Just another day here in Morocco.
I had a slow start to the morning, doing some laundry that required a double wash because the washer is connected by power to the light switch, and I mistakenly turned it off when it was just about done and had to wash it again to free my clothes.
I had a nice, interesting chat with certain interested parties about the future of transatlatic public diplomacy and relations between the U.S. and certain interested parties.
A leftover treat of Marcella Hazan's famous spaghetti sauce III for lunch.
I began my Derija Moroccan Arabic class this afternoon. It is so vastly different than Fusha, classical Arabic that I might as well be learning a new language. I really am. With its French, Spanish and Berber influences, Moroccan Arabic is so different utterly different a language that when Moroccans speak Arabic on pan-Arab stations, the channels need to offer subtitles.
I know a bit from my time here, and my time living with my Moroccan family, the Taoufiks, so I have a little base. But technically speaking, I would consider this studying my 7th language (Hebrew, Spanish, Czech, Arabic, Mandarin, Hindi/Urdu, French). Ana Hamak (I am crazy).
In honor of my new course, I took myself out to dinner. I had a hankering for some Syrian food, so I googlebaba-ed a spot just outside the medina walls. It was wonderful. In the divan, I had a plate of creamy humus and maklouba with chicken. The fragrant rice came with almonds and eggplant slices. I wrapped the rice and spiced, roasted chicken in the flat pita and dipped it in the humus and garlic mayo. Yum. And knahfey for dessert.
On my walk back, I stopped at my favorite coffee roaster to get some of his fresh-ground variety, mixed with cinnamon, cardamom, anise and a hint of black pepper spice. Looking forward to my morning cup.
I already commented on my kleine nachtmusik in the previous post.
I had a slow start to the morning, doing some laundry that required a double wash because the washer is connected by power to the light switch, and I mistakenly turned it off when it was just about done and had to wash it again to free my clothes.
I had a nice, interesting chat with certain interested parties about the future of transatlatic public diplomacy and relations between the U.S. and certain interested parties.
A leftover treat of Marcella Hazan's famous spaghetti sauce III for lunch.
I began my Derija Moroccan Arabic class this afternoon. It is so vastly different than Fusha, classical Arabic that I might as well be learning a new language. I really am. With its French, Spanish and Berber influences, Moroccan Arabic is so different utterly different a language that when Moroccans speak Arabic on pan-Arab stations, the channels need to offer subtitles.
I know a bit from my time here, and my time living with my Moroccan family, the Taoufiks, so I have a little base. But technically speaking, I would consider this studying my 7th language (Hebrew, Spanish, Czech, Arabic, Mandarin, Hindi/Urdu, French). Ana Hamak (I am crazy).
In honor of my new course, I took myself out to dinner. I had a hankering for some Syrian food, so I googlebaba-ed a spot just outside the medina walls. It was wonderful. In the divan, I had a plate of creamy humus and maklouba with chicken. The fragrant rice came with almonds and eggplant slices. I wrapped the rice and spiced, roasted chicken in the flat pita and dipped it in the humus and garlic mayo. Yum. And knahfey for dessert.
On my walk back, I stopped at my favorite coffee roaster to get some of his fresh-ground variety, mixed with cinnamon, cardamom, anise and a hint of black pepper spice. Looking forward to my morning cup.
I already commented on my kleine nachtmusik in the previous post.