Apparently, it's "decapsuleur" in French.

The first part of this post was written in the afternoon, between class and the trip to the supermarket. The second part, after the ***, was written late at night.

Damn. I'm not even going to try to describe everything that I've seen and done since landing in Rabat yesterday. It's now 5:32pm, and I'm sitting in the hotel cafe waiting for Katherine and Other Jon (John Spacapan, or "Spac") to get down here so we can swing by a liquor store and pick up some wine before meeting everyone for dinner at 7. Nabil, our guide, told us that liquor stores here close at seven in the evening; thus, this critical errand needs to be done right now, and not later at night like kids might hypothetically do back home. Tonight we're eating at some Syrian place that Sherif (our accompanying professor) knows about, it should be tasty.

After checking into the Malak Hotel (thanks to an Egyptian girl I know back at Vandy, who taught me that "Malak" means "Angel"; very similar to the Hebrew "Malach"!) yesterday afternoon, everyone was wiped. Most of the group slept the entire four hours or so before dinner, but Katherine, John and I took shorter naps and explored the few blocks around the hotel, which includes a gorgeous park. We got unabashedly ripped off by a little girl, but she was cute enough that none of us cared too much. She approached us asking for 5 dirham (8.2 dirham = 1 USD, sports fans!) for a pack of knockoff Wrigley's gum. Through an ungainly language comprised of my limited Arabic, Katherine's somewhat less limited French, our considerable English prowess (which the little girl did not, unfortunately, share), and a frankly badass display of Charadesmanship, we managed to establish a rudimentary form of communication and glean her name, which was Fatima. She was amazingly confident, bursting into song at one point and generally getting in our faces... honestly, she kind of reminded me of my sister. Not having exchanged any dollars for dirham yet, I was willing to overpay her a bit, $1 for a pack of gum. Katherine then decided to give her another dollar, pretty much solely for being cute, bringing our total to $2, or approximately 16 dirham. Three times her asking price. I think we might be doing this "haggling" thing wrong.

We ate dinner (some delicious chicken tanjine) at a place in the Medina, the Old City, then came back and shot the shit for a while in the hotel cafe over dessert, and that was pretty much it for the night. I slept like a log.

This morning we took a bus tour of Rabat, which was excellent. We saw the Mausoleum of Mohammed V, the King two Kings ago. It's on the same site as the Hassan Tower, a mosque that was intended to be the largest religious edifice in the would when it was conceived in 1195. However, it was left unfinished. There was something sad and beautiful about the scores of unfinished columns strewn about the 45-meter tower, that never grew into the 90-meter minaret that it was supposed to.

We saw a few more sites, but the highlight for me was the Kasbah Des Ouyadas, a fort that looked as though Moorish archers would appear along the walls at any moment, prepared to hurl down death and Crusaders pounding at the door. This deadly combination stood in sharp contrast to the beauty of the Kasbah, both the interior streets (lined with white and blue, reminiscent of Greece) and the utterly resplendent stretch of Atlantic coast upon which the fort is perched. Sherif bought us some tiny desserts, including baklava, a favorite of mine. We existed for a time in a place composed entirely of sunshine, sea breeze, and sugar.

After lunch, we headed back over to the CCCL for class. Our first lecture was fairly standard, a brief overview of Moroccan history and the (quite fascinating) dichotomy between more liberal elements, which want things like equal rights for women, and the conservative elements, who haven't quite gotten that memo yet. However, it was the second lecture that caught our attention: "Dealing With Harassment in Morocco." Apparently, in Morocco, unsolicited complimenting of women (or as Chelseay referred to it, "spitting game") as they pass on the street, often coupled with following and/or groping, is considered more or less normal, acceptable behavior. At first I was taken aback, but Nabil made an interesting point: in this conservative Muslim culture, opportunities for men and women to meet are really damn limited. Cafes are for men, hitting on girls at your local mosque is majorly frowned upon, and the only women who go to bars are sluts. And yes, that is a harsh word, but I use it there on purpose: I don't mean promiscuous ladies, I mean full-on, real live prostitutes. So, this combination of frustration and the need for attention and approval on the part of the men leaders to different stages of harassment. Stage 1 is flattery, compliments.Saying things like "Hey, Gazelle, how are you today?" (Bonus points for anyone who uses "Gazelle to pick up a girl back in the States) or the classic "Are you an angel?". Stages 2 through 4 get worse, progressing from insulting where complimenting fails to groping to... well, suffice it to say that Stage 4 is ugly, disgusting, and can get you life in prison back home.

***

After class, a few of us went on a wine run. The concierge was incredibly nice (almost fluent in English, too; we wrote him a thank-you note later) and, after ascertaining that we wouldn't be drinking in the hotel, actually walked us to the nearest supermarket with alcohol. An interesting moment came when we realized that A) None of us had a corkscrew, and B) Katherine and I didn't know how to say "corkscrew" in French or Arabic (I know you expected alcohol to have been thoroughly covered in my intro Arabic textbook, but no such luck). In an impressive display of resourcefulness, we navigated the problem by mimicking the motion of uncorking a bottle and accompanying it by popping my cheek, making that ubiquitous "pop!" of a wine bottle opening.

One thing I've come to enjoy is the moment, however brief, of pure camaraderie that comes when two people, neither of whom speak the language of the other, manage to communicate from one idea to the other, and both realize that they've succeeded at the same time. It's a very warm feeling of understanding, and one that often ends with both sides laughing. Nice, no?

Arabic Word of the Day: الغزال, Al-ghazaal -- Gazelle

PS Pictures to come!