Saturday
On Saturday, I went with a group of friends to the Oulmes Valley to find "la source" - the source of water for the popular brand "Oulmes" in Morocco. Six of us squeezed into a small taxi and drove three hours up a mountain. The four hour hike was hot, but beautiful. At the bottom of the valley the boys surprised us with pb&j sandwiches they had prepared the night before. We arrived back at the hotel sweaty, tired, and satisfied. After we drank traditional moroccan mint tea and ate biscuits with honey, we decided it was time to hail a cab and venture back to Rabat.
Oops. No cabs were leaving that night. It was too late for them to make the three hour journey to the bottom of the mountain and drive back up the same day.
Desperate, I sought out the only man who had spoke to us in French when we arrived (every one else spoke only Arabic in this rural town), and explained our predicament. To my utter surprise, he told me that he coincidentally was returning to Rabat that night and would drive the six of us down the mountain.
Talk about hospitality! The military boys weren't so sure this convenient solution could come with no strings attached. Armed with the cheap knives we brought to cut fruit and sandwiches, they sat behind our driver - knife in one hand, cell phone with our program director dialed in the other.
The man explained to us as he drove that he worked in Oulmes, and lived in Rabat. His brother is the King's chef and his family lives in the palace. Hence why he prefers to live in Rabat and commute every day to work. We stopped for tea on the way down, of course he treated; he was almost insulted that we tried so hard to pay. By the time we finished our journey, we were fast friends with the man. He gave us his cell phone and said to call him anytime. Again, he refused to accept any money from us for the ride. True Moroccan hospitality.
Jeff and I overlooking Oulmes
I spent Sunday morning with my mama. We went running to the beach at 7am, swam in the freezing cold waters, and then lounged in the sand. She fervently talked about the importance of exercise in life as she pulled out chocolate filled croissants and jam. "Because we ran!" she tried to defend herself.
After that, I left for lunch at Maha's house (the girl I row with). I left at 11:30am, and told my mom I would be back in the afternoon to finish my homework.
Oops. Moroccan lunches are the biggest meal of the day. And they aren't served until 3pm. I spent the first three hours meeting everyone in the family - mom, dad, cousins, grandma, aunts, uncles - and sharing stories from home. I spent the next hour at lunch timidly trying to convince the family I had eaten enough as they heaped more couscous on my plate. After that they insisted that I come to the beach with them. After the beach, I told them that I really should be heading home. "Ok" they said, "but first we go to our Aunt's pool, she lives so close it will be rude not to." At 7pm at the pool, I finally told the mom I absolutely needed to go home. "Ok" she said, "but first we take tea with our Aunt. We used her pool, it would be rude not to." A little frustrated at this point, I tried to be pleasant for the next two hours of tea with the family. Maha tried to reassure me that my Moroccan mom would not worry for me, no one is on time in the country and it is normal to be late when you are out with family.
Finally, they dropped me off at my house at 9:15pm. The "lunch" had taken 9.5 hours. As Maha had predicted, my mama was not upset that I was late. She explained that it is Moroccan hospitality to invite one's guest to spend the entire day with them.
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