"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.

Maybe I’ll take some classes while I’m here … Tuesday, August 30th, 2011:

              Our first class began yesterday: “Introduction to International Organizations and Transnational Trade Law: Trade and Regional Integration Processes." For our semester exchange, I’m attending one semester of a Masters program titled “European Master in Transnational Trade Law and Finance” or EMTTLF. The entire masters program consists of 4 semesters of study: one here at Deusto University, one at Tilberg University in the Netherlands, one at Strausberg in France and one at Frankfurt University in Germany. There are about 25 students enrolled in the Masters program and they are from all over the world: Spain, Portugal, Turkey, China, France, Russia, Belarus and more. Our semester exchange program allows me to study with the EMTTLF for the first semester at Bilbao, and then return back to USF to complete my final semester and final year of law school. There are five other students from the States who are doing the same thing: one other from USF, two from Hastings, and two from Cardozo. As of now, the program seems very different from traditional US legal education, which is a welcome change for me at this stage in my law school career. The program is divided into modules so we take one class at a time; yesterday began the first module. This class is an intensive program, with lectures and guided group work from 9:00am to 6:00pm every day for ten days straight. 

Deusto University, viewed from in front of the Guggenheim

                 The classes seem like they will be interesting, and the group project should be challenging, considering our diverse backgrounds and varying degrees of English fluency. All of our lectures are taught in English, but each student’s comprehension level is different. Today, for example, I was speaking with a French classmate, Emily.  Either because her English isn’t great, or because my accent is confusing, she was having a hard time understanding me. So, rather than struggling along in English, I switched to Spanish. This was a relatively desperate strategy because my Spanish is decent – but it’s certainly not great. Nonetheless – voila! – in Spanish, Emily and I chattered on, easily communicating. It was as if we had found our “lowest common denominator” language. This switch was an easy solution for Emily and I, but I’m a little more apprehensive that we’ll be able to find a lowest common denominator language when there are 5 of us in a small group, working on a school assignment.

The Burning Man of Bilbao - Sunday, August 28th, 2011

                I spent the days after my arrival sleeping, reading, wandering and trying to enjoy the fiesta activities. Much of the fiesta felt lost in translation; it was a crazy, sprawling event, and I was still trying to wrap my head around the fact that I was in Spain at all. Several times I would see two people separated by a street screech in excitement as they recognized each other from across the road – like friends united after a long separation. It seemed like everyone in the city was gathering their loved ones to unite in their Bilbao pride, but through my jetlag and culture shock the whole affair felt like a party I wasn’t actually invited to. Nonetheless, I enjoyed it: the people watching, the general merriment, the variety of events, the drinking on the streets. Jessica and I watched fireworks three nights in a row, and each night was a bigger spectacle than the last. 

One of the performances during the festival

Jessica drinking on the side of the street, like a local

One of the many fireworks displays

Some sort of festival kids game... there's a slide in this guy's mouth (we think...)

Me drinking on the side of the road, like a local

more fireworks!

                 After the fireworks on Saturday night, the entire crowd started moving north along the river, as if in a mass exodus to the promised land. We had been told there was a big concert celebrating the last official night of the festival, but we had no idea where. So, we followed the crowd. And we followed the crowd. And we followed the crowd some more. We walked for almost an hour, and eventually discovered a gigantic parking lot converted into an outdoor concert venue where an obviously popular rock band entertained a vast audience. Groups of friends sat drinking or dancing or milling about. The sheer size of the concert made me appreciate how big the festival actually is and how important it must be to Bilbaoans. 

The Promised Land of the Rock Concert

Jessica and I enjoyed the concert for a little while, but soon turned around to head home. On the way, we stopped to see yet another performance – a multicultural dance show – at a stage constructed next to the famous Guggenheim Museum. The crowd here was smaller, older and more sedate, but perhaps only relative to the concert crowd. Again, I wondered at the size of the festival – it had seemed all of Bilbao was at the rock concert, but really that was just one entertainment option for the night. 

                Today the festival ended with the traditional burning of the woman. No, not a real woman - a statue woman.  She is the matron of Aste Nagusia, and to symbolize the end of the annual fiesta, a figure of her is floated down the River Nervion and then burned. Jessica and I crammed in with thousands of others along the river banks and bridges, standing on our tippy toes to watch her pass by. From our spot on the bridge, we could see only smoke and light from the flames as she was set on fire, but it made me think about the tradition itself. Many years ago, I went to Ecuador for New Years where the tradition is to burn a “Viejo” at midnight. The “Viejo” is an old man dummy that represents the past year and as it burns everyone jumps over the fire for good luck. Then of course, there is the Burning Man Festival in the Nevada desert, which also ends by burning a man sculpture. I find the universality of burning a human representation fascinating. Conceptually, it seems morbid or at least morose, but the vibe on the bridge tonight in Bilbao was serene and respectful. Perhaps it’s the inherent acknowledgement of our own mortality and the celebration that we are alive. Perhaps it’s the honoring of time passing. Or perhaps is the idea of renewal with construction and deconstruction. Or perhaps there is a distinct significance to each culture, or even to each person watching the tradition.

The lady floating down the river

Right before setting the lady on fire