Property #3

1. Apartment in the city

2. Beach house on the Atlantic

3. The farm

The farm is only 15 km from town and is comprised of 8 hectares of many kinds of fruits and vegetables. Moustaffa explained that it is a small farm, not like the ones we have in the States, but I think 8 hectares is a substantial plot of land for one family's fruits and vegetables. It was truly a picturesque setting, nestled between large hills. The arid, brown countryside is not what one normally thinks of as beautiful, but I've come to really appreciate the rustic, untamed beauty of this area of Morocco. The only patches of green now are the groves of trees, but the rolling fields hold the promise of bursting into life as soon as the rains come.

One man operates the farm, and there is too much fresh produce for one family to consume, so the rest is sold at the market. We picked eggplant, pomegranates, lemons, and zuchinni. The zucchini is not what we call zucchini, and despite some research into squash types, I cannot seem to find it's name. It resembles a pumpkin, but the shell is mostly green with some yellow-orange spots. It can grow to be quite large-up to 50lbs or so. If anyone knows what we Americans call it, please let me know!

On the farm there are also olive groves, nut trees, and who knows what else. I feel like we only saw a small portion, but I'm sure we'll be going back every now and then.

Moustaffa has owned the farm for 20 years, but I don't think anyone has lived there in that time. There is a small house that we saw, but it looked like it had seen better days. There were also two old wells and a happy babbling brook!

Spaghetti

Ever since orientation, I have been hearing a lot about Hammams. Hammams are Moroccan public bath houses that become particularly popular in the winter when it is cold, but many Moroccans take advantage of them all year long. For these first few weeks in Morocco, two of the most popular questions to ask us Americans is if we have gone to the Hammam, and if not, if we will go to Hammam. Everyone follows up these questions with some sort of statement about spaghetti. It took me a while to realize what they were saying, but today I got to see it first hand.

This Saturday started out how every Saturday should start. I got up at around 7 (I know what everyone is thinking-Evie doesn't wake up at 7 when she doesn't have to, but actually, I don't think I've slept past 7 since I've been in Morocco), put on some cotton capris, a t-shirt, and running shoes and went for a jog around the new part of the city. I've been trying to run at least a couple of times a week, and I've found two parks that are near each other that are pretty laid back. There aren't as many stares or yells of "hello...hola...how are you?" Today I ran in the park and found a rode that led into a very nice neighborhood on top of the hill that had a great view of the medina across the valley. Gorgeous! I'll get pictures sometime, I promise. When I got back, I showered and had a lazy coffee morning, which made me miss my Houghton girls immensely!

I had a Hammam date with 3 other girls and Iman, our female director, at 10:30. The hammam was a simple building, nothing fancy at all. There was a small changing room where one removes all of their clothes except their underwear, grabs a big bucket, and takes their towel and soaps into the actual bathing rooms. The bathing room is kept warm, but not sauna hot. The bathing room had concrete walls and a stone floor. A red pipe and blue pipe ran around the room with spigots every few feet. We sat down on our mats, filled our buckets, and dumped warm water over ourselves-always warm in the beginning. Next, you make a mixture of a sort of natural soap that resembled grease and henna powder, and use this mixture to loosen the dirt on your body. Then you rinse this mixture off of yourself and wait for one of the scrubbing ladies.

The scrubbing ladies (I'm sure they have a real name, but "scrubbing ladies" will have to suffice for now) are old, overweight Moroccan ladies that use this sort of scrubbing glove (you bring your own glove, it isn't that communal-don't worry) to basically strip your body of all the dirt and dead skin cells. You lie on your mat with your head on their unshaven leg, and they scrub almost every inch of your body. I thought this part would be more awkward than it actually turned out to be. The ladies go about their job so mechanically, and they are so grandmotherly that I actually felt very comfortable and relaxed. And yes, I saw first hand what was meant by Hammam spaghetti.

When the ladies have finished with you, you wash up with your own soaps, and when you have pampered yourself enough, you return to the dressing room to return the bucket and pay the equivalent of $5 for everything, a small price to pay for that oh so clean feeling, and a truly Moroccan experience!

You Can Stand Under My Umbrella

I've lived in Morocco long enough now to know that Moroccan Walmart is called Marijane. Cub Foods is LabelVie, and the medina is the equivalent of an American mall combined with the Family Dollar combined with Goodwill combined with a farmers market.

Today I took my second trip to the medina in Meknes. The medina is the old part of the city. The streets wind around in no particular pattern, stores spill out onto the street, and people are everywhere. It's a giant market, a stage for snake charmers, musicians, and dancers, and a dream for people watchers and adventure seekers. It seems as if there is never a dull moment in the medina.

I went to the medina today with my host mother and my little brother. The only thing I was really interested in buying was an umbrella. I didn't bring an umbrella, and rainy season is just around the corner. I wasn't successful. I am pretty sure I saw everything else in the medina. I saw rings, necklaces, rolex watches, gucci sunglasses, beach towels, guess tshirts, huka, tajines, lamps, swords, carpets, dresses, backpacks, books, fabric, doughnuts, olives, meat slabs, dates, and the list goes on. We saw a guy steal a box of shirts and the Moroccan police tackle him. We saw a snake charmer with 6 different snakes. We saw a water man or two. We saw everything... except for my umbrella.

The medina really is fascinating. It is a mixture of everyday life with those things that you feel must be put there just for tourists, but then, upon closer inspection, you realize that it is locals that crowd around. Everywhere you look there are people. The people span all age groups, and all degrees of modesty. There are young women in capris and tank tops and then in front of her is a lady with only her eyes visible.

There are different quarters or districts if you will--jewelry, fabric, food. Within the district stores deal almost exclusively in those products. Then there are the streets that are just a conglomeration of every kind of store. You could wander for hours, you could get lost for days, and you could buy anything your heart desires-except an umbrella.

Mountain Monkeys

Today we hiked! We took the bus up into the High Atlas. We stopped at Ifrane which is more Swiss than Moroccan. The buildings all loook new and have high sloped roofs. There are manicured parks with green grass and working fountains. For only being a little over an hour away, it felt like we had jumped continents.

Next we went to our guide's farm for a traditional Berber breakfast. His mother had laid out the spread of a lifetime for the 30 of us. There was the regular Moroccan bread that has become a staple in my new diet here, but there was also some sort of cornbread and a kind of tortilla thing. There was freshly made butter, marmalade, and honey, and let's not forget the Berber whiskey-green mint tea! After our very delicious and filling breakfast, we hiked out through the fields to the mountains. The mountains had large trees, hundreds of years old, and there was very little undergrowth. Our guide pointed out interesting plants along the way-one that is good for asthma, one that cures indigestion if boiled, one that acts as an herb for cooking.

Before I knew it we were in a little clearing with large, furry monkeys all around. Some people took horseback rides around the forest, but I played with the monkeys. They would take bread right from my hand. There were babies that were playing with their mothers, and big males hulking around trying to get the most out of the tourists that had arrived. One monkey stole Anne's bag of chips and ran away. A baby monkey was in a tree nearby, and I couldn't help but give the cute little one the majority of my bread.

The next stop was another hike, but this one led us up to a gorgeous view of the Moroccan countryside. Daniel and Iman (the directors) may have regretted their decision to bring us up to on top of that cliff after watching some members of the group playing and hiking too close to the edge, but everyone made it back down to the bus safely.

Sorry if this blog is not quite as exciting, but think of it more as a carrier for the photos.

Roman Ruins and Pilgrimages

Even though there are no classes on Saturday, we did not get a chance to sleep in, which was alright by me since I had slept wrong on my arms and woke up at 6am unable to straighten them.

At 8am we met the directors and other students at the bus and headed to the ruins of the ancient Roman city of Volubilis. As the word "ruins" implies, there is only crumbling foundations and a few columns remaining of what was once a fairly large Roman settlement. We spent the morning climbing around the ruins and learning about the history of Volubilis from our tour guide. He pointed out wonderful tile mosaics that depicted stories of Hercules, Juno, Poseidon, and other Gods andGoddesses. We were shown large pools and Jacuzzi locations, where the brothel had been located, and of course the main religious and governmental buildings. With the Middle Atlas mountains as a back drop and fields and olive trees stretching out below, it isn’t hard to imagine why the Romans picked this spot for a city.

After Volubilis we hopped back on the bus and wound our way up into the mountains to the town of Moulay Idriss. Moulay Idriss is an ancient city and a place of pilgrimage for Muslims. The city is built on a large hill that almost pops out of nowhere, resembling giving the city an almost ant hill-esque look. Stairs switched back and forth up and down the hill between the thousand year old homes. It was market day in the small city of 20,000 and therefore, was teaming with life. Farmers and merchants from 37 surrounding villages plopped down anywhere along the roads, selling their goods out of baskets, boxes, crates, or off of blankets-their donkeys waiting patiently to haul whatever can’t be sold back up through the mountains to where ever home may be.

I thoroughly enjoyed walking through the market seeing all the fresh fruits and vegetables, boys riding their donkeys up the hill, and women with their heads covered and babies slung on their back bargaining for the best prices for the spices needed for the next week’s dinners. The only part I didn’t like was when I found myself in the meat section. Whole halves of cows hung up in the sweltering heat. Goats stripped of all flesh except for their still furry head still intact hovering inches from the ground. The smell was enough to make anyone a vegetarian. I walked as quickly as I could to the other side, using all the strength I had not to run or be sick. I’m hoping that we’re eating vegetarian tonight...

Language Barriers

Yes, it is true that this subject was bound to come up at one point in the blog, but I didn't expect it to be the result of a situation like this.

I only have one class on Friday and so I was home by 11:30 today. I ate lunch with Majda and Mamoun, and Majda asked me if I would like to go swimming with her in the afternoon. Since Anne has class until 7pm, I accepted and loaded up my bag for the gym. I packed my suit, a towel, shorts, a tshirt and a water bottle.

It was a French gym as opposed to a Moroccan one (still have no idea what the difference is). The gym was pretty typical except the women and men had completely separate quarters. We swam first, and then we took a sauna. Majda doesn't speak any English, but we had an enjoyable time and I was able to make some small talk and understand what she said to me. She needed to pick up Mamoun from school and run some errands and offered to pick me up after.

We went out to the room with the treadmills and weights. Majda spoke to the trainer, letting her know that I was a guest and that I can only kind of speak French. The trainer asked what I would like to do. I indicated the treadmill (I haven't learned that French word yet, but I'll look it up tonight), and she led me to them and began to walk me through how it worked with actions. It was not my first time on a treadmill, and in addition, all the buttons were labelled in English. However, I politely nodded along and thanked her for her help.

When I finished running I decided to lift a little. When I got to the lat pulldown (see picture for reference), I confidently sat down and began pulling as I have done hundreds of times before, pulling down the bar in front of me with my arms about shoulder length apart. Before I knew it, the trainer had come over to tell me that I was doing it all wrong. She told me I must put my hands on the very outside of the bar and pull down behind my head (not wrong, but I don't prefer the hunchback look that this can result in). I politely tried to explain, in my limited French, that I had been instructed otherwise in the U.S. However, when she insisted, I switched to her way to finish my set and then moved on to another machine.

Before I had even completed my first set on the next machine, another woman approached. "Do you have questions on how to use the machine?" she asked in English. For a moment I was confused.

"No, thank you, I'm doing fine," I replied.

"She," pointing to the trainer, "said she could not explain to you, that you didn't understand. Are you sure you are fine?"

Then we made small talk for a while, and she invited me to have dinner at her house, that she would give me the address the next time she saw me.

The frustrating part of not being able to speak fluently in another language is that it is hard to defend oneself. I knew how to do the exercise. I understood the trainer's recommendations. Heck, I even adapted just so she would know I understood.

The situation was frustrating, but it also made me almost laugh outloud. I loved how everyone was so concerned and wanted to help me with the machines, but if I had needed help, directions on how to use the machine were, in fact, written on the machine. On every machine, there were drawings with very articulate directions on how exactly to use each and every one. How do I know that they had perfectly adequate directions you may ask? Well, even though my French may still be sub par, and I find it hard to communicate just how much I understand, and I may appear to be rather slow and unintelligent to just about every Moroccan I have met, I know that the directions were perfectly adequate because they were written in English, only English. My language. A language I pride myself on knowing quite well. Yes, they were American weight machines.

Cheap?

There are 4 common ways for us foreign schlubs to get around Meknes, excluding of course buying some sort of vehicle of our own.

The first mode of transportation is the bus. However, we were warned before even setting foot in Meknes that the routes were complicated and that we'd do best to just avoid it.

The second mode of transportation is also common in the U.S., and is called the petit taxi. The petit taxi operates the same as taxis do in the U.S. A meter clocks the miles, and at the end of one's trip there is a fixed amount that is shared by the whole group in the taxi. The petit taxis are, as their name implies, quite small. Only three people are allowed to cram into the petit taxi at a time.

The third mode of transportation that is preferred by those who perhaps don't have bulging wallets is the grand taxi. The grand taxi travels a fixed route, much like a bus, except that it is just a large car, and the schedules are not fixed. Grands taxis fit six people in addition to the driver, four in the backseat and two in the front. Though I said it is a large car, please don't imagine that four people fit comfortably in the backseat. No, it is almost an art to fit four adults onto the bench seat, and in the weather we've been having, the backseat quickly becomes a sauna. Since the grands taxis have fixed routes, each person in the cab pays the same fixed rate.

The fourth mode of transportation is walking. In the short time I've lived in Meknes, walking has become my favorite mode of transportation. Yes, it is cheaper, but I enjoy the opportunity to explore, get lost, and take in everything around me.

Anne and I have been walking to school. The other students think we are absolutely mad. The weather has been 100+ degrees, and the sun has been relentless. However, we have seen some pretty amazing things on our walks to and from school. Yesterday, we witnessed a fender bender that almost turned into a 4 or 5 car pile up. Today we saw sheep get loose from a truck. There are people that ride donkeys into town, carrying their goods to sell. Men push carts filled with colorful squash. And, jokingly, we talk about the boost it gives one's self esteem. A full minute never passes by that you don't hear a horn honking for you or have a Moroccan man try to say hello to you in every Western language he can. For the parents that are reading this, don't worry. The men do say hello and follow us American women with their eyes, but they do not follow us or do anything inappropriate.

Today as we left school at around 11, the other students who were leaving asked why we were walking. Cheap? Perhaps, but in all honesty, I would definitely spring the 5 dirhams a day if I wanted a ride, but what better way to explore Morocco than by taking it in one step at a time?

4em Etage

Today we took placement exams and had a small tour of Moulay Ismail University. It is only a short walk to the Grand Taxi stand and from there you can get a ride to the front of the University. Then you catch a Grand Taxi at the back of the university to get a ride back to our neighborhood, where one makes the same short walk home.

Home is on the fourth floor (that's the fifth floor to you Americans) of a small apartment building. There is only one apartment above ours. The apartment of my host family occupies the whole fourth floor, and it looks as though at one point it could have been divided into two, but today it is one giant U-shaped apartment.

When one enters the apartment, one can see that it is by no means a cheap apartment, yet it looks like perhaps its glory days have past. The halways are dim and the elevator must be from 1920. As one climbs the stairs, windows allow more light in and the tenants of the different floors decorate their landings to their own taste. Some are simple-a picture or two in the hall, others are over the top like the Israeli below us who has about 6 chairs and a giant portrait of the Mona Lisa shoved into the small space. Our landing has a simple two person bench and a vase of dried flowers.

When you enter the door, the maid's kitchen is directly in front of you. Beyond the kitchen there is the maid's bedroom and the master bedroom suite. I have not explored this part of the apartment, so we will move on. if one turns left, one enters the living area of the apartment. The living area stretches the length of the apartment (minus the back bedrooms) and there is a large balcony that runs parallel to the living area. Giant windows and sliding glass doors separate the living space from the balcony so the room is always well lit with natural light. The balcony has the family's dining table as well as many plants and an area to dry clothes. The living room is divided into three sitting areas. There is a grand piano in the middle section and a more formal dining table as well. On the walls there are many large paintings of muslim women and men, some depicting religious or other events.

On the other half of the apartment is a kitchen that Anne and I can store extra snacks in, and it also houses the overflow of fresh and frozen food. Then comes Mamoun's bedroom then Anne and my bedroom is at the back. Our bedroom has a double and a single bed with a small balcony and a closet. The decorations are sparse, but we're hanging up pictures and our calendar to make the room feel more "ours". From our balcony we have a pretty good view of the city and we can also see the mountains in the distance. But the best part about our room?? Well of course it is the speaker 10 meters away that gives the call to prayer every morning at around 5am-reminding us as we cover our ears with pillows that we are, in fact, in Morocco.

La Plage

Hello faithful followers! I have returned from my vacation to the beach in Bouznika. The house was just a little ways off the beach, but had a wonderful openness to it because of the large french doors that let in plenty of light and when open allowed the ocean breeze to waft in.

The beach itself was very nice as well, and the weather was perfect, never a cloud in the sky and just enough breeze so that one wouldn't feel as if she was boiling alive as she read "Chasing Harry Winston" and listened to the waves crash. Yes, I felt as if I could be in Florida or Mexico. However, one thing that could not be denied was the diversity of dress in the patrons of the beach. One could look into the ocean and see a group of Moroccan women swimming, one in a bikini, one in a onepiece with her hair covered, one wearing capris and a short sleeve shirt with her head covered, and the last covered head to toe.

On Thursday, Anne and I decided to fast along with the family (when I say fast I mean that we didn't eat any food but we did drink water and I allowed myself a piece of gum in the morning since there was no water to brush teeth with). It was not quite as difficult as I would have imagined it to be. However, had I been in my own home with a fridge begging to be openned, the story may have been different. Regardless, after a day on the beach, I was extremely happy when the call to prayer came on over the television set. We settled down to breakfast, and I ate more than my fair share of dates, pastries, and soup. The family explained that Ramadan had ended in France and the United States and so they waited anxiously for the sky to darken. Moustafa went up to the roof to look for the moon. The rest of us settled in the living room to watch Zombieland in French (Mamoun's choice). Towards the end of the film, Majda came running into the living room, hugging and kissing everyone, yelling, "Tomorrow, we eat!" They had seen the moon, and Ramadan had officially ended!

We spent the remainder of the weekend well fed and happy. We swam in the ocean, I went for runs along the beach, and Moustafa and I took on Mamoun and one of Moustafa's other sons in a game of soccer (which we kicked butt, 3-1...and I scored all 3 goals for our team-thank you kurt!). They taught us pitonc (sp?) which is basically the French version of bocce ball, and one night we even had a dance party in the living room. I had been dubious about leaving the city since we'd been travelling around so much and I was in desperate need of doing laundry and sleep, but now, as I look out across Meknes from the living room of the city apartment, I realize how much I would have missed out on had I not just gone with the flow. No, not only a killer tan, but I also would have missed out on some invaluable bonding time with my host family. Thank goodness I'm too polite to speak my mind!

Dynamic

Tonight I am writing from my new home, an apartment in la ville neuveaux (French quarters). My family consists of the father (Moustaffa), the mother (Majda), the oldest son (Iman), and the young son (Mamoon (sp?)). The apartment is large and there are two maids. Moustaffa is a doctor and Majda is a nurse.

However, our day began in Tanger which is what I'd like to focus on in this blog. Tanger is an international city where one hears Arabic, French, Spanish, and English. It is an ancient city, dating back to preroman times. It has also always been an important city, a capital of a large Roman province and in more recent times, a trading fort used by the Portuguese, English and French.

We took a walking tour of the fort. The fort dates back to the 9th or 10th century. The Portuguese built a protective wall around the fort in the later part of the 1400s and handed the fort over peacefully to Charles II of England many years later. The streets within the medina are narrow and winding. It is a maze that would take a person years to figure out completely.

Since it is Ramadan, the streets or should I say alleys, were very quiet despite it being rather late in the morning-better to sleep than work if you can't eat during the day. We stopped at a palace that has been converted into a museum. The museum held artifacts discovered in the region dating back to the 10th century B.C. and resembled the Alhambra on a smaller scale.

We wandered further into the medina and found ourselves at a pharmacy or herbalist. He welcomed us in and had us sit on little stools arranged in a U shape. Jars of different spices and herbs filled shelves from top to bottom, and the shelves wrapped themselves around the entire room. The main herbalist had a little stand set up in the middle of our chairs and began selling his products-rose cream for bags under your eyes, ginseng for the gentlemen (if you know what I mean), spices that cure snoring, salve that treats herpes, balm that stops mosquito bites from itching... you name it, he had it. He walked through his most popular products one at a time, giving us a sample of almost all of them. Then he got to the cosmetics. Henna for eyeliner (can you imagine putting on eyeliner with a wooden stick that you dip in henna?? I couldn't). Then came the magic lipstick. The stick itself was clear, but after it came in contact with a person's skin, it turned pink. The shade of pink depended on the person's skin. He walked along and gave each person a little on the palm of their hand. When he got to me he stopped as mine turned the brightest, most vibrant shade of pink. He looked at my hand with interest and indicated to sit still before continuing down the line. When he'd finished he came back to me, turned to the group, held up my pink-stained hand, and announced, "She is the most dynamic woman in the group!" Why thank you Monsieur Herbalist!

Berber Whiskey

Last night we went out with a bang in Spain. We attended a flamenco show up in the caves of the Medina. I must admit that until last night I had not realized the main focus of flamenco is the rhythms and beats. It reminded me strongly of stomp. There was a little background guitar music, but the rhythms of the stomping, clapping and snapping overpowered it all. Of course the graceful hand movements, flowing dresses, sangria and yells of "Ole" reminded me that I was still in a Granada cave, not a New York alley.

We left Granada early this morning-well, early by Spanish standards... The drive south to Algeciras went through hills of olive groves. The port city was not quite as picturesque. The ship rocked heavily on the way across the straight, but the trip only took 45 minutes or so.

My first question in Morocco was, "Where are all the women?" In the small towns we went through on the way to Tanger, men sat lazily outside cafes or walked leisurely along the street, but seeing a woman was a rarity. It was almost like Michigan Tech as a country, except that I knew there were more women somewhere.

We have arrived in Morocco at the tail end of Ramadan, which means no dinner until it is breakfast time, which means the setting of the sun and the call to prayer, or 7pm. I waited impatiently until this time. We walked the city streets, but it was hard for me to be observant since I hadn't eaten since Spanish breakfast that morning. What I did notice was this: Tanger was a bustling city-fair amount of traffic, shops open everywhere, people walking, buying, talking, and yelling. Then, while standing in the main square, the call to prayer rang out. Almost instantly the streets were quiet, shops closed, and the only people in sight were sitting at tables in restaurants. Breakfast time.

We headed to a restaurant at a more leisurely pace, and for the first time in my life, I broke the fast-well, technically I hadn't been fasting, but I was hungry enough to feel as though I had been. So I had the traditional Moroccan breakfast-dates, a hard boiled egg with salt and cumin sprinkled on it, a slightly spicy tomato-noodle soup, some deep fried bread-like sweet things, and an avocado banana smoothie. After breakfast I had a cup of tea, grean tea with fresh mint leaves in it. It had a pleasantly sweet minty flavor. "Berber whiskey," my assistant director said and winked at me across the table.

Washington Irving

I have been neglectful and have let far too much time pass between these blogs. I have seen and done so much that I'm afraid I am going to overwhelm my few faithful followers with a blog that is far too long. Therefore, here is a snapshot of one adventure.

Yesterday we began our day with a trip up to the Alhambra, the palace built in the 14th century by Moorish rulers of the Granada area. The palace is situated on a large hill with tall walls that surrounded it and the houses of the village of nobles and servants. The elaborate terraced gardens have long since been overgrown and now all that remains is a small recreated garden for the tourists to walk through on their way to the summer house.

The summer house was built on seven levels, symbolic of the Muslim relgion, and bits of the amazing plasterwork still remained, though it was only a shadow of what we were about to see in the main castle. Since the summer hous was outside of the walls, it was only used on the hot summer days as a day time retreat. The royal family never stayed over night in the house.

The palace is plain on the outside, but the inside is ornate with its plaster work, tiling, and carved ceilings. The Quran writings can be seen in the artwork throughout the palace. There are three main parts to the palace, the Sultan's women only being allowed in a certain area so as not to be seen by men visiting. Jealousy windows are on the upper stories over looking the fountains and gardens below. Jealousy windows allow the wives and mistresses to look out of the window but the men outside cannot look in.

When the Christian Monarchs seized Granada at the beginning of 1492 (a big year for Ferdinand and Isabella), they of course inherited the palace as well. Over future years many changes would be maid to the palace. First, and addition would be put on where the Sultan and his women had lived. Then, a second palace was built in the more modern style, but that king and queen left before the palace was finished, and they never returned to use it.

In the 1800's, Washington Irving visited Granada and stayed in the addition of the Alhambra. A plaque on the wall commemorates his visit. The book he wrote on tales of the Alhambra fills a giftshop.

As we walked down the path back to the city thinking about the amazing view and the powerful monarchs who had inhabited the buildings, we just left we passed a statue. I turned and studied the statue-Washington Irving. Of all the important figures in the Alhambra's history, Washington Irving stands guard next to the path that leads to the palace.

Pomegranate

Granada (Spanish for pomegranate) is a really neat place. We took a walking tour this morning. I learned that this was the last strong Islamic hold in Spain. The Muslims were finally kicked out in the conquest in the 1400's (1492-February, if I remember correctly). While much has burned down or remodeled since that time, you can still see remnants from the "old days". For example, the old mosques were converted to churches with their minarets converted into bell towers. We visited the old market place which is a maze of alleys, too narrow for even the smallest European cars, in the center of the city. The original market place burned, but Granada rebuilt it and tried to keep much of the same flavor. Now however, it is mainly a market for tourists. Shops and stands line the little alleys selling their cloned Chinese goods-African drums, Australian boomerangs...whatever your heart desires with "Granada" written on it!

After the tour through the market, we entered the Medina-the old section that had walls around it. Parts of the wall from the 10th century can still be seen. The Medina is built on a large hill and also has windy streets and alleys. To navigate, one must think in terms of up the hill or down the hill. At the very top there was a wonderful view across a valley of the Alhambra. The Alhambra is the old palace of Granada. Tomorrow morning we have a tour of it.

This afternoon we're going to visit the cathedral and then wander the city! It is nearly lunch time, however, so I must go downstairs to meet my new friends! In case you do the math in your heads, yes, it is 2:30. In Spain, lunch is from 2-4ish, and dinner is anywhere from 8pm-1am. Young children can be heard playing in the streets until 3:30 in the morning.