Visit Morocco! (Under Certain Conditions)

I've been in Morocco 48 hours.

It's the most unique place I have ever been.

It may be the most unique because it is the most unlike any other place I've been.

The sun is setting, and I hear the Islamic prayer call echoing from across Casablanca through my open window.

I feel more comfortable when wearing my sweatshirt hood or my scarf around my head. It makes me a little less obviously blonde, and my sunglasses hide my blue eyes. It's not that I'm afraid; it's that I don't want to stand out from the crowd even more than I already do.

Most of the Moroccans think I'm French. Their own accents and vocabulary have as many eccentricities as mine. So "I will never be French" - except in Morocco.

There are very rich people and very poor people; the exquisite mosques contrast deeply with the crumbling shacks. Everything is so cheap here that the expats and tourists can live and eat like kings.

The roads and markets are pushy, full of colors and scents (both pleasant and not so pleasant), and noisy in their needs.

My experience so far in Morocco has been heavily influenced by 3 crucial factors.

1) Living in France has exposed me to French. I can speak with and understand the taxi drivers, shopkeepers, and other locals. I'm actually enjoying arguing with cabbies.

2) Living in France has introduced me to Arab and African athletes, students, coworkers, and friends. My moments with Moroccans have been overwhelmingly positive, and impacted which African country I would go to first all along.

3) Most important factor: I may be flying solo, but I am in Casablanca because my friend from college, John, lives here. He has tons of Moroccan and expat friends, and has brought me to some awesome in-the-know places that I'll talk about later.

I could not have done this trip 5 years ago. I don't even think I could have done it 2 years ago. I definitely couldn't have done it without the help of a friend-turned-local.

If you can accept the dirty chaos of a developing country, only then are you able to see past the bad differences to enjoy the good differences.

At this point in my life, I can finally accept Morocco as a tourist, but I don't think I could handle it as a place to live.

Should you come to Morocco? Yes, but...

Yes, but with the right person/people.

Yes, but with a wide open mind.

Yes, but do your homework in advance and know what to expect.

Yes, but be prepared to play by their rules.

Yes, but don't come until you are ready.

For the complete "My Morocco" series...
Part 1: Les Petits Taxis
Part 2: Breaking Beats 
Part 3: Places & Plates

 

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Monthly Musings with Marc - February

My Top 10 European Churches

Everyone has something they have to see or do when they go on trips: old ruins, local cuisine, famous landmark, or things like that. Me, I'm a steeple chaser. I love cathedrals! The architecture, the stories, the feeling I get every time I walk into a holy place, it never gets old for me. Below are the Top Ten Churches I have seen on my travels in Europe. This is not a ranking, just a list, because, for me, no church is better than another; each has a great story, and is beautiful in a different way.

1. Notre Dame

Paris, France

Team Amplify were some of the first visitors Swags and I took to see Notre Dame. Thank you to Victor Hugo for saving this Parisian gem.

2. Sagrada Familia

Barcelona, Spain

This cathedral was designed by Gaudi, started construction in 1882, and is still being built!

3. Basilique St. Sernin

Toulouse, France

Beautiful symmetry and use of bricks for this Romanesque style church.

4. Berlin Cathedral

Berlin, Germany

Not usually a must see for people that visit Berlin, but for me it was the first sight that I sought out. Awesome domes!

5. Mont St. Michel

Bretagne, France

Built on a sand bar and only accessible when the tide goes out, this is a must-visit when exploring the Brittany region of France.

6. Westminster Abbey

London, United Kingdom

The most famous of English cathedrals did not disappoint, and is easily one of the best kept of the old cathedrals in Europe.

7. St. Nicholas Russian Orthodox Cathedral

Nice, France

A throwback to the days when Russian royalty would vacation in southern France, it is the largest Russian Orthodox cathedral in Western Europe.

8. Temple Expiatori Sagrat Cor

Barcelona, Spain

A newer cathedral, but its location and unique structure - built on a crypt - make it one of the coolest churches I have visited.

9. Notre Dame de l'Assomption

Sainte-Mère-Église, France

Around 13,100 paratroopers of the U.S. 82nd Airborne and 101st Airborne Divisions took part in the D-Day invasion. One unfortunate soldier got stuck on this church.

10. Saint Peter's Basilica 

Rome, Italy

 

The Vatican, if you like churches, is the Holy Grail of sacred places. While St. Peter's is technically not a cathedral, it definitely deserves to make my list, anyway!

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6 Reasons I Will Never Be French

No matter how hard I try, I will never be French. Here's why.

I really wanted to be French. Since I was about 10 years old, everything in me wished that I could speak accent-less French, I could strut around with that maroon French passport, I could be full after tiny portions at gourmet cafés, and I could do all of that in a dress and heels, even in the middle of winter. I know it's impossible to become 100% of another nationality, but I always thought maybe I could fake it to the finish line.

But it will never happen, and here's why.

1. My ridiculous accent. 

I can't shake it. I'm not even trying to anymore. This is my voice, and I can't make my American linguistics slide and swirl like the French do. I've resorted to simply tossing out words and phrases as best I can, even if that means repeating myself two - okay, maybe five - times. At least it has helped me to be much more empathetic with my French university students as we all attempt to sound more like each other.

2. I hate French cheese and foie gras.

I'm a lover of practically every cheese - outside of France. It looks bad, smells terrible, and tastes worse: the end. I also can't get over the fact that foie gras looks and smells exactly like the canned cat food I used to feed Bandit and Dusty (may the best cats ever rest in peace). I refrained from testing those Friskies flavors, and I'll continue to step away from the foie.

3. Sneakers are still my best friends.

I've grown up a smidge, and have added boots, flats, and some heels to my closet. But anytime I'm ready for a real adventure or a tourist walk-a-thon, I retreat to my Nike's. Always, always, always. They're tried and true, and my feet don't lie. I love my Nike shoes so much that I've bought the same model six times! The fun I have is directly proportionate to how comfortable I am.

4. I am way too excited about life.

French people are a bit pessimistic and not prone to outbursts of enthusiasm. I have never had any interest in self-destructing my personality to better blend in with the crowd. My first year in Europe, a lot of Europeans and expats told me I would stop being so energetic after a while - that the culture would wear me down. Well, I'm proud to say: it hasn't. Last spring, my coworker called me a "wrecking ball of sunshine." Aside from the Miley Cyrus reference, this was, indeed, a compliment. Or it means I will hit you if you don't smile and laugh with me. #sorrynotsorry

5. I pray for smokers.

I don't know what sad high percentage of Europeans smoke, but it's a huge problem for a society that supposedly has access to the information superhighway of the internet. Adults smoke around children (parenting at its finest), teenagers smoke in public any chance they get, and every doorway is a haze of people answering whatever need is fulfilled by setting nicotine on fire and filling their lungs and the sky with the smoke. I will never think it's okay or normal, and, yes, I'm praying for you to someday be free.

6. I'm American.

Obviously. But being a non-EU citizen means a lot more than just a passport that says USA and a driver's license that says California. It means we have to get visas to live here, work visas to get jobs here, and somehow have housing, banking, insurance, and a number of other normal things taken care of by other people. In order to get dual citizenship and have French or EU passports, we basically have to prove every minute of our lives in France from day one. We've looked at the lists of necessary documents, and we don't have them - we will probably never have them. The hints that we could apply for French nationality after five years of residency were true, but were never fully explained to us. Now, four years down the road, we didn't save things we should have and we can't prove nearly an entire year. Even if we could submit a dossier (filled with hundreds of €€€ worth of translations), it would take about two years to process, and after this period, it would be very possible for the dossier to be rejected. It would also be very probable that we would end up really broke.

*     *     *     *     *

This is the reality. Since moving abroad in 2011, our "American-ness" has been partially forfeited. We have seen how the Old World lives, and we love it. We go back to America after large chunks of months have passed, and we are always having strange moments of shock when something has changed. We do still love so many things about the USA, but it's not really "home" to us anymore.

Something inside of me cringes when I think about actually moving our lives back to America permanently. I'd just end up being that annoying person who only talks about when we lived in Europe, how wonderful it was, and how we wish we could go back someday. Then I'd convince them to buy my book of blogs to get me to shut up about it.

Now we're stuck in this weird place where we will never quite fit back into American culture, but we will also never be able to truly be a part of the European scene, either. This is what I think being an expat really boils down to: borrowing another culture while letting go of your own.

The ultimate question is: at what ratio will we borrow and let go?

If we could live in Europe forever, we would do it. We may still end up being able to pull it off somehow. But as it stands today, we will take it one year at a time, hope for the best, and keep investing memories into this book of blogs.
 

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Back in Time to Those Days in Belgium

I know you can't trap time in a bottle.

I hate it.

I never did write my promised recap of my first magical season in Belgium. Probably because of time. And if you've even been reading this blog since 2011, in time, you probably forgot I was going to write it, anyway.

We were the champions!

I think I was really hoping Marc and I were going to be able to move to Farciennes together, and the blog would have become a sort of "happily ever after" story. But in my first days back to America, the club and I decided it wasn't going to work out between us because of the housing situation. The club was totally fine with Marc coming to Belgium with me. The problem was that all of the foreign players were going to have to live in one house together. I know other couples have been able to pull it off, but it just wasn't going to work for us.

It was the first week of May, and there I was on another volleyball trip in Hawaii, unemployed, and quite a bit freaked out. I didn't have news of another job until two months later, and, by that time, I was into the full swing of NBC Camps all over the Western United States.

The recap didn't get written. It was the fairy tale ending that never got told - because I wanted the happy ending to be much later than it actually was.

We were Belgian, Slovakian, American, Czech, Russian, and Italian: we were Farciennes.

But we all moved on, and we devoted ourselves and this blog to France instead.

Do you have a series of moments you wish you could keep on "repeat" forever?

An epic door handle.

It could be that time in your childhood you remember as worry-free. It could be your first romance. It could be when your children were young. It could be that once-in-a-lifetime vacation. It could be when you were working with your best friends.

Or you could still be looking for this time.

I have four.

1. The house on Clover Court with my family.

From 3rd to 7th grade, we lived on a half acre with 35 oak trees, an awesome jungle gym, a backyard drinking fountain, a front yard for baseball, and a cul-de-sac for bikes. It was a simple life before city sidewalks, one where I knew every neighbor's home, and the community was our family.

2. Coaching at NBC Camps with my dad and best friends.

From ages 17 to 21 - before I took over directing the volleyball camps - I was a happy-go-lucky coach and master teacher, always with the youngest girls for basketball and volleyball. I loved it. The very best days of my life were at camp, and all thanks to my dad for taking me. NBC was full of hilarious laughter and deep tears. Lives were won at camp, and mine was one of them. It was also where I met Marc, and best friends Stacia, Jes, and Kia.

3. Volleyball at The Master's College with my coach and even more best friends.

From sophomore to senior years, volleyball was at the insane level I always dreamed it could be. We didn't win very much, but I wouldn't trade those hours of sweat, tears, and injuries with my very best friends (Amanda, Jenn, and Tanya) in the world for anything. Coach pushed us to places we'd never been before, and we'll never be there again.

4. My 3 months in Belgium with the people of Farciennes.

From January to April, I jumped alone into a completely different life in another language, country, and culture. I took advantage of my last year as a "youth" (age 25, according to Europeans), and let my Eurail pass open up Europe in the most extraordinary ways. My volleyball team won every single match to claim the championship, and every day only got better and better. This club also ended up becoming the connection to another best friend, Tanya Schmidt.

Visiting Mons.

All this to say: yesterday, we time-traveled.

We climbed into the clunky team van (essentially the volleyball version of a DeLorean), and headed due north. We stopped to take in the adorable charms of Mons, the 2015 European Capital of Culture.

The clock tower.

The main square, Grand Place.

Then we headed east to Farciennes.

The flag of Wallonie, the French-speaking south of Belgium.

It was another perfect set-up: France has a rather amusing system of vacations, and right now, we have no matches for 4 weekends. This Sunday, Farciennes played against Barbar-Ixelles, where we know the coach through some work we did with international school volleyball tournaments.

Those Belgian waffles.

The gym was completely remodeled. The team is entirely new, four years later in the top division. But the people who hold the club together - the people who made my experience in Belgium so deep and meaningful - were still there, and still incredibly generous with their time and love.

It was Marc's first time seeing into those 3 months he's only ever heard about. I say we time-traveled because honestly, it felt like I had never left - it even felt like Marc had been there the whole time with me, too.

Monique's trip to California, 2013.

I don't quite understand the deep bonds that I've developed with my French tutors, but they are always the people I love and miss the most. Maybe they are the ones who gave the most love back? All I know is that Alfred & Stella, and then Monique, will always be why my experiences in Europe have been so wonderful. They will always be my favorite stories, and they are far and away the best and most giving people in our Europe saga.

For four hours, we were back in my beautiful Belgian world of enthusiastic "ça va's," clanking Leffe glasses, and connecting smiles and laughs.

Coach Olivier, his mom, Stella, me, and his dad, Alfred (my first French tutors).

The people of Farciennes convinced me beyond a doubt to move to Europe, and they changed my life forever.

There's your long overdue recap.

Whatever it is to you, I hope you have your "those were the days" memories somewhere - or with someone.

I hope even more that you have chance to go back to them.
  

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Un Autre Quartier de Paris

Lavender, red, and blue.
Paris is perfect for me and you.

Today was a cure for a case of Instagram Envy.

Following more and more travelers on IG has resulted in an over-abundance of great ideas all over the world. I'm just happy I can take advantage of the Paris posts!

It's amazing how just a little bit of sunshine can completely change our attitude toward winter weather. It was a brisk 37 degrees Fahrenheit, and I was comfortable and happy to stroll along rues and boulevards at my own pace.

I spent this sunny afternoon in the 9th arrondissement, taking the long ways, walking slowly, and backtracking when I felt like it.

The first place my feet led me to was the Musée Gustave Moreau.

For only 6€, Monsieur Moreau's three-story home is covered floor to ceiling with his various paintings to be viewed and appreciated. Moreau was fascinated with all kinds of history, legend, and myth, as evidenced by his painting subjects. But the show-stealer is the vanilla peel swirling staircase with classic wrought iron railings against the pink wall.

Design tip, noted.

Just two blocks away, the Musée de la Vie Romantique beckoned me down the long pathway from Rue Chaptal.

Romantically hidden away.

Surrounded by wintering plants and tall residences, this mint-shuttered cottage is a peaceful respite down the hill from Pigalle and Montmartre.

It is one of the free museums of the Ville de Paris group, and it is a lovely tribute to the Romantic era of Paris in the mid-1800s.

The shutters used to be brown?!

Think of it as the hangout of the up-and-coming writers/artists/musicians before Hemingway and the Roaring 20s. You end up with George Sand, Frederic Chopin, Eugene Delacroix, Charles Dickens, and so on.

From March to October, you can even enjoy a quiet tea in the garden.

The next place on my list was Le Rocketship boutique-café. It's like adorable office stuff heaven. I controlled myself to just two cards, and thoroughly enjoyed a conversation with the store owner. It was great French practice, for one, but for two, he passed on great springtime Bois de Boulogne tips that I will have to try very soon.

I had a little bit of extra time to wander down Rue Lafayette and stop into an oak-paneled brasserie for a break. I snacked on frites between scrawling notes to some friends.

I bundled up in my scarf, coat, and gloves before heading out into the cool and dry evening, and walked to the metro.

Another satisfying day in another beautiful neighborhood of Paris.

Will I ever "have had enough" of this place?

I hope not.
   

Un Autre Quartier de Paris on iOS & Android

Find the rest of my navigational GPSmyCity app article cities HERE.

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