Don't Talk Like an Indian

Erin, Josh and I went to Morocco last weekend with a group that organizes trips for university students and auxiliares de conversación (me).  Most of the group was traveling from Seville, so my friends and I rode to the ferry with a group of aging, mostly British, tourists.  (Spain is the Florida of Europe; retired British people come in hordes to lie on the beach and wait for death.)  Naturally, I spent the 2-hour bus ride seated next to an old Spanish woman who kept sending heavy-handed hints about grandchildren to her daughter and son-in-law sitting behind us.  The woman gave us such gems as:  "Soon I'll be going to Madrid for 2 weeks.  Take advantage of the time to make me some grandchildren!", and the always classic, "I'm already 70 years old!  Are you going to wait 'till I'm 80?"

Once in Algeciras, a Spanish port city in the north of Morocco, my friends and I split off from the centenarian crowd.  We crossed the border in record time thanks to our driver, Jorge, who had an uncanny ability to weasel through fences and sweet talk the Moroccan border patrol. 

We were only in Morocco for 2 days, so we got the "intro" tour of the northern coast: Tangier, Tetouan and Chechaouene.  Here's a quick rundown of the trip:

The markets in Chechaouene and Tetouan were essentially huge labyrinths with shops selling everything from $10,000 solid gold ceremonial wedding belts to live chickens.  Our guide in Chechaouene was a little Moroccan man named Ahmed.  Ahmed wore a jaunty red fez and always had a small pile of tobacco balanced on the back of his hand which he would snort at random intervals throughout the tour.    

The food was amazing.  I had my first taste of couscous and added camel to my growing resumé of random foods I've eaten abroad.  I give it a 6.3 out of 10: good flavor but a little chewy.  Guinea pig is better.

Only problem with guinea pigs is that they're hard to ride.  Heaven knows I tried in Ecuador, but every time I tried saddling one I'd hear a little squeak and lift up the saddle to find a guinea pig-shaped smear on the ground.  Camels come out on top in this category.  I really enjoyed my touristy camel ride.  I'd like to do it again sometime.

Caves of Hercules in Tangier = Impressive.  Review of Saturday night dinner show: Good horsemen.  Good belly dancer.  Good acrobats.  Worst magician ever, but one of my rules in life is that you don't mess with a guy who can walk barefoot on broken glass.

Long story short, Morocco was cool and incredibly beautiful.  I want to go back soon and do some exploring in Fez.

Work was fun this week.  On Wednesday I got to carve a pumpkin with the 11- and 12-year-old bilingual class.  They had never seen the inside of a pumpkin before, and they were properly awed by the whole carving process. 

Have I mentioned my other classes?  My institute in Campillos has a vocational school for 16-18-year-olds.  This means I try to get kids who can barely say "how are you?" to pronounce "needlenose pliers" and "torque wrench."  It also means I have a folder full of packets like Administrative Tasks in a Veterinary Clinic, World History and Distribution of Horses, and my personal favorite: Alojamiento Para el Ganado Porcino (Swine Housing).

Yesterday the class was reviewing the intricacies of swine housing.  The teacher would ask something like "What type of pig is found in a wean-to-finish facility?", and a student would give a mumbled, monosyllabic answer.  After about a half hour of this, he got fed up and said, "Say the whole sentence--don't talk like an Indian!"  God bless Spain.

I got my first care package this week.  It contained, among other things, ziploc bags of mini marshmallows.  Five minutes after receiving the package at school, I was busily trying not to electricute myself as I roasted them on a straightened-out paperclip in the English Dept. toaster.  Newspaper headlines flashed before my eyes: Stupid American Dies After Plunging Metal Stick In Toaster, Mysterious White Capsules Found Near Dead American: Drug Investigation Underway, Funeral For Stupid American Held At Pig Farm In Campillos...

But it was worth it.  The teachers and I enjoyed the roasted marshmallows.  Thanks, Mom!