus, by 5am I was ready to kill myself due to exhaustion and dehydration and was happy for the hour and a bit direct car ride home. A car that actually had seatbelts! Which I ignored so I could lay down and get some much needed shut-eye before arrival back in Sedona-miz. As, wouldn't you know, we had a soccer camp to hold that afternoon... Stay tuned for an update on that.

Official moment as he slips the ring on her finger

Host cousin, host sister, happy couple, myself, and host aunt during celebrations

Host brother strolling through the family land

Brother and I amongst the (not-so) wildlife

Hanging out around the house courtyard

Magical Musical Moments and Creepers

Quick timeline of events since last update: hike with family to local village, Brendan visiting site, Yorda visiting site, Gnaoua music festival in Essaouira, Yorda in Sedona-miz for three days, safi.

Let's start by discussing travel day 1 to Essaouira. Which begun promptly at 5:15am. My naive little brain assumed when I set my alarm for just after 5 am that morning, that the sun would indeed be up. Yeah, no. Negative. Big fat nuh-uh. Dragging ass out of bed before the sun takes some serious dedication to get to the beach by noon. After installing a quick caffeine IV (read 'eye-vee', not 'the fourth', as I have no idea what caffeine the fourth would be in reference too...), I rounded up the troops (Yorda) and we walked down to the bus stop with only minor delays - mint sellers & a pack of about 15 rabid dogs ready to eat my well-defined calves for breakfast. We made it to the stop safe & sound, bright & early, and apparently with 'harass me before dawn' written on our foreheads.

Okay before I give you the deets on that story (which, let's face it, you're dying to hear), I'm going to break down what follows into individual anecdotes: a few music related, a few harassment related. Enjoy.

Harassment: So we're chillin at the bus stop, a couple local girls hovering near us, communally yawning and squinting as the sun comes up over the mountain. Enter two douchebags stage left. Let's recap: 6:00am, rural village, bus top, Yorda & I, douchebags. Usually my 'screw you' armour is up, but seriously, at this hour, I was not with it enough to give half of a shit. I would have probably let Rodney Dangerfield, Gary Busey, and Hannibal Lecter have carte blanche with me, and I probably wouldn't even have noticed. These guys were persistent little buggers, however, literally not shutting up or moving more than a foot away from us for like twenty minutes. It was so annoying it drove me to take a transit instead of the bus for the first time ever having been in site for over eight months. In summary: it sucked.

Music: Anyway, we get to Marrakech and aim to get a CTM bus from Marrakech to Essaouira. After people watching for about three hours (we had arrived just before 8 hoping for an earlier bus... kill me) We hop on, three ladies in tow (Sarah has joined us by now), and we have the pleasure of sharing the four hour journey with the loudest, highest, drunkest Moroccan teenagers available in Kech at that hour. Ugh. So after about three hours of nauseating hell (not all due to the gentleman company... I attempted reading for more than 5 minutes... bleurgh. You think my childhood would have taught me a lesson on car-sickness), Yorda and I hear something in the distance... is that?.. there's no way... is that 'Like a Prayer' on Moroccan radio?! So after the initial 3 seconds of pure tear-filled joy that came out of this sound-bite, it occurred to me that 'could it be? could it beeee?? is that Lea Michelle???' I looked at Yorda with glassy, raised eye-browed, puppy dog eyes searching for conformation, when, in unison, we both squeal 'It's Kurt!' God, in recognition of the douchebags he placed on our bus, threw us a proverbial bone with the Glee version of Madonna's classic. Alhamdulilah.

Harassment: Fast forward to bus ride home from Marrakech to Sedona-miz after Gnaoua (you'll get a post on solely the festival soon enough) and the serious CREEPER whose memory has kept me up at night the last few days after returning home. Right, so Yorda and I sit together on left side of bus. Insert creepster old man in brown jilaba and straw hat to my right. Sitting in the seat across the aisle, yet not facing forwards. Facing me. Turned sideways. About 12 inches from my face, leaning in for a good look. For thirty minutes. Mostly, I found that more funny than anything, playing the game of not looking him in the eye and completely ignoring his existence before the major mid-stop between Kech and my town. So when half the bus exists at this stop, he makes some moves and sits behind me instead. Then leans in between Yorda and I to get a good perspective on the left side of my face since obviously it's completely different from my right. He leans back, scoots over a seat and proceeds to hump the back of my chair. Yes, you read that right. He literally pulsated his knee/groin/fist/all of the above against the rear of my seat for a good few minutes before I grabbed Yorda's arm and drug her across the aisle into seats far from the super-perv and his thrusting something-or-another. The guy kind of freaks out and starts swiveling his head to and fro to get his view back, when he decided to move AGAIN. Up two seats so he could turn around and stare at us backwards. Obvi. Welcome to my life in Morocco.

In short: I've decided my kind of harassment is sort of different than other PCVs. I understand the annoyance and fishbowl-ness and disgust that comes with the 'gazelle' 'oh beautiful' 'i want to love/marry/f**k you' quotes thrown at you at a daily/hourly/minute-ly basis, I get that from time to time too. But I get the dudes that I swear are planning my demise in their mother's basements. Guys who don't say anything, just follow me with their uninterrupted stares like those damn statues in the haunted mansion at Disneyland. They make scary movies out of the fellas I deal with down here. It's like the prologue to Dexter rather than a hashuma version of the Archie comic books. It kind of freaks me out. But I try and make light of it. Especially when I have Yorda to sit here and laugh about my sexual oppression with. Fun!

Music #2: So sitting in a cafe. Enjoying a cup a joe in Kech, people watching like it's my job (or my favourite sport, which it is), taking in the afternoon sun. When, after a round of Moroccan pop I couldn't (and won't) tell you anything about, the most hashuma song I've ever heard in my LIFE comes on. Flash back to middle-school: does this ring a bell?: 'my neck... my back... lick my p***y and my crack...'

Uh.

What now?

Did they just...?

That song played for the next five minutes straight. We were flabbergasted. Literally debating whether or not to tell the coffee shop staff that they should immediately stop playing this filth from their speakers. They, along with their patrons, were just bobbing along, grooving to the beat, blissfully unaware of the impure smut they were serving along side our Mochaccinos. I mean, my God.

Stay tuned for Gnaoua update & some pictures from a local mountain village hike tomorrow.

Ps. Send me a package! :)