My first day in Fez

The view from the front steps of the Student Villa
(It's a little cold to be swimming today)

I slept in until about 10am my first morning; a good 8 hours of sleep. I was feeling lazy and the rest of the villa was much cooler than my now toasty warm room so I stayed in my room to check my email and do some writing. When I was finally ready to take a well needed shower, I found the shower on my half of the villa was broken. When I turned on the water it would shoot out at me from where the hot and cold water ran together into the wall. I gathered my things and tried the shower on the other side. Luckily it worked just fine and I filled the small room with so much steam I could barely see across it. I went back to the bathroom on my side of the villa to do my hair and makeup. When I plugged in and turned on my hair dryer, sparks started to fly. I quickly turned it off and debated turning it back on to see if it would work at all. Something now rattled inside the hair dryer and I knew it was toast so why not fry it a little more? I turned it on again and I could hear the pieces inside blowing around and I could smell a little smoke. Knowing it was for sure fried I took it out to the kitchen and threw it in the garbage. I guess I was going to have to let my hair air dry on this chilly day. I finished my makeup and headed outside to sit at the table by the pool. My new best friend, an orange and white tabby cat, joined me by sitting on my lap, kneading my leg with his dagger like claws, and occasionally licking my arm. A short while later the Moroccan student, Mehdi, wondered outside and we discussed going to the supermarket for some food. I had some bread and jam before finishing getting ready. Mehdi saw my hair dryer in the trash and wanted to look at it. I plugged it in for him and this time it did nothing; truly fried. He put it back in the trash and we headed out the large wooden doors of the Fondouk to catch a cab.

The view of the stident villa from the other side of the pool

We stood on the side of the road, waiting for a petite taxi with room to fit 2 more people to pass by. The petite taxis in Fez are always red and are small, cheep, 4 door cars. Finally after about 10 minutes of watching numerous full taxis pass by, a taxi with the back seat still open pulled over. We dropped the man in the front seat off at an apartment complex before being taken to the supermarket. Once at the supermarket, we grabbed a rickety shopping cart that did not turn well. I picked out some beautiful apples and oranges, some fresh green beans and canned corn, packaged chicken, butter, pasta, tomato sauce, juice, and two large jugs of water. The water over here is generally not considered safe to drink, or at least tastes very bad, so I wanted to make sure I had enough to last a while. I wanted to buy a new hair dryer but once I found them, the cheapest one was 135 dirham. I remembered I had only brought cash, just over 200 dirham and I knew my groceries would be about 200, hopefully not more, so I decided I’d have to come back another day. As we were checking out my total came to 235 dirham, just over what I had in cash and I severely regretted leaving my credit card at the villa. I wanted to just have the apples taken off the bill but Mehdi insisted it was ok that he paid for the rest and I accepted with the promise to pay him back. Just as we were leaving the supermarket, Mehdi offered to buy the hair dryer for me as well. I said no, that’s ok, I can get one on my next trip, but again he insisted, and went and purchased the cheapest hairdryer for me. Now I owed him about 170 dirham (about $20). We crossed the street outside the supermarket with our groceries in hand and quickly caught a taxi back to the Fondouk.

My new best friend, the Orange and White tabby. I would later name him Simba.

After putting our groceries away, Mehdi gave me tour of the Fondouk’s clinic and we did the midday treatments. These treatments involved removing the feces from a donkey and a mule with a purse string suture placed around their anus due to replacement of their rectal prolapses. Rectal prolapses are commonly due to high parasite loads in equids and very little anthelminthics are used in Morocco. Warning: my posts may begin to get medically graphic after I start the real work on Monday. If you can’t handle the mental image of me sticking a gloved arm up a donkey’s butt (it would have been funny to use some inappropriate language here), then you may not want to continue following.

Some of the in-hospital patients at the American Fondouk

A short time later I made some pasta for Mehdi and I, relaxed a bit in my room, then went out to do the evening treatments. These treatments consisted mostly of administering penicillin, banamine, metronidazole and enrofloxacin to several patients and went by quickly. Earlier in the afternoon I had met Dr. Gigi Kay and her husband and they invited me to a new year’s eve party tonight. They said it would be all British people and I graciously accepted. Mehdi declined when he learned it would be all Brits. When it came time to leave shortly after nine, Gigi asked about Mehdi and sent her daughter, Saffron, to convince him to go. There were supposed to be plenty of Moroccans there as well and Mehdi joined us for the party. 

A beautiful fountain inside the riad

The party was held in a nice riad (a traditional Moroccan style house) on the south side of the medina. We drove in as far as we could, then walked through the maze of streets before we came to the riad. I learned that the riad was owned by a British couple that rented the house out for 120 euros a night (about $155), quite expensive for Morocco. The party was a great mix of culture. There was a Moroccan band as well as a large group of people that were either Moroccan, British or American. The lower level of the house was packed. Many sat in a room off to one side called a salon (like a living room), while most stood in the center of the court yard dancing to or talking over the Moroccan music that played. I joined in many conversations with several Brits, but most ended with a Moroccan entering the conversation and the language changing to French. ‘I need to learn more French’ I kept telling myself!  Just before midnight an American man approached me and introduced himself as Matt. He was from Seattle and was with a group of American students studying Arabic language and culture in Fez, many of which I had met earlier in the night. We had an extended conversation about both of our studies here in Fez and exchanged numbers so that we might explore more of the medina tomorrow. I was happy that I had met some Americans that knew the Arabic language. This would help immensely tomorrow if I ventured to the medina. Matt was full of warnings about how I might be treated as a white woman in the Medina but I knew I would be better off in a group, especially if Mehdi decided to join us. The medina is full of young men looking to give a “tour” of the medina to anybody who looks remotely lost.  They expect high prices for their simple tours in broken English and I was more interested in just exploring it for myself.  I was hopeful I would be able to do just that with Matt and some of the other American students tomorrow. At about 12:30am, Dr. Gigi and her friends decided it was time to go and we made our way back through the maze of streets to our cars and finally back to the Fondouk. After many wishings for a Happy New Year and a few good nights, I made my way to my cozy room with dreams of what tomorrow might bring.

Here is a picture of some of the Moroccan musicians at the party. Note the interesting guitar, engraved metal hand clappers, the drum sticks and the traditional Moroccan clothing. Also not the salon in the background filled with couches, the beautifully decorated wooden doors, the archway, stained glass windows, and the tiled floor. This was a beautiful example of a riad in Fez.

My Journey to Fez

               My flight to Casablanca was uneventful. The plane was filled with mostly French and Arabic speaking people. I was fortunate enough to have the Moroccan man that would have been sitting next to me ask if he could change seats with an American man so he could sit by his wife. It turned out to be a huge blessing. The American man’s name was Todd. He was from Huston, Texas and had been working in Casablanca, Morocco for six months. He was returning after a week-long visit back home to see his family. It took a while for the conversation to get started, but once it did, I found he was full of information about first time travel to Morocco; what to see, how to get around, what to eat, what to expect, etc. When we arrived in the Casablanca airport at about 3:00pm, we stood in a very slow line to have our passports stamped, and then waited for our baggage together. He helped point me to where to catch the train and even insisted I take a 100 dirham bill, about $12 American dollars, to help get me to Fez. I didn’t want to accept it but he was very nice and insisted. As I made my way downstairs to the train station, I figured they would take a credit card. I assumed wrong and needed 250 dirham to pay for the train to Fez. I made my way back up the inclined (not stair) escalators to one of the currency exchange banks and exchanged $40 for 300 and some dirham. Sliding down the escalators I made my way quickly back to the ticket booth in hopes of still catching the 4:00 train. I was a minute too late and I watched the train leave the station just as I entered the docks. I walked back to the ticket booth and told the man the train had just left so he gave me a new ticket for the next train which would leave in an hour. I was beginning to experience just some of the many difficulties I knew I would face in this very foreign country.

In the meantime I found a bench seat near some women and as soon as I sat down the young woman next to me started talking to me in French. I understood when she asked me what my name was and I tried to explain to her that I was a student from the United States and I spoke very little French. When I told her I spoke English and a little Spanish she perked up and said she was from Spain and she was traveling to Marrakesh to see her husband. I explained in broken Spanish how my husband and I had honeymooned in Malaga and traveled to Sevilla and Granada. She said she was from a town near Granada and then started talking about other things I didn’t understand. I wasn’t even sure she was talking in Spanish anymore as her language began to sound more French and she had a very soft voice to begin with. I must have gotten a confused look on my face because she stopped, smiled, said a few more words that I assumed were asking me if I understood, so I shook my head no and she paused before starting to translate in basic Spanish and a few English words. We had a bit more small talk before another French woman sat down and she began to talk to her. The Spanish woman later offered me a cookie and in no time it was time to board the train. I sat first class across a small table from the Spanish women. We had some more small talk that I was lost for most of, but she was very helpful in making sure we both got off at the Casa Voyagers train station where we would catch different trains to our final destinations. I waited about 45 minutes for my train to Fez to arrive. In the mean time I walked up and down the station a few times, looking for a place to buy a SIM card for my phone but found none. There was one room where men were worshiping and calling praises out loud and I remembered I had read that Friday is the Muslim holy day and I doubted anything would be open today. As I stood waiting for my train I felt like a shiny penny in a sea of brown fish. I stood out immensely in this crowd with my pale skin and my short red hair. Nearly everybody had a look at me as I tried to stay out of the way against a pilar. I think some people would even pretend to wander down the tier just to get a better look at me, an alien in their world. This was something I was going to have to get used to. 

My second train arrived on time at 6:15 and I started the long ride to Fez. I again sat first class, this time in a single seat across the aisle from a table with four seats. I picked a good spot as women and families surrounded me the whole time. Farther back in the car a group of young men gathered and talked loudly. The babies around me fussed on and off but I was still able to catch a few short naps. I was beginning to feel very tired.

The train ride went on for what seemed like forever after all the traveling I had done. Fez was the last stop of the night and I arrived about 11pm. I was hoping to find a pay phone as my cell phone still did not work. Lucky for me, one of the train workers, a tall young Moroccan man, started talking to me as I made my way to the main station. When I asked him in the best French I could muster on the spot if there was a telephone in the station he whipped out his cell phone. Not knowing if there was a pay phone in the station for sure, I graciously accepted his generosity and dialed Gigi Kay, the director of the American Fondouk to inform her I had arrived at the train station. She sent someone to pick me up right away and told me to wait at the entrance to the station.



The train worker walked with me the rest of the way down the tier, making small talk in French that I could barely understand. He left me at the stairs that I had to go down to cross under the tracks, but then met up with me again as I was climbing up the stairs on the other side and helped me carry my bags. I waited outside the station and tried to take in some of the beauty of architecture as well as people watch. I again noticed I was being stared at a lot and finally after about 10 or 15 minutes, Simon, a veterinarian at the American Fondouk found me and escorted me to his car. 

The entrance to the train station in Fez

The Fondouk was only a short 5-10 minute drive away. I tried to observe some of the city but it was hard in the dark. I did notice a haze over the whole city that was from the diesel fumes produced by all the cars and mopeds here. Simon pulled right up to the large doors of the American Fondouk and honked loudly so the night guard could let us in. They escorted me through the clinic and into the student villa. As I entered the villa, I walked into a dinning room with the kitchen in the back. The villa had four rooms, two on the right and two on the left of the dining room with two twin beds in each. Each side had a bathroom with the toilet separate from the shower and sink. I chose a room on the opposite side from where a Moroccan student was staying. Simon and the guard woke the Moroccan student and we had some small talk in English before I got ready for bed. To my disappointment, the toilet room did not have any toilet paper. Luckily I had a few napkins with me and hoped that would get me by until I could get to the supermarket to buy some. I made by bed, changed into my pajamas, started the heat as it was no more than 60 degrees in my room, and immediately got on the internet to see if my mother or husband were online. Luckily my mother was and I messaged her that I was here safe and explained how my phone did not work. I figured out how to use MSN video messaging and it was nice to see each other. Before I went to bed, I plugged in and turned on my now dead iPhone. I connected it to the internet as well and much to my surprise, the phone found service! I texted my husband that I was here safe and told him I would call him tomorrow. Finally I laid down for some well needed rest and dreamed of what tomorrow might bring.

My flight to Paris

Heading to the security check point in the MSP airport

My parents picked me up from my apartment and drove me to the airport on the afternoon of Thursday December 29^th. They walked me in and helped me get my baggage checked. My check baggage was 56 pounds, 6 pounds over the weight limit and Delta wanted to charge me $75 if I couldn’t reduce the weight. I had six roles of duct tape in my check baggage to give to the American Fondouk for bandaging. It was the only affordable and useful thing I could think of to bring. I took the six roles of duct tape out and placed them on the scale. They teetered between five and six pounds and the Delta representative called it good enough and checked my bag for free at 51 pounds. My parents walked me up to the security check point where we exchanged hugs and goodbyes and my mother continued to take pictures as I worked my way through security. As soon as I waved my last goodbye and rounded the corner into the terminal, it hit me; a way of sadness and excitement all at once. At last I was on my way to Morocco but I was leaving everyone I knew behind. I made my way to my terminal and waited patiently for my plane to begin boarding for Paris, at which I would transfer to Casablanca. Just before they began boarding they made the announcement that the overhead compartments in our plane were small and only baggage that could actually fit inside their tiny box would be allowed. Everything else would be checked to our final destinations. Hopefully that my luggage would fit, I removed my liquids which were stowed in the front flap for easy access and placed them in my personal bag. When it came time to board the plane, the gentleman asked me to see if my bag would fit in the metal box. I knew by bag was squishable and would fit if I made it but on my one quick attempt, it was too fat and the flight attendant checked my bag against my will. Unfortunately, I failed to remove my glasses from that bag. I realized this a couple of hours into the plane ride when my eyes began to ache from having my contacts in all day. As the plane ride drew on, I wanted desperately to remove my contacts but there was nowhere to put them and I would need them in Paris to be able to see where I needed to go. Even in my liquids I only had my travel sized peroxide based contact solution. This solution needs at least 6 hours to work and turn to saline and even still, I did not have my special case with the converter. So I tried rubbing my eyes to encourage tear production but I knew I would be desperate to remove them by the time I retrieved my check luggage in Casablanca.

The book I am reading on the plane

                The plane ride was relatively uneventful, except for a 45 minute delay at the start due to a leaky something and a part needing replaced. I sat next to a fuller figure German girl who had just visited a friend in Colorado. She spoke of what a great time she had in relatively good English and showed me pictures of all the snow they had. We talked about typical weather for our home areas this time of year, school, the books we were reading, and other small talk.  On the plane I began reading a book my Aunt Dianne had given to me for Christmas last year titled “A House in Fez,” by Suzanna Clarke. The book was enjoyable and informed me more about the culture, history, tradition, and architecture in addition to telling the story about how she and her husband purchased a house in Fez on a whim and their adventures and trials in restoring it.

               It was fun to people watch during the flight. There was a pretty blonde girl of approximately 6 to 8 years of age behind me. She spoke in French in the cutest way, and if she hadn’t been behind me I would have watched her the whole trip. She was just too cute! A large French black man sat across the aisle from me and spoke short phases to me in French when I would drop something. I know this man could speak English because I over heard a short conversation he had on the phone before we departed, but for some reason I must have looked like I spoke French to him. I think I was only one of 2 or 3 red heads on the whole plane. Are there even any red heads in France? Diagonal to me was a young American man built like a marine that annoyed the black man by putting his seat back, squishing the man’s legs, and bouncing the seat trying to get comfortable. In front of him was a bald man that watched at least two movies on his apple laptop before switching to his iPad. I wondered how his computer battery could last so long. In front of the bald man sat a black woman with a small child about 1 year of age. The child went between babbling happily and fussing the whole plane ride which I’m sure bothered many people in close proximity. Somehow it didn’t seem to bother me much and I caught a few winks of sleep. Directly in front of me sat a very affectionate Indian couple. I was a little surprised by their level of public affection and I assumed they must be newlyweds.

The sunrise over Paris

               Our plane had a good tailwind the whole time and we made up for some of the time lost due to the delay at the start. I had about four hours until my flight departed for Casablanca from the Paris airport. I was grateful for this extra time as the airport in Paris is not laid out nearly as convenient at the Minneapolis airport. I had to go through border patrol, past all the baggage claims, find my way to my terminal, go through security again, then find my way to my gate. Once I made it to my terminal I walked around a bit and found some things I wanted to buy in a souvenir shop. I exchanged $40 for 23 plus some odd cents in Euros at the currency exchange, then bought a double pack of suitcase locks and some small paintings of the Eiffel Tower, Arch de Triumph, and Notre Dame. These were places I had visited on a short day trip to Paris with my relatives in London. My husband, Chris, and I had visited my relatives in London after our honey moon in Spain and they took us on an adventure in Paris, one of the most memorable experiences of the trip. After buying my souvenirs, I went thru security and found a seat at my gate. I was relived to not be the only white person sitting at the gate and I hoped that I would be seated near someone that spoke English in case I had questions. While I waited I emailed my family that I was safe in Paris. When I logged on to my computer I found I had 15 minutes of complimentary internet which I was grateful for because my phone did not work in this country. I had my new iPhone prepared for international travel to morocco, but failed to mention I would be transferring in Paris. I figured that was the reason it was not working and hoped that it would work in Morocco.



Using my last few minutes of free wifi, I hurried to try to post this entry, but I ran out of time. The free intrernet is slow and everything on the internet is in French. I am grateful for the small attempt I made at learning French. I am at least able to understand the intent, but certainly not every word and detail. It will be interesting to see how I fare in Morocco. I’m sure everything will be only in Arabic and French. I have a translator on my phone, however, I did not activate the international data on it due to the outrages prices. Perhaps someone will speak English if I need help finding the train station in Casablanca. My next post will be after I have arrived in Casablanca, Morocco, taken the train to Fez, and escorted to the American Fondouk. Au Revoir!

My departure day

Today is the day I depart for my long awaited trip to the American Fondouk in Fez, Morocco. As soon as my alarm went off this morning at 6:30am I had butterflies in my stomach with excitement. I kissed my husband goodbye as he headed off to work and got started on some of the tasks that still needed done today: finish packing, go to the barn and say good bye to my ponies, unlock my phone for overseas SIM card use, figure out how to use Skype, and start this blog! My flight is scheduled to depart at 4:00pm and is first bound to Paris, then Casablanca, Morocco. From Casablanca I will catch the train to Fez and if everything goes as planned I will arrive in Fez at about 10pm Friday Dec 30th where hopefully someone from the Fondouk will be waiting to pick me up. I can't wait to see Fez and hopefully some of the surrounding cities. I have been reading about Morocco, primarily Fez, in several travel guides I received for Christmas. I am excited to get lost in the maze of streets in the Medina, tastes the foods, smell the smells, and hopefully find some amazing souvenirs to bring home! My goals are to be able to see a Fantasia, a display of horsemanship where men aboard barb or Arabian-Barb crossed horses dressed in costumes similar to native Arabian costumes charge forward and fire their guns in unison before coming to a quick halt. I'm not sure where the horsemanship in that comes into play but I'm sure I'll learn. I'd also like to take a camel trek which requires traveling south and East towards the edge of the Sahara desert. These hopeful experiences are all in addition to the great experiences I know I will have at the American Fondouk. The American Fondouk is a charitable animal hospital just outside the town of Fez than now only treats donkeys, mules, and horses. These four legged creatures I have loved for a lifetime are the primary modes of transportation for the Ancient streets of Fez. They say the streets of Fez were only built wide enough for three donkeys to pass, which is why the Medina is such a maze and modern motorized vehicles can not be used. Though the city is modernized, the transportation of goods continues in old tradition with donkeys and mules. It is not uncommon to see donkeys carrying flat screen TVs in addition to everything else you can find in the Medina. I am excited to be able to work with these truly working equines as well as some of the valuable horses brought in from across the countryside. I hope you will continue to follow my blog as I take you trough my adventures in Morocco and at the American Fondouk! I am excited for what is in store for me in the next three weeks!