Ramadan
Promenading in Tangier (Sam is Exiled from Hotel Batha)
With only one or two days left in Ramadan (depending on how bold the new moon is feeling), we decided to celebrate Eid in Tangier. Partway through our train ride I learned that the word cabina does not mean a 6-person compartment, but rather a 1-person toilet. After asking a young lady if there was room for me in her bathroom, I was kindly shoved into the lavatory at the end of the car by her livid husband. What I encountered might have once been a bathroom facility between the years 1975 and 1976, but its current state should only be assessed by the Center for Disease Control’s bio-terrorism unit.
FLASHBACK TO FEZ: Meanwhile, in a 5-star hotel bathroom 350 kilometers away, a Fulbrighter named Sam is being asked to leave the premises, permanently. Sam has avoided his host family’s Turkish toilet for over a week now. Instead, he strolls unceremoniously into Hotel Batha each morning as if he were meeting an old friend for coffee. A casual bystander would note that Sam even glances around the lobby with a slightly raised unibrow, in hopes of spotting said acquaintance. On this particular day Sam has no time for theatrics. His dinner has been plotting its escape all night.
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McDonald’s aka MACDO’S
During Ramadan the door to McDonald’s in the New City reads: No Muslims Allowed. We visited one afternoon in hopes of satisfying a sudden desire for Oreo McFlurrys. I spent perhaps 6 or 7 minutes studying the menu. They had steak fries and a sandwich called the McArabia: a lamb meat patty served in a pocket pita with vegetable stew dressing. But, what really perplexed me was the Chicken Mythic. It looked exactly like the McChicken but cost 20 Dirhams more. Andrew bought one and I got the other. The difference? A slice of cheese! I ask you, does cheese really make a sandwich Mythic?
First week in Fez, Second week of Ramadan
Usually at 5pm during the holy month of Ramadan most Moroccan cab drivers are on edge. I hear it’s even worse in Cairo. Fasting isn’t so bad. Not smoking is another matter. The combination of stress, hunger, and withdrawal lead to frequent scuffles and outbursts. This phenomenon is described by the newly created Moroccan verb “t-ramdan” which is often used in the phrase “Ma t-ramdan-sh aleya!” (”Don’t Ramadan on me!”). I have decided to fast through the rest of the month for reasons that now escape me. Intensive classes in darija (the colloquial spoken here) are in full swing and I’ve moved in with a host family, The Eljai’s, in the Old City of Fez. I’m here with another Fulbrighter who we’ll call Andrew, because that’s his real name. We are frequently visited upon by a bald Parisian hairdresser named Richard (pronounced RiiiiiishARD) who runs a Bed & Breakfast next door and an eccentric couple from the U.K. who tutor my host brother and host sister in English. I like to think of my life as a Moroccan Seinfeld.
