Home, Sweet ... Is this 'home' ... ? - Tuesday, September 20, 2011

                We finished our time in Morocco and made the long journey back to Bilbao. I was actually relieved to come back to Spain after the hectic unpredictability of Morocco. As I walked down my street to my building, I thought to myself ahhhh, home, sweet… well, kinda home. Bilbao doesn’t feel exactly like home yet, but I certainly feel more at home here than in Morocco.

                Our second module began last Thursday – “Judicial Cooperation in the European Union”. This time around we have class anywhere from 2 to 6 hours per day with days off interspersed to prep for various class tasks like oral presentations, tests, and papers. This class’s focus is another topic very unique to the EU. Similar to the Regulation 44 topic I mentioned a few posts ago, judicial cooperation is the idea that in order to create a stronger union, there must be some sort of cooperation between the courts of each EU Member State. Thus, we are studying jurisdiction, the enforcement of judgments within the EU, EU insolvency cases, the structure of the EU itself and more.

                This module is much more enjoyable, and it leaves me time to actually walk around Bilbao, discovering the city. I’ve never been to Baltimore or Cleveland, but I imagine those cities to be similar to Bilbao. Bilbao is a small city of only 350,000 people, but it offers an incredible amount of public services. There’s an excellent metro system, a tram system, a public bike rental system, a bus system, free wi-fi hot spots, public gyms, tourist offices and more. The city is very clean – sometimes annoyingly so. Every single morning when I walk to class the streets have been soaked with water and I slip on the wet cobblestones in Casco Viejo, where I live. To me it seems excessive, but I suppose it also conveys the pride Bilbaoans have in their home. There are a variety of neighborhoods in Bilbao – from the quaint and sometimes gritty Casco Viejo, to the sophisticated Indauxtu, to the urban Deusto district to the shopping of Gran Via in Abando. Deusto and the Guggenheim clearly influence the city, but not so much so that they are the only personality Bilbao offers. Modern art abounds, and people range from being annoyed at tourists to welcoming us almost excessively. One day, Jessica and I stopped a man on the street to ask where a restaurant was. He not only gave us detailed directions to the one we were looking for, but also gave us nearby recommendations and then called a friend on his cell phone to get the address of a place they enjoyed. He told us in broken English “I like help when I travel, so I help you.” Getting to know the real Bilbao came later in the game than I expected – first the fiesta, then the intensive program, then Morocco – but in bits and pieces, I’m finally starting to see it and I certainly like what I see.       

View down the river Nervion, with the Guggenheim on the right

View of my street in Casco Viejo, from my room

Modern art on Gran Via in Abando

Another view of Gran Via shopping

One of the many pedestrianized streets in Casco Viejo

Another part of the river Nervion

Indauxtu

The bus, and the inspiration for this blog's name

Abando

A park in Indautxu

More adventures under the spell of Moroccan Whiskey - Tuesday, September 13, 2011

                On Sunday, we took the bus back to Marrakech, where we stayed for three nights. Marrakech was everything Essaouira was, but times 1000 and minus the beach. It’s a huge, sprawling city and compared to it, Essaouira seemed quaint. One day as we were wandering, I saw a woman dressed entirely in a birka and hijab, with only her eyes revealed. She was completely swathed in fabric to cover her body, but on her shoulder was a Louis Vuitton bag and on her feet, stilettos. The look was a fascinating juxtaposition for me, but it was also an indication of the cosmopolitan, wealthy culture of the big city. 

The view of part of the Marrakech medina from a restaurant we ate at Sunday night.

                

            Marrakech is very driven by tourism, but that seems to be a characteristic common to Morocco in general, not necessarily just Marrakech. One day when we first arrived, I sheepishly put away my map, instinctively thinking to myself that I didn't want to look like a tourist. Two seconds later I realized it was impossible for me NOT to look like a tourist here. In my jean skirt and tank top, with my fair skin, height and blonde hair, I stuck out like a sore thumb among the dark haired, dark skin-toned, conservatively dressed Moroccan women. Jess blended in more easily than I, but western dress still made our tourist status glaringly obvious. Lucky for us, tourists were welcomed everywhere we went and many locals’ clearly made their yearly income doing so.

                Upon arrival in Marrakech, our riad manager met us on the main street and took us back through the windy maze of narrow, disorganized streets to the door of our riad. When we finally got there, Jessica and I looked at each other and giggled – we both knew there was no way we would have been able to find our way through the maze on our own. The Marrakech riad was very similar to the Essaouira riad, except that this one - appropriately - had a bigger, more urban feel to it. We relaxed for a bit, then headed out to explore, taking careful notice of how to wind through the streets to get back.  

Looking down into our Marrakech riad from the rooftop terrace

                   Our riad was very close to Djemaa El-Fna, the main square in the medina. Back in the day, it was the place where­­­­ public executions took place and its name literally means "assembly of the dead". Today, it is sprawling, crowded and feels like its main purpose is to make money from tourists, though in 2001 UNESCO named it a 'Masterpiece of World Heritage'. Rows upon rows of merchants sell dried fruits, nuts, spices, freshly cooked snails, fresh squeezed orange juice, mint to make Moroccan mint tea (also nicknamed “Moroccan whiskey”), henna tattoo artists, outdoor stalls grilling up food, street performers and more. Again, the pervasive hustle made me feel like I was never quite sure what was going to come at me from where. This feeling was validated when we found the snake charmers. I'm terrified of snakes and quickly walked away, but Jess lingered, watching. Before we knew it, a man came up behind her and draped a snake over her shoulders. She smiled with joy, but I trembled in fear. As I waited for her, a man came up with a snake to drape around my shoulders: I shrieked and skittered as far away as possible. I took Jess’ picture – from a safe distance – and the snake charmer demanded 10 euros from her. She gave him 2 and we continued to wander through the rest of the square – with me on a constant vigil for snake charmers...

A view of one part of the Djemaa el-Fna

Fresh squeezed orange juice in Djemaa el-Fna

This was way too close for me to be comfortable.

But Jess loved it.

                  We spent one of our final two days enjoying the sites of Marrakech and the other taking a day trip to the mountains where we went on a beautiful hike and rode a camel. 

Riding camels - Me on the first one, Jess on the last one.

Life from the back of the camel

We hiked to the top of that waterfall!

             The cultural sites in Marrakech were enchanting, old and ornately decorated with mosaics and elaborate woodworking. We continued to meet people who happily guided us on our way, including one precocious teenage boy, Abdul, who volunteered ("without pay" he insisted) to guide us through the windy, elaborate maze of streets to find a fountain we were looking for. My guidebook said it was the first fountain in Marrakech, and a site for locals to gather to gossip and socialize. We thought we weren’t too far from it but promptly got lost trying to get there, until Abdul found us. He deftly lead us through the maze to the famed fountain … which was a faucet sticking out of a wall. A man sitting next to it saw us coming and proudly said "the oldest fountain in Marrakech!" ... but it was pitifully unimpressive, especially after we had searched so long for it. Afterwards, Abdul offered to take us to his brothers dye shop, and we soon found ourselves on another windy trail through the medina, to the rooftop of a house for a vista, and eventually to the shop, where we bought beautiful hand dyed scarves. I wondered how often this act was done, but the encounter was enjoyable and uniquely Moroccan, so I was glad we had followed Abdul. Again Abdul lead us through the maze of the medina to our riad, and then gave us his address so we could come over for tea the next day. We hugged him and off he went winding his way through the secret passage ways of the medina, understood only by the locals.
 

A courtyard in Bahia Palace

A room in the Bahia Palace

Jess and I in front of some beautiful mosaics at Ali ben Youssef Medersa

Woodworking at Ali ben Youssef Medersa

Abdul and Jessica, on the rooftop where he took us to "see the view"

Abdul's brother dressed me in a Toureg headscarf. I bought one in green, though I don't plan on wearing it this way.

             

"Dude, we are so in Africa right now" Thursday, September 7th, 2011

Finally, the intensive Program ended, and eight hours later Jessica and I were on a 5 hour bus from Bilbao to Madrid, then on a 2 hour flight from Madrid to Marrakech, then on a 3 hour bus from Marrakech to Essaouira, which all added up to one of the longest travel days ever...

But we made it to Essaouira, the small seaside town on the Moroccan coast, known for its beaches, its wind and its kitesurfing. It was my first real glimpse of Morocco, and I had no idea what to expect. Quickly I decided it's like no where I've ever been before... though I suppose if I had to compare, I'd call it 2 parts Tijuana, 1 part Greece and 1 part Israel. But, that only conveys its physical appearance - the true charm of Morocco is in the hospitality and friendliness of the people, which we quickly discovered.
We arrived off the bus, and immediately men with foot carts tried to sell us transportation to our riad. We declined and headed off walking.

Bob Marrakech, one of the doors to the Medina

We entered Bob Marrakech, one of the doors into the medina, and began an attempt to find our riad among the winding, crowded, dirty, smelly streets. There's a hustle and chaos to the streets of the medina- children playing soccer, scooters and bikes zooming without caution, street vendors hawking everything from prickly pear fruit, roasted peanuts and fresh squeezed orange juice, to rugs, jewelry, shoes, woodworking and more. We turned down a side street, which was filled with garbage and dirt, and finally found the door of our riad.

Jess walking down our riad's street

A very calm street in the medina of Essaouira

Riads are Morocco's version of a bed and breakfast and are usually homes converted into cozy hotels. I stepped into our riad and felt transported into a different world. The building was open in the middle, so that sun and breezes could pass through. The surrounding sitting area was sheltered from the strong sun by immaculately clean tiled walls and an intricately woodworked ceiling. Low couches with pillows, soft music, incense and candles created a calming oasis which contrasted sharply to the chaos on the other side of the door.

The sitting area of our Riad in Essaouira

We checked in and showered, washing away the long travel hours. Our riad host, Omar, made us a glass of the famous Moroccan mint tea and showed us a map, pointing out everything we might want to see in Essaouira. Both Jessica and I were exhausted, but also in need of a good meal. Omar offered us the Moroccan version of take out and we accepted. So, to prepare our meal, Omar’s assistant ran down to the market, purchased food for a meal, and dropped the raw food off at a restaurant. The restaurant cooked the meal and Omar picked it up when it was ready. Later that night the three of us - Omar, Jessica and I - dined on a delicious tagine of chicken, preserved lemons and green olives. Tagine is as traditional Moroccan way of cooking. The ceramic cooking tool is the "tagine" part, with a plate on bottom and conical top. Any mixture of food is put inside -sometimes seafood and veggies, sometimes beef, sometimes the traditional chicken, olives and preserved lemon. Then the entire thing is put in the fire for an hour or so. The food inside steams, the flavors mix and the result is a delicious sort of stew. Omar was great company, and at the end of the night insisted on paying for our meal. It was the warmest, kindest, most enjoyable welcome to Morocco we could have received.

Jess and I, about to eat our first Moroccan tagine

The next three days were spent sleeping in, sunbathing on the terrace, shopping in the medina, and sitting at the beach. Day after day we encountered friendly Moroccans; some were motivated by sales, but others simply wanted to chat and show us what they offered. For example, we were wandering the medina one day and came upon a beautiful spice shop. Dried herbs and flowers lined the outer wall, overflowing into sacks lining the street with various spices and concoctions. The shop owner was sitting outside, and noticed Jessica sniffling. He called out to us and said, "I have something to help, one moment please." He disappeared around the corner and came back with a piece of pink silk. He took us into his shop - the inside of which was just as beautifully decorated as the outside, with flowers and jars on the walls and an argan nut shell floor. He took a jar off the wall, put some of its contents into the silk, tied it up, crushed it in his palm and then stuck the little satchel up to Jessica's nostril, plugging her other nostril with his finger and insisting she "breathe". Jessica obediently followed, and the man repeated it on her other nostril. The man acted so confidently and swiftly that neither of us registered the hilarity of his actions until afterwards. The spice was some sort of menthol and did indeed clear Jessica’s sinuses. The man refused payment for the satchel, and then gave us a tour of his shop. There were fragrances, spices, medicines, herbs, oils, makeup, and a little old lady sitting in the corner grinding argan nuts into oil. He explained many different items to us and never once asked us to buy something. He genuinely seemed happy to have us there and be able to show us his work.

The outside of the medicine man's shop

Me taking the Medicine Man's grand tour

Various herbs and concoctions in the Medicine Man's store

Jess utilizing her "medicine"

Morocco is the first Muslim country I’ve ever visited and before we left, I was nervous about what I should wear. The vast majority of woman in Morocco dress traditionally, completely swathed in cloth, covered from head to toe. There were varying degrees of this dress - some wore the full gown and head covering with only their eyes peeking out, some wore the traditional gown with no head covering, some wore conservative western style clothing with or without a head covering. Seeing women dressed this way was a bit jarring to me at first, but I eventually grew accustomed to it and almost became jealous - think of all the bloating you could hide under there! Then I remembered how hot it was and my jealousy quickly passed... The traditional dress made it easy to spot tourists, and in the first few days, I tried to keep my shoulders, chest and legs covered out of respect for the local culture. However, I quickly realized how accustomed Moroccans in Essaouira were to tourists dressing in comparatively nothing, so I eventually went back to my standard wardrobe. Later in the week, another woman told me that in Fes, a northern Moroccan city, she received excessive attention and felt incredibly uncomfortable to be wearing even conservative western dress. But, we all agreed that we felt completely welcomed in both Marrakech and Essaouira with whatever state of dress we chose.

Before we arrived, I also wondered what the Morroccan beach culture would be like. For sure, the Essaouira beach was not like an American beach. There was water, and sand, and beach chairs... but there were also men playing soccer, camels you could ride, tourists in bikinis and women sitting on towels in full traditional birkas. At one point, I was walking on the beach and saw a group of local girls together. One was wearing a western bathing suit, one was wearing a full birka and one was dressed somewhere in between. I wondered at their diversity, but Omar later told me that the level of woman's dress had to do with simply their level of religious belief. That made more sense to me as I thought about the religious diversity among my own friends. But, to wear your religious beliefs so outwardly is still fascinating to me.

The view from our Riad's terrace

Camels, tourists and windsurfing at the beach

Soccer and locals at the beach

A delicious tagine, cous cous meal and avocado "juice"

One of the friends we made in the market. He made us tea and tried to sell us ridiculously large rings. I bought one. duh.

Jess with Omar and Omar's assistant, Omar. Enjoying olives and wine in the Riad.

Learning to Speak "Globalish" - Sunday, September 4th, 2011

                The intensive program chugged along all week. Combined with the culture shock and jet lag, it’s been exhausting and a little frustrating. Class takes up so much time right now that there is really no time to do anything else. Needless to say, it's not really a situation you want to be in when you’ve just arrived in the brand new country that is going to be your home for the next four months. Nonetheless, I keep coaching myself to simply get through it – the other modules are not the same format and there will be more time to relax and explore the city. In fact, this module ends on Wednesday and then we have a weeklong break starting Thursday. Jessica and I took advantage of the break and booked a trip to Morocco, which I’m crazy excited for it. Right about now, our Morocco trip is the prize at the end of this marathon! 

                As predicted, the varying degrees of English fluency – even among the lecturers – has been very challenging. Last year, at an event sponsored by USF’s International Law Society, I remember a speaker telling us about the importance of learning to speak “Globalish”. She worked for an international corporation and often hosted conference calls with people of different nationalities. English was their “lowest common denominator” language, but, as a native speaker, she often had to consciously simplify her English so that everyone could communicate easier. I keep thinking of that comment here, as I try to communicate with my classmates, and understand what the lecturers are saying. Part of the difficulty, I believe, is that most European countries are taught UK English rather than American, but part of it is also that certain phrases don’t translate very well. I often feel like I’m trying to translate someone else’s English into my English. For example, one of the lecturers today said “corporal communication” and it took me a second to realize she meant “body language”. Another example – we were instructed one day to meet at the University “rolling doors” … which meant “revolving doors”, but I looked at several sets of doors before figuring it out. Certainly these puzzles can be solved, but when the “translation” has to happen every few sentences, and I’m already trying to understand a foreign concept such as European Union Regulations, it adds another layer of challenge. 

                Other than the communication struggles, the classes themselves are interesting. The lectures are about various issues in private international law, the body of law governing private companies working internationally. For example, we talk a lot about Regulation 44, which is a European Union law that governs choice of venue within all EU member states. So, if an Italian company contracts with a Spanish company and the Spanish company does not fulfill the contract, Regulation 44 dictates which countries courts can hear the case. As an American, my instinct is to compare the EU system to the federal system of the US, but these classes highlight the drastic differences between them. Certainly, there are some similarities, but EU member states – who began as complete sovereign entities – have had to give up certain powers in order to become EU members. So, in the context of my Regulation 44 example, the Italian courts have to concede jurisdictional power and let the case be heard only in the Spanish courts, based on the EU’s decision to pass Regulation 44. It’s difficult for me to imagine any nation state willingly giving up such power, but many nations have done so eagerly, which makes me marvel at the modern unification of the European Union.