Washing Machines, CostCo and Roberto's

Now that it's been a month since I returned to San Diego, I'd like to say that I've completely readjusted to everything. Afterall, my entire life minus those ten months in Morocco has revolved around such modern day conveniences as hot running water (no boiling required!) and 24-hour Mexican food. And on many levels I have found my way back to my American self, unless you think the urge to reuse Ziploc bags and rinse and dry paper towels for later use is un-American. (Seriously, you can use them at least three times!)

Occasionally, at places like CostCo and Trader Joe's, I'm entirely overwhelmed by the sheer abundance and choice of products. To give you an idea, my family of four buys three different types of milk from CostCo: unsweetened soy for me, fat-free Lactaid for Grandma, and whole milk for my mother's partner, Rick. And we don't just buy one; my soymilk comes in a pack of three and doesn't expire for over a month. Compare this to the tiny, square plastic bags of milk sold once a week on Fridays to go with cous-cous in my tiny desert town. There was one kind (thick) and to make it thicker it was placed in a warm spot, such as an oven, so it would turn just a bit. Then it was re-refrigerated (if you owned such a machine, which I didn't) and served denser than a milkshake. Let's say that it was an acquired taste. I happened to love it, but that was after a slow, incremental three-month process of increasing my tolerance for the at first gag-inducing taste. (Yes, I was a trooper, but I was also hungry and willing to try many, many things at which I would normally turn my nose up.) Just walking through the dairy aisle at my local grocer is a lesson in variety and choice nearly unheard of in the countryside in which I lived. And it's glorious.

And perhaps that's one of the best parts of coming home - everything is fresh and new to me. I treat grocery stores like museums, and blueberries like a rare find. I'm sure I'll go back to taking these things for granted, but for now I'm enjoying the sense of wonder that comes with the rediscovery of basic amenities such as a hot shower and door-to-door transportation. The first week home was a series of waves of relief, slightly tinged with guilt, that basic things didn't have to be difficult. Now after a full month, I can proudly say I'm happy to be home.

21 Simple Steps to Enjoying Yourself at a Patisserie in Rabat

Quite often I’m struck by the incredible amount of time it takes to complete simple tasks, such as making a deposit at the bank (1 hour 30 minutes), purchasing stamps (45 minutes), or obtaining a menu at a restaurant (25 minutes). On a recent trip to the capital, I was looking forward to the quick pace and efficiency of a large city. It turns out simple pleasures can consume a great deal of time as well! Here are 21 simple steps to enjoying yourself at a patisserie in Rabat.

1. Enter patisserie around the corner from the Gare du Ville, Rabat
2. Peruse vitrines of pastries, wondering if the thing that looks like a pear tart is, in fact, a pear tart, or if it secretly contains raisins for some reason.
3. Wriggle nose at thought of being surprised by raisins.
4. Ask in Arabic if there are brownies. Wesh kayn brownies?
5. Hear response in French, but pretend not to understand. Oui, il y a brownie.
6. Repeat question in Arabic. Wesh kayn brownies?
7. Hear exclamations of “A foreigner who speaks Arabic! My God will wonders ever cease? How do you know Arabic?” Whda rmi lli tkllmha l’3rbia? Tbark llah 3lik! Fn t3llemk l’3rbia?
8. Realize that you are utterly incapable of answering this question in the proposed language.
9. Explain that actually you don’t speak a lot of Arabic (Ana tkllmt l’3rbia shwiya. . .); you really know Tashlheit because you live in Ouarzazate (. . . walakayn ad sawlgh Tashlheit ashku ad zdghgh gh Ouarzazate).
10. Hear exclamations of “Holey moley! An American who knows Berber! God bless your parents.” Tbark llah 3lik!! Marikaniya wHda tkllm shlHa! Lla y-rHm l-walidim.
11. Ask again if there are brownies.
12. When told, “No, there are no brownies” order a pear tart despite aforementioned risk of raisins.
13. Pay cashier after server places tart atop a doily upon a tray.
14. Walk upstairs to find a table, making sure to find the one with the best view for people watching and the occasional suggestive, if accidental, stare.
15. When waitress approaches your table, ask for a café crème, prepared to repeat steps 5 through 11, substituting coffee for brownies.
16. Sigh.
17. Watch as waitress leaves with your tart, vaguely wondering if it was defective.
18. People watch, noticing that no one around you is speaking Arabic, slowly realizing that you exposed yourself as a country bumpkin downstairs.
19. Feel slightly relieved when waitress returns with your coffee and tart.
20. Raise an eyebrow when you notice that the tart has returned sans doily and now sits on a neat white plate with a fork and knife.
21. Dig in.

What’s the food like?

Food? What food?

OK, I’m just kidding. They feed me constantly! I feel like I’m being fattened for the slaughter! (Before you judge my gluttony please, keep in mind that refusing food or drink is considered extremely disrespectful to your host.)

Here is my feeding schedule:

8:15 AM My host sister serves me tea (with lots of sugar) and bread with honey and butter before I leave for "school" (language and technical training).

10:00 AM We have a snack of tea (with lots of sugar), coffee (with lots of sugar) and plain yogurt with honey.

12:30 PM We have tea (with lots of sugar), a tajine or omelet, freshly baked bread, and tangerines. A tajine is cooked in a really cool looking pot made from clay. The whole dish is made in layers: first the red onions, which will burn, but in a good way. Then the chicken and lots of spices that I can’t even begin to identify. On top of that are carrots, potatoes and whatever other vegetables are available that day. (Yay! for seasonality!) Keep in mind that this meal ends at 2:30 PM.

4:00 PM Tea (with lots of sugar), coffee (with lots of sugar), and crepes or bread stuffed with olives and tuna fish.

6:00 PM My host sister often visits with her sister-in-law, whose house is on the way from "school". Occasionally, I end up in the kitchen, drinking tea (with lots of sugar) and explaining that I can’t eat the bread because I might explode!

9:00 PM Dinner! This varies widely. There’s always tea (with lots of sugar). Sometimes it’s lentils, bread and spinach. Other times it’s lamb’s heart (ul n wulli) and chicken (is tgit ashishaw?). Last night we had bread stuffed with boiled eggs, black olives, french fries and pureed tomatoes. Sometimes there’s coca-cola or freshly made orange juice.

I’m convinced that I’m made to eat more than other family members. My host sister says that I can’t return to America as a skinny girl because then people will think she didn't feed me. I hope that the record is clear from this description.

What about couscous, you ask? Contrary to popular belief (and many cookbooks) couscous is not a common dish. Before arriving I though it would be like rice in Chinese cuisine - always there! Actually, it takes a long time to prepare, and is usually eaten for Friday lunches. Many families don’t eat it at all during Ramadan, so my first and only couscous meal wasn’t until I’d spent nearly six weeks in the country.

Thanks to everyone who posted questions and words of encouragement. It makes it so much easier to be hear knowing that I have support back home!