"So, how could Morocco
not be your favorite place?" a girl asked me at a Christmas party on Saturday. This was after I had raided the mixed nut bowl of its cashews but before I had gone down the fire escape and climbed the fence in the backyard to crash (almost literally) another party*. The people at this other party were standing around a bonfire wearing the ugliest Christmas sweaters you can imagine: one had blinking lights on it and another had a stocking, complete with gifts, sewn on the front. I had taken it upon myself to discover if these sweaters were on purpose. They were. They were having an ugly sweater contest and even asked for my opinion. Gimmicks like blinking lights and stockings were impressive, but they couldn't match the horror of the winning sweater. Even so, while expaining why I chose that sweater, I still felt the need to be as polite as possible to those in deliberately awful clothing.
Similarly, I wanted to warn Giselle about the disappointments of Morocco (diarhea, getting treated like a walking ATM by the locals) without squashing her interest in going. God knows I would go back if the opportunity arrived. I think one of my greatest disappointments is that I did not take more pictures. A fascinating land completely unlike our's, but I only got a few shots and a little video. Being sick in bed for a day or so will do that to you.
*Reading this sentence, I've just realized for the first time that I am not someone who should be invited to social events.
9 comments:
I'm having a hard time picturing little Moroccan children running around in Mickey Mouse slippers. On the other hand, what tourist would travel across the ocean for them?
I remember the incongruity of children's wear when tooling around the villages in the foothills surrounding the Atlas mountains: my first encounter with the kids were two very young children (aged six or seven, perhaps?) out with a small herd of goats, one with a bootleg Yankees cap, and the other with a Chicago Bulls shirt.
Sad to think that American style clothing is replacing ethnic diversity. Someday we'll all look the same, eat the same foods, etc. How boring!
Those are some nice photos!
John, the brown outfits are just as I pictured them from your description!
Wouldn't it have been ironic if the winning sweater had baby Disney slippers sewn into it? That would be pretty awful...
oh, and btw...your social gathering hijinx are not even close to the disturbing things I've witnessed at my Christmas parties growing up....and that's just considering my mother!! And you KNOW I'm serious!!!
btw, I'm aware that the word "outfits" is completely wrong and fairly condescending sounding....frocks? no...garments? hmmm...uniforms? uggh. Did they have a name? I think I recall you searching for a word, too...ever find one?
Molly and John, They look like robes or habits to me.
I may be wrong but I think such robes are called burnoose(s.) If I remember from "Lawrence of Arabia" that was what all the Arab males wore.
And shame on you for stealing all the cashews (although, I must say, that is exactly what your father would have done.)
Love you,
Mom
Stacey - thank you.
Molly - there's no way I could ever compete with your mom's Christmas hijinks. Nor would I want to try. Even though I know it was hard for you, I do miss Christmas nights spent at your house. One small happy memory among many: your mom mortified by the fact that Mike Walsh gave everyone in his family a different Jack London novel for Christmas. Except for his grandmother. He gave her a gasmask.
"Outfits:" When her boyfriend Eric was dressed better than usual, my friend Lynn used to tell him that she liked his "outfit." It used to really annoy him. They are no longer together.
john
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