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.

Zebras Eat People and Other Interesting Facts

Growing up in San Diego afforded me many, many trips to the World Famous San Diego Zoo (I believe that's its official name, just like San Diego's official tagline is "America's Finest City", which I've actually heard used in broadcasts in other cities). In third grade my class spent an entire week visiting the zoo, learning about the various animals, their natural habitats and diets, and the then-fledgling panda and gorilla projects. The Zoo and the Wild Animal Park in Escondido continue to be two of my favorite places to visit whenever I'm home.

I was unexpectedly reminded of my love for these places while watching television with my host family last night. Television is a nice, quiet way to bond with them and practice my Tashlheit and Arabic. I can make exclamations, such as, "Hey!" when there's violence, or we can laugh over the fact that we rarely laugh at the same moments during American films with Arabic subtitles. My favorite times are when what I think of as the Animal Planet of satellite TV comes on. (I have yet to find shark week in Arabic.) Displaying ten to fifteen second clips of animals, insects and plants (sometimes animals eating animals and plants eating insects) this channel provides zoning out at its best, providing the simple pleasure of watching nature without getting muddy or cold. Without voice-overs or subtitles, I like to think of this type of programming as universally enjoyable. On this particular occasion I decided to make a vocabulary lesson out of the program, because you just never know when you'll need to know how to say "tiger."

Zebras showed up first, and I learned that they were himar waHsi, which I repeated a few times because anything with more than three syllables trips me up. As the tigers (nimmr) came and went, my host sister said "himar waHsi ibbi l-middn rika kmmi d nkki." And I said, "Zebras? No, tigers do. The things with the stripes? They eat people? Noooooo." And my host sister said, "Yeeeeees." And I said, "Maybe, but I'm pretty sure they eat plants only, just like donkeys." (Donkeys are an excellent frame of reference.) And so I decided that actually she meant the tigers, but just to be sure I decided that I would ask my tutor.

My tutor confirmed that zebras do, in fact, eat people. Himar waHsi directly translates into "beasts of the forest." I had always thought they lived in tall grasses on the African plains (hence the silly striped outfit) and ate plants, but I could be wrong. Third grade was a long time ago, after all.

Later, when I suggested my friend Mia procure some lizards (tqllit) in Marrakech for her spider problem, I was told that lizards cause melanin loss in the skin, creating large white patches, and that they eat people, too.

I'll just have to stick with cats, I guess.

What's the funniest wrong thing you've said so far?

This is a fabulous question! As many of you know I’m learning a Berber dialect called Tashlheit, which is spoken mostly in the southeast region of Morocco. This is a multi-lingual culture, where one language is spoken on the street (Darija, or Moroccan Arabic) and another is spoken at home (Tashlheit in the case of my host family, or Tamazight in other regions of the country). French and Spanish are also widely spoken, not to mention the fact that my artisan broke out in Japanese yesterday!

As you may also know about Morocco: it’s a Muslim country and, while some secular people do drink alcohol, it is not openly consumed (except by insensitive tourists). The funniest thing I’ve said so far is “Ma tskrt?” which means: “Have you been drinking?” I’ve asked my (religious) host sister this question almost every day I’ve been with my family! The crazy part is that it also means “what ARE you doing?” So something very offensive is actually something quite innocuous.

There are two other very funny things I’ve said so far. When my host niece asked me if I had a boyfriend, I thought she asked me if I had any friends so I said, “bezzef!” which launched the entire dinner table into a fit of giggles. Unmarried women do NOT have boyfriends here (or at least none that they would admit having). Later, they brought over cousins for me to consider as boyfriends. Awkward . . . Another time I mentioned in passing that “I do not wash my friends” instead of “I don’t wash the dishes.” (imduklin vs. irukutn). This is actually only funny to us Americans, because in a hammam (public bath) one would wash her friends (or at least scrub their backs).

My training group’s favorite phrase is: is tgit ashishaw? (“Are you a chicken?”) As you might guess, we use it whenever someone is a little tentative about something. We’re constantly asking our Language and Culture Facilitator, (LCF), Amina, to translate ridiculous things. If there’s something you’d like to know how to say, just let me know.

If you’re wondering if Tashlheit is difficult, you’re on the right track. It’s insanely difficult, but after a month I feel like I’m beginning to understand the logic. It’s just that the whole language overflows with logic! I do feel ready for the language exam we have to pass in order to be sworn in November, so that’s good news.

In other news, I received my final site assignment! There's an airport nearby so there are no longer any excuses! Start pricing tickets (and setting wedding dates) so you can visit me! xo