Identity crisis

So I arranged with Lahcen the property manager to do laundry this morning, and we were chatting on the rooftop (in French) about stuff. I tried to tell him how important it is to be able to wash clothes when you’re traveling for months on end. And then he asks me if I’m from Spain.

One of the little relaxation nooks on the rooftop of my apartment.

Now I know my French is rusty, but Spain?’ Then I realize I’ve been saying “si” to him instead of “yes” since my arrival. The results of seven weeks in South America. Roberto, my Spanish teacher, would be proud! In Marrakech, the guy who looked after the pool asked if I was from Norway And here’s me thinking I’m gradually turning a nice shade of dark white.

Many people hire horse and buggy to get to the daily markets.

I’ve learned three new words in Arabic: thank you, hello/goodbye and please. Smiles are also communication but I have to remember that they can sometimes send the wrong message in this culture.

Various gates leading to and from the walled part (medina) of town.

This afternoon I stopped for mint tea at a place close to my apartment. The owner sat with me and we talked about the resident cat who was born with a deformity – one back paw that didn’t develop and just hangs there. He gets around just fine though (the cat) and has lots of kitten left in him, freaking out for no reason and beating up on the carpet. He didn’t charge me for the tea, so of course I returned tonight for dinner. Such a savvy businessman.