Field Notes: Clothing

Alive and swine flu-free. In the clutches of 2 big papers and a handful of finals. But before I leave the country in just over three weeks (!) I want to get in a few entries just documenting my surroundings. To avoid total free association, we're going to try to go vaguely by topic.

Round 1: Clothing

The variety of what Moroccans wear was one of the big surprises when I arrived. Basically, there are lots of permutations. That is, you can find Moroccan women wearing snazzy modern clothes, heels and a headscarf, or women in djellabas with their hair uncovered, as well as the (very) occasional woman all in black with just her eyes showing. My host mother, as one example, wears a djellaba and ballet flats when she goes out, and covers her hair (though sometimes with very filmy fabric).

In Agdal you get the most modern young'uns, which means fourteen year olds in full makeup, heels and handbags - they definitely have their American counterparts. My host sisters, aged 19 and up, make use of a full array of trendy clothing, makeup, shoes and handbags.

As far as young Moroccan men are concerned, it's a peacock culture. They wear fancy jackets, distressed jeans, shiny shoes, belts with big buckles that say Gucci and whatnot, they slick their hair back. (Fashion you rarely see on straight American men.) It reminds me a lot of Italian men, actually. Older Moroccan men, depending mostly on their line of work, will wear European work clothes, or jeans and t-shirts. The grandfather-aged set often wear djellabas and leather slippers (yellow is the standard color for men) on a daily basis, and even the more modern dressers will put on a white djellaba for Friday prayers. What you won't see is a twenty something in a djellaba, unless he's a tour guide.

Some other interesting tidbits: the stagiaires - high school graduates who are getting their licence in business, marketing, computer science - often wear a white or light blue smock over their normal clothing, which I think is a leftover from French school systems.

The one person I've talked to specifically about veiling is my friend Laura's culture partner, Lamiya. She is 21 years old, and didn't start wearing a headscarf until 2 years ago (tradition would have her start at puberty), when she had a religious awakening (sorry, can't think of a better term) and started saying her prayers regularly.

Oh, and Moroccans like to be warm. So even on sixty degree days when I'm walking around in a t-shirt, people are still in sweaters and trenchcoats. Layers are a matter of principle: stockings under jeans, tank tops under whatever else you put on. The thing is, they've got the right idea, because the second you get inside a house or in the shade it will be much cooler, and I end up putting those layers right back on.

That's all for now. Perhaps later I can add pictures to go with the huge block of text.

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Russia Week 12: Springtime Snow and Singing

This week was much more eventful than last, and I have plenty of multimedia extras to include with this week's blog.

On Tuesday, I woke up and looked out the window. I was in a merry-state-of-shock. It was April 21st, and there was 6 inches of snow on the ground. The week before I had to buy a windbreaker because my wool coat was too warm--and then it became winter again! I was ecstatic. I went to school slowly and merrily--I was going to be late to class, but I didn't care. I just kept taking pictures and enjoying the clean, wintry air. Below is a video I took of Square Kirova, right outside my university:



I took plenty of pictures, too:

Anyway, after I slowly made my way to class, I ran into my professor. He told me that we didn't have class today because of our inter-university competition within our faculty. It was 8am, and I didn't have to be at work until 11, so I called my friend Sasha and tagged along with him on some errands. He was leaving the next day for Ekaterinburg to go to the American embassy there, so I spent as much of the day with him as possible before he left. He is going to be away until the middle of May, taking this trip as an opportunity to visit his parents in Nizhny Vartosk and then his brother in Krasnoyarsk. He called on Friday to tell me that he received his visa, so he'll be working in San Diego, CA this summer. Congrats, Sasha! Поздравляю тебя!

After the snow came a disgusting period of rain. The streets of Irkutsk are no fun when wet and not-frozen. Wednesday was muddy as I woke up to participate on my faculty's team for our inter-university Olympiada. Russians love competitions, I've noticed, and they regularly have competitions on language. This was the competition for students Russian as a foreign language. We put on a play about Pushkin and I was asked to sing a Russian romance (like a French or German art song, for those of you who may know classical music). The thing is, I never practiced this song. Ever. I had a karaoke track and notated music that didn't quite match the karaoke track that I was given a week before the competition. Needless to say, the trained singer in me was having a freak-out moment. I couldn't even find a quiet place to warm up in the morning, and when I finally did, I had five minutes to warm up before performing. It was nerve-wrecking. Apparently, no one noticed the flaws, and I got nothing but compliments from students and teachers. I just really wish I could have done it right, with my mom accompanying me on the piano after hours and hours of rehearsal. ;-) I have a video of the song, but it's too big to upload on this blog. If you're interested, ask me when I get back. I have a video of the entire play, too. :)

Below are some pictures from the Olympiada. My friend Tsinya and I are posing near the IGLU emblem in our awesome 80s prom dresses (we each played one of Pushkin's wives in these awful creations). The second picture is of our team---we won first place, by the way, beating all the other schools!

That about wraps up Week 12. On Friday, I went to a rehearsal for a Russian folk singing and dancing festival that happened this past Sunday. I'm saving that for Week 13, so stay-tuned for more videos!

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Week 11 in Russia: Sick Day and First Aid Class

I don't have much to report from last week, my 11th week in Russia. I got food poisoning and was home on Wednesday from class. I decided to try to go to school on Thursday, but left after my 8am class because I still wasn't feeling 100%. I spent the day working on next year's class schedule, finalizing my summer plans, and talking to friends from home online. I got really homesick, made mac & cheese, and decided to change my flight home. I was planning to home back on June 20th, but now I'm coming back a week early on June 13th. I very much needed the day off to get these things accomplished, but really didn't feel well :(

On Friday, I saw "Russian Phantom" at the musical theatre. It was a solid production, and definitely made up for the disaster that was "The Sound of Music." I enjoyed the choreography, sets, costumes, voices...I just didn't understand the storyline sometimes. It could be that parts were lost in translation. I went with my roommate and another American student, and I really enjoyed having the girls' night out.

On Saturday and Sunday, I had a two-part first aid course through work. Each of the volunteers on the project this summer were offered a first aid course (for $6!), so I decided to sign-up. On Saturday night, I saved a life. :) We learned how to give CPR, and I was the third person who was able to save the dummy out of the 8 or so who went ahead of me. The doctor who taught our course had an electronic model of a human torso that talked to you while you gave it CPR. It would tell you when your hands were in the wrong place, when you've pushed too hard and could break a rib, or when you aren't giving enough air with each breath. It was difficult, and I'm glad that I was able to do it correctly! On Sunday, we were there all day, but it was Russian Orthodox Easter, so we took a break to eat kulich and beat hard-boiled eggs. So, yes, I celebrated Easter twice :)

That was the extent of my 11th week in Russia. Week 12 is already vastly more interesting, but I'm going to wait until the end of the week to post.

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Meknes, Volubilis and Fes

Last weekend was our final group trip. First stop was Meknes, only an hour and a half from Rabat by bus (remembering our four hour drive to Tangier, we had all settled in for a long haul). In Meknes we checked out the medina and an artisans' museum. It was early, so the main square was empty except for a few kids selling candy and a couple of spice/medicine vendors.


The next stop was Volubilis, Roman ruins plunked down right in the middle of the Moroccan countryside. What's bizarre is that the paysage looks absolutely Tuscan, with olive trees and even a few cypresses. We also lucked out and got beautiful weather, unlike just about every other trip we've taken.


After Volubilis it was on to Fes. The city has three parts: the old medina, "New Fes" which is actually old, and Ville Nouvelle, which is actually new. Fes's medina is unlike anything I've seen so far, and unfortunately it doesn't look like I managed to capture it in pictures - probably because it's entirely made of narrow, winding streets that are full of people. Every couple of minutes you have to duck out of the way of a donkey, and you're either climbing or descending a hill the whole time.


There are amazing monuments sort of embedded in the medina though, including the sanctuary of Moulay Idriss, a Muslim saint and the founder of Fes. The streets around the sanctuary are lined with vendors specific to the tomb, selling all sorts of candles, incense and Fassi specialties which include nougat and sesame candy.

I also got it into my head that we had to find a place in the medina to have b'sara, bean and garlic soup. Our mission was successful, thanks to the trusty Lonely Planet guide - and a compass. I never thought I would actually use it to navigate! Oh, and the b'sara (served out of a huge vat with cumin, hot pepper, and olive oil, and eaten at a tiny table outside the stand) was delicious.


Formatting is screwy, but here are pictures of the Zawiya Moulay Idriss, Medersa Bou-Inane, and a blurry street.

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The Day the Internet Stood Still

Oh, blog delinquency. A proper update with photos is coming - my one excuse is unreliable internet. In fact, this morning Rabat (and the rest of Morocco) redid all of its IP addresses, which meant there was no internet in the entirety of Rabat for several hours this morning.

Can you imagine something like that happening on the Wesleyan campus? Or in New York? Weeley!

Classes continue to provide some funny moments. Last week in MSA we had the vocab word "bantaloonat", Arabized plural of the French word for pants, "pantalon", and my professor in his inter-lingual confusion cautioned us that this was "Fransuzich". My forehead almost hit the desk. This morning in MSA we got on a tangent talking about darija. Apparently, the Moroccan dialect word for freezer (the thing on top of the fridge) is the same as the Syrian dialect word for refrigerator. I have a feeling that somewhere along the line, a Moroccan told a Syrian to put his ice cream in the freezer, and was very displeased to find it completely melted a few hours later. (What effect this had on Arab politics has yet to be investigated.)

The language divide is very real. My host sister's friend Yasmina did an exchange program as a high schooler that took her to Cairo, where she consistently spoke English with the young Egyptians she met because they simply would not have understood her Moroccan darija.

I also have to confess to all the readers at home that I am mildly addicted to a Turkish soap opera, with the Arabic title Wa Tamdy al Ayyam - vaguely translated, "As the Days Go By". I think. The episodes are dubbed from Turkish into Syrian (?) Arabic, so bottom line I understand about 5% of the dialogue. The show involves three main characters who have known each other since childhood, all of whom have at least 2 names and one secret identity. And if you want to see them kiss (which they do frequently when they air in Turkey), you have to look up clips online, since Morocco censors all non-married smooches.

Next time, an audio visual update, god and the internet willing.

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Week 10 in Russia: Freshwater Seals and Catholic Easter

This Saturday, I went to a museum on Lake Baikal with my roommate, Hannah, and a course assistant of one of my professors, Yulya. We occasionally go on excursions to see old factories, museums, and the like, and this time I asked if my roomie could tag along. So, the three of us headed to Listvianka to get our first glance at two nerpa seals--the only species of freshwater seal on the planet, endemic to Lake Baikal.

When we entered the museum, the cashier explained that we had to pay to take pictures. When my roommate asked what that meant, I foolishly answered her in English. Hearing this, the cashier charged us a higher price for "foreigners." (Yes, at the cashier's desk two prices were written: one for citizens of the RF and one for foreigners). Lame. I shouldn't have opened my mouth. So we paid an extra 100 rubles (about $3), and then went to stare at the nerpas for about a half hour. They were so cute! I ended up taking pictures anyway, even though I didn't pay the fee (well, actually, I did, because the fee was 100 rubles--the difference between the ticket prices!):

(Yulya and a nerpa/Native Baikal shrimp species/Nerpa)

The museum had both an aquarium exhibit and an upper level exhibit with more information about the ecology of Lake Baikal. Below is a picture of a giant sturgeon from the upper-level exhibit. I should have placed something there for scale, but it's about the length of my leg. That's a lot of caviar.

After the museum, we walked further into Listvianka. It was a beautiful day, and the ice on the lake is half melted. I really enjoyed seeing Listvianka again (this was my third time here, the first was to walk on the ice in February, the second was the finish line for the ice marathon in March). It's neat to watch it change with the seasons.

(Broken slabs of ice on the shore/broken ice on the surface of the Lake/the melted part of the Lake)

Once we got into Listvianka-proper, Hannah and Yulya bought Omul' (a native species of fish to Lake Baikal--that we had just seen in the aquarium!) and some beer. I bought a cabbage piroshkii and joined them on the shore. (I also tried a little of the fish...if I liked fish, I'm sure it would have been the best fish I had ever tasted...)

(Relaxing on the shore)

On Sunday, I celebrated Catholic Easter, which happens to fall a week earlier than Russian Orthodox Easter. My friend Sasha had never made kulich or piroshki, two dishes that I was planning to make for Easter, so I invited him over. Together, we made piroshki with hard-boiled egg and rice or cabbage and onion, and two kulichi (Russian Easter bread). Hannah helped us decorate eggs and fill piroshki, noting that the piroshki looked like little fat nerpa seals. :-) Then we played a traditional Russian game where you each grab an egg and then try to crack another person's egg without breaking your own. In typical Osecki family fashion, we had mimosas with our Easter brunch. Might I also add that the bottle of champagne was $4? And good? ;-)

Hannah took some really nice photographs, so the following are courtesy of her:

(Top to bottom, left to right: Sasha; Kulich and Champagne; Me with all things Easter; Our beautiful eggs)

We had a really nice time together, and I felt right at home. Sasha said he never would have imagined baking kulich and celebrating Easter a week early in a dormitory with two American girls, but I think he enjoyed himself as well. When I called home later that evening, I had him talk to my Babushka for a little bit in Russian. It was strange to not be at home for Easter, but I had a great time celebrating with Sasha and Hannah. And who knows..I might celebrate Easter again this Sunday!

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Week 9 in Russia: Driving Cars and Riding Horses

Wow, I'm getting later and later with these things...прости меня (Forgive me) :)

Last week, week 9, was marked by two exciting events, as the title of this entry hints.

On Wednesday last week, I was in my friend Sasha's car and we were having an ongoing argument about who are worse drivers: women or men. Sasha was convinced that women were worse, but I am convinced by the American study that women are, on average, safer drivers. (Statistically, men take more risks that could lead to accidents). I decided to tell Sasha that maybe in Russia women are worse drivers, but in America, they're better. I probably should have never opened my mouth, because then he pulled over, got out of the car, and told me to drive. Uh... I don't have a Russian drivers' license, I've never driven a car with the steering wheel on the right, people get stopped by the police all the time here--there were 100 reasons not to take the wheel. But, of course, when in Russia...

So I drove Sasha's car for about ten minutes, including driving down the busiest street in downtown Irkutsk. Mind you, there are no lanes. There are buses, trolleybuses, and pedestrians everywhere. The main goal is the zig-zag around these obstacles while trying not to crash into the cars that are also zig-zagging around the same obstacles. Needless to say, I was frightened, the entire time muttering minor curses under my breath at Sasha, but when I finally parallel parked the car and got out--I was ecstatic. I drove a car with the steering wheel on the right hand side for the first time down the busiest street in Irkutsk and survived! I took a video of Sasha driving down that same street, so that you can get an idea of what it was like. Excuse the loud noise from the wind, I was holding my camera out the window. (I wasn't thinking before to have Sasha take a video of me driving the car, and since I was so lucky the first time, I didn't really want to tempt fate by trying again..):


(At one point, Sasha asks if I'm taking a video or pictures, when I answer, he asks if he will be in the video. When the camera turns to him, he says: "Hey, guys, look: Here, Elizabeth drove a car, in Russia. Imagine! ..She broke the law." And the lyrics in the background are "Forgive me, forgive.")

On Saturday morning, Sasha and I went for a run on the banks of the Angara. I hadn't done this since February, when Martijn and I were training for the Baikal Ice Marathon. What a big difference in April--it was gorgeous outside and there were many other runners. I came back here to shower and get some work done before running errands. When I was out running errands, Sasha called and asked what I was doing for the rest of the day. "Nothing, really." "Okay," he said, "I'll be over in 25 minutes."

So, 25 minutes later he comes by, sees that I'm wearing a skirt and high heels and tells me to go change into something "sporty" and that he has a surprise for me. Are we going running again?, I wondered. Well, no, in fact, we were going horseback riding. I haven't been on a horse since I was a girl scout. I remember being on a black horse that took off galloping with me on it. I never wanted to go horseback riding ever again. Well, here I was, at a hippodrome in Siberia, with a friend who probably went through a lot of trouble to arrange a horseback riding lesson. Okay, I thought, I can do this. Just get on the horse, Elizabeth.

I ended up having a great time. I learned how to properly sit on the horse, how to steer, how to go faster, and how to turn. The trainer was very nice to explain all the equestrian terminology very slowly, and offered regular lessons on Fridays. Sasha is definitely taking her up on this--he used to ride horses at his grandmother's and he was itching to ride the entire time I was having my lesson. I've got to admit, that once I got over my fear, I really enjoyed it. I'm trying new things here--new, and sometimes dangerous, but always worth it.

Below are some pictures that Sasha took while I was learning to ride:

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Back in Action

Turns out getting back to class can kill a vacation high really really fast - all it took was two hours of MSA. I'd better record it before it's completely gone.

I flew with my friend Laura to Ouarzazate, a town just south of the Atlas mountains. We landed at night and it was a very windy 9 degrees Celsius. Ouarzazate is a Tamazight (Berber) name that means "without noise" - and so it is. It's a sleepy, beautiful town with gorgeous views of the mountains as a backdrop. We explored the kasbah, which is made of mud and straw with reed ceilings - it made me think of the pseudo-mazes in party spaces for young kids, except it was truly labyrinthine. We picked up a very nice but nevertheless false guide, who led us to his friend's store after our tour to look at lots and lots of beautiful jewelry. He also dressed me and Laura in all sorts of Touareg and Berber costumes - pictures forthcoming! We also visited the movie studios just outside of Ouarzazate, where the highlight for me was The Mummy set - maybe you've heard me gush about this super campy movie, maybe I've managed to keep it under wraps... I have a Rachel Weisz weakness, what can I say?

We took a day trip out of Ouarzazate further south into the Draa Valley, an endless palm oasis full of towns built like the kasbah. After about four hours of driving we hit the Merzouga dunes - not quite the Sahara - but we stopped there for a short camel ride. Camels are very funny, with squishy feet and long eyelashes. I did a report in 9th grade on Knut Schmidt-Neilsen, a biologist who figured out why/how camels and sea birds never have to drink, and he's right, the camel's nose is pretty amazing.

We moved on to Agadir after a couple of days, a beautiful, clean beach town. Spent a few days in the sun and eating delicious fresh fish, grilled as well as fried, at the local stands by the harbor.

The south stood out for two reasons: One, an excess of beautiful things. Jewelry, pottery, carpets, rose products. Two, the nice Moroccans live there. For example, Rabat's salespeople are aggressive, and indignant when you aren't interested. In Ouarzazate and Agadir they actually let you browse if you want to browse, and they invite you home for tea whether or not you buy anything. That bit seemed sketchy to me at first, but the more people asked the more I realized it's a legitimate thing to do. New Yorker instinct says nice people are always bad news.

In the south they never get tired of saying "Li zirbu, matu" - in English, "those who hurry are already dead." And they live that out, which is how sitting down to tea can take two hours. I have a feeling the rest of my semester will be, in Berber terms, pretty dead.

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