My Marrakesh

Morocco: And more about weird me

I have been included in blog tag, which means that I am to report to you, dear readers, about nine weird things about me.  And so without further ado, here you are:

1. I have a baby picture on a camel:  I was born in Egypt and I am half Iranian. (Of note this fits into the “great accomplishments,” rather than “weird” category.)
2. I have had unusual dinner companions: I once had dinner in Iraq with a man who had recently been shot in the head.  Another dinner guest could see people's auras. (He assured me that I had a fine looking aura.  Phew.)
3. I am fascinated by witch doctors and fortune tellers: I went to see witch doctors in Benin, Togo and Senegal who did incantations for me.  A fortune teller in Nepal told me that I was in dire need of tantric sex (Gee, wonder if he was a charlatan).   Another fortune teller in Morocco told me that I needed to dig under a tree in my backyard to find my lost engagement ring; the digging produced not my ring, but strangely enough, someone else’s.
4. I have found myself in precarious situations:  I have worn a bullet proof vest and helmet as a protective measure.  I have also traveled with a tank escort. I have dressed appropriately in case taken hostage.  Maoist rebels once threatened to bomb my office, and I had to be evacuated.
5. I am interested in holistic medicine:  I once fasted for seven days in a row as part of a cleanse.
6. I don’t like snakes:  A boa constrictor was once lost in my house for three months.
7. I have a fear of driving: Two men once tried to carjack me in Namibia.  It was my automatic locks that saved me.
8. I love to be strong:  I wish I were a champion kick boxer.  I am not, but I am working on it.
9. I am familiar with my next life;-): For a monk living in a cave in Thailand, I once edited a publication on how to increase your chances for better reincarnation.

Now I must ask, have your perceptions about me changed?  Do you think I am normally weird? Or really weird  (I can hear you muttering under your breath, "Now that bit about witch doctors is really too much.  What next, Maryam?  Speaking in tongues?  Strange things with chickens?").  Regardless, I hope you will come back and knock on my Moroccan blog door again.  I am rather fond of you all, you see.

Morocco: And balloons for all!

Okay I confess, I always wanted a little girl. And yes it is true that I felt the teeniest bit of dismay when I found out I was having a little boy. I mean, what would I do with a boy, exactly? With a girl I imagined a natural complicity. With a boy….well, let’s face it, that was something else entirely…

So imagine my surprise when I found out that this boy of mine was of the most special, special variety. I suppose in the same way that all mothers find their boys to be the handsomest, the cleverest, the funniest. Tristan not only looks like an elf, but I do believe he has some kind of magical powers. He was told that the metal detector wand in the airport would beep not only if it found metal but also if there was even the smallest bit of wizard in him. And let me assure you that it did beep quite a bit. (And please don’t go telling me that was only a zipper. I bet you’re the kind of person who doesn’t believe in the tooth fairy.)

And so I would like to wish my most darling, magical boy, the very happiest of Moroccan birthdays today. I hope you have the sunniest, most baloony, most funnest, most chocolately day ever. Well just until next year, that is.

PS And I wouldn’t trade you even for a million girls.

Morocco: Nobel Prize awarded for the slipper

What's not to like about a country which raises the slipper to a higher art form?  Seriously, I think that these Moroccans are onto something.  I mean, it's nothing short of genius to develop slippers for walking outside as well as those for wearing inside.  Hooray for Morocco!  Morocco for president!  Okay, I might be getting a little carried away but surely you understand my enthusiasm.

Take a look at these white slippers on the right.  Aren't they lovely?  Two years ago, I bought ten pairs in the Marrakech souk and gave them for Christmas presents.  I wrapped them in cellophane, tied them with raffia and made special tags with images of Morocco.  I swear, I was the most popular girl that year...

Now if you can't save your pennies to come out to Morocco, you can purchase them at Vanilla Design Ltd.  Many thanks to Nordic Bedouin for putting me onto this shop.  And if white or silver are not your thing, no worries; Moroccan slippers come in every shape, color and size.  But be forewarned:  they are like chocolates;  you can't stop at just one.  Others gamble -- I Moroccan slipper (it's a verb in my case).  Will you join me in my little addiction?

Morocco: Let the building begin!

Have you ever wondered how exactly you would go about building 10,000 square feet spread over one house and two guest houses in Morocco?  You've seen our house design (in the Morocco Ta Da post below) and I can assure you that the two guest houses are also complex designs (each with a Moroccan dome).  But with a coveted Marrakech building permit in our hot little hands, the time had come for the building to begin! 

Now I admit, we were in better shape than some since Chris was an architect.  (Thank goodness I hadn't married that handsome astronomer or that charming door-to-door vacuum salesman…)  But as useful as his profession was at a time like this, it also posed some constraints.  With a professional eye, he would look at the work of some Moroccan builders and pronounce it shoddy.  Other builders were deemed completely unaware of twentieth century safety codes.  Still others were accused (quietly) of using poor quality materials.  And so it went.  I pleaded with him:  “Is this all really necessary?  We are not building the Petronus Tower.”  To which he responded:  “Would you prefer the leaning tower of Pisa?”  As far as he was concerned, this was going to our home and lodging for our guests, and as Little Red Riding Hood had surmised, it needed to be just right.  Anything that smacked even mildly of mediocrity was to be banished from the kingdom - forever. 

So after much to-ing and fro-ing, yet another enormous check was written (gulp and double gulp).  And we had ourselves a Marrakech contractor.  Rather than hire a builder to do everything, Chris decided to contract a company only for the labor.  That way he could purchase all the materials himself to ensure the very highest quality that we could afford; he was convinced that it was in the quality of materials that the builders skimped, thereby ensuring a higher profit. 

And so that’s how we have come to have 20 Moroccan workers toiling away on our land, pouring concrete and setting pipe.  Not to mention the other four workers that we have hired to build a wall around our 8.5 acres of land and olive grove  My husband leaves at the crack of dawn in his work boots and returns at night trailing in gravel.  He then promptly collapses into bed in a dusty heap of big lug. 

This all leads me to ask myself one question – and one question alone -- do we know really what we are getting ourselves into?  Oh my….