Hey everyone,
I’m doing a mass e-mail because internet access is rather limited here.
Oh man, I don’t even know where to begin. The last three days have been a complete blur, but I will to tell all that has happened. First of all, I’m alive and safe, for anyone who is concerned. I got here yesterday, as I’m writing this. Internet access is limited, to say the least, so I’m sorry I haven’t been able to write sooner.
The culture shock I’m going through right now is really huge. Paris was a complete piece of cake compared to what I’m going through right now. I seriously feel like I have landed on the moon, but somehow I’m finding my way around. I keep thinking “Oh my god, Adrian, what the hell have you gotten yourself into?” and other feelings of doubt, but they are pleasantly receding.
I’ll and describe the city of Fès as best I can. It the oldest medieval city in the world, and it certainly shows its age. The streets wind frequently in every direction, and it is nearly impossible to get anywhere without getting a little boy to show you the way out or the way to where you want to go. Its hard to say that you are not lost when you are standing at the side of the street, looking at a big map, and wearing an expression on your face that says you might as well be wondering how a daring daylight raid upon Fort Knox on elephant back is ever going to work. Wow, it took me a while to figure out how I was going to word that joke.
If you walk up from my hotel into the medina (the old part of the city that has lots of shops and other things), you will pass by a mosque, several restaurants that serve primarily tourists, and merchants that will try to sell everything from soap, to leather jackets, to CD’s, to spices, to hashish. I think I’ve heard the phrase, “Hey, my friend, you want Hashish? Get high before you die, no?” about three times now. You also here, “My friend, very good stuff here, why you not talk to me?”, which I’ll have to learn just to ignore. There are women with no headscarves, headscarves, and the full head to toe burke. The younger ones seem to be ones without anything.
If you walk up the hill even more, you will pass a gigantic blue arch, and enter the place de Baghdadi. From there you can see the foothills of the Atlas Mountains, on the other side of which is the Sahara desert. I have not seen any camels yet, but I have been run over almost a dozen times by donkeys carrying anything from Fanta™ to shoes. This is as exotic as it gets.
I started the internship today. The place where I work is in the medina, and it is in an old house that has been converted into offices. It is complete with Moorish style architecture, a garden in the middle, fountains, and elaborate interior designs. My boss does not speak English, but there is another intern there named Jihan from Rabat, the capital of Morocco, who speaks english french, and, of course, arabic. She is going to the University of Idaho for a semester, so she peppers me with questions about life in the U.S. Everything is Islam-o-fabulous.
As I imagined, they like having a native English speaker as an intern. During the next week, the big conference starts along with the festival, and apparently there are some people who are coming who do not speak French, so they are glad to have someone as a translator. The first day, I made signs in English and French on a computer, and afterwards I did some paperwork. I also went out to lunch and had couscous with my boss and Jihan in a restaurant, which had a terrace overlooking the mountains. The people who work there are all either French or Moroccan with an excellent command of French because they have been speaking it all their lives.
And then there is me.
I’m getting an idea of whom I would like to interview, also. I think it will be mostly people who work there, which should be easy enough, but I think I’ll wait to ask until the festival happens and a great weight is off their shoulders.
I guess that is it for right now, I’m not sure if I can use the Internet at work for this, so until then e-mail capability is rather limited. Adieu, mes amis. Postcards will come, I promise.
-Adrian
I’m doing a mass e-mail because internet access is rather limited here.
Oh man, I don’t even know where to begin. The last three days have been a complete blur, but I will to tell all that has happened. First of all, I’m alive and safe, for anyone who is concerned. I got here yesterday, as I’m writing this. Internet access is limited, to say the least, so I’m sorry I haven’t been able to write sooner.
The culture shock I’m going through right now is really huge. Paris was a complete piece of cake compared to what I’m going through right now. I seriously feel like I have landed on the moon, but somehow I’m finding my way around. I keep thinking “Oh my god, Adrian, what the hell have you gotten yourself into?” and other feelings of doubt, but they are pleasantly receding.
I’ll and describe the city of Fès as best I can. It the oldest medieval city in the world, and it certainly shows its age. The streets wind frequently in every direction, and it is nearly impossible to get anywhere without getting a little boy to show you the way out or the way to where you want to go. Its hard to say that you are not lost when you are standing at the side of the street, looking at a big map, and wearing an expression on your face that says you might as well be wondering how a daring daylight raid upon Fort Knox on elephant back is ever going to work. Wow, it took me a while to figure out how I was going to word that joke.
If you walk up from my hotel into the medina (the old part of the city that has lots of shops and other things), you will pass by a mosque, several restaurants that serve primarily tourists, and merchants that will try to sell everything from soap, to leather jackets, to CD’s, to spices, to hashish. I think I’ve heard the phrase, “Hey, my friend, you want Hashish? Get high before you die, no?” about three times now. You also here, “My friend, very good stuff here, why you not talk to me?”, which I’ll have to learn just to ignore. There are women with no headscarves, headscarves, and the full head to toe burke. The younger ones seem to be ones without anything.
If you walk up the hill even more, you will pass a gigantic blue arch, and enter the place de Baghdadi. From there you can see the foothills of the Atlas Mountains, on the other side of which is the Sahara desert. I have not seen any camels yet, but I have been run over almost a dozen times by donkeys carrying anything from Fanta™ to shoes. This is as exotic as it gets.
I started the internship today. The place where I work is in the medina, and it is in an old house that has been converted into offices. It is complete with Moorish style architecture, a garden in the middle, fountains, and elaborate interior designs. My boss does not speak English, but there is another intern there named Jihan from Rabat, the capital of Morocco, who speaks english french, and, of course, arabic. She is going to the University of Idaho for a semester, so she peppers me with questions about life in the U.S. Everything is Islam-o-fabulous.
As I imagined, they like having a native English speaker as an intern. During the next week, the big conference starts along with the festival, and apparently there are some people who are coming who do not speak French, so they are glad to have someone as a translator. The first day, I made signs in English and French on a computer, and afterwards I did some paperwork. I also went out to lunch and had couscous with my boss and Jihan in a restaurant, which had a terrace overlooking the mountains. The people who work there are all either French or Moroccan with an excellent command of French because they have been speaking it all their lives.
And then there is me.
I’m getting an idea of whom I would like to interview, also. I think it will be mostly people who work there, which should be easy enough, but I think I’ll wait to ask until the festival happens and a great weight is off their shoulders.
I guess that is it for right now, I’m not sure if I can use the Internet at work for this, so until then e-mail capability is rather limited. Adieu, mes amis. Postcards will come, I promise.
-Adrian
posted by Adrian's Fabulous Name Goes Here at 11:45 AM
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