Christmas Eve 2006, 24 December

We arrived in September and wilted. I am still trying to digest the realization that was the “Fall heat”, the heavy duty stuff is yet to be seen – come June 2007 we may be requesting shipments of ice packs.

Q has made some wonderful friends here in the Villa and has had many adventures. The DOD did her a wondrous favour and sent along a few of its Finest. One of whom (Captain, Special Forces Marine Corp) recognized her core of steel and announced it to the group; the other two found her beautiful, compassionate, and a good friend. All in all an exercise in raising the self esteem of a brainy twenty-two year old who did not think she was pretty, to new (and deserved) heights.

We both made some new friends, and met some people with whom we would otherwise have never been in close proximity. On 10 December there was a mass exodus for home, which left us and Sally the Australian. We expect the next group and the return of ‘the English’ and Gorgeous Norwegian Guy on 8 January 2007.

I have made significant strides in my writing, my second purpose for coming here. I joined a “writer’s group”, submitted four stories for consideration for publication, and had a wireless conference with a NY agent in regards to the non-fiction book. I am in-process with putting together a query for New York, and in the thrall of a new novel while still working on the one I have going.

We have both, in our own ways, adjusted to life in Morocco. Q is working hard in both her classes at the school, and the private tutoring for translation of Arabic literature. She is getting that ‘thing you get’ when you see a deadline looming – all the Fulbrighters are to present a paper on their work in Rabat come March. We have both learned the Medina quite well enough to navigate our way about. We have had to make the adjustment that even though she no longer needs a “parent”, I am still her Mother, tricky business but we are navigating the waters of living together after having lived apart – and one of us in the interim grew up!

Christmas in Morocco is quiet for us. Q picked up her present in Casablanca a few days ago – A. has arrived. Susie came down from Tangiers last night and will be staying until Tuesday and Sally is here. We are all going to Palais De Fes for a big lunch tomorrow, and the children will be cooking some special goodies for a Christmas dinner. I will pay for the first and show up for the second – my contribution.

The weather since the last of October has been spectacular! Endless blue skies, cool days, and lots and lots of lush green everywhere you look.

My head has been pretty good, just popping up crap at all the wrong times; albeit I am not sure when is a good time for that much pain..

We are planning on leaving Fez in May, as the heat that arrives in June is not bearable. Most likely we shall evac out to Rabat and take over one of the apartments from a Fulbrighter who is leaving to go home – I hope, that will work out well.

AIM is iffy on my computer as the connection (which I am simply thrilled to have!) is not dependable. I have been really at the writing! I have set myself a schedule and a goal of ten pages each day. In the New Year I will strive to be better.

Oh my goodness! I can smell the homemade Raisin Hermit cookies! Bugger, no eggnog for me this year! I doubt even Q in her various languages could explain that one to them! That is a funny picture. I shall miss my Christmas cookies and eggnog, but most of all I shall miss having them with you, along with one of our late night discussions after all else are abed.

Q and A are having a great time. Q is enjoying her role as tour guide and interpreter. They are happy to see each other, and all seems well. 4 January they are leaving for Tangiers (to visit Susie who is here now), then Rabat to visit Pam, then Marrakech to visit someone else – which is great and will save them lots of cash on hotel bills. They are then going to rent a car and visit Ensoura which is wonderful as A wanted to “go to the desert”, oh yea that made me feel that my only child would be snug and safe! Thank goodness, Q decided Ensoura was a better idea.

The writing is really great, but terrifying. I mean what if it is awful? What if no one will publish it? If they publish it, what if no one buys it? It is so nebulous. If the guy from NYC agrees to represent me and sell the “Letters from Fez” non-fiction, that will really set the way. The one thing that is certain is that it is great fun, and unbelievably difficult.

I had A bring me the camera I had ordered, as the bloody shipping was over a hundred dollars!! I didn’t want to buy a new camera, but the agent said the book will need photos, and the ones from Q’s point of view – well that is just another point of view. So I will click away tomorrow and send you our Christmas photos. It is pretty cool, very tiny and chic.

I am going to end as I have not been out of my room in a couple of days! Thought I would take a walk around the Medina this afternoon, see if my new djellaba is ready at the seamstress. I have to get the other one from the cleaners – oh get this; I took two of Q’s sweaters in a couple of weeks ago, three dollars for two sweaters! Three dollars, you believe that?

I am done nursing my sore back from the fall – I thought the box Q was looking for was atop the armoire so I stood the rickety chair at the side and looked, no joy. As I was stepping down the legs of the chair buckled. The chair went flat and skidded out toward the bed. I fell down and onto the wooden Koran holder, which was holding my DVDs and the hit busted it. The action of hitting the wooden stand snapped my head forward instead of back into the wall where it was headed. My right arm was flung out toward the wooden arm of the settee where I had set the paper box with the rest of my leggos. Thankfully, again, my arm hit the box which sent all the teeny pieces of the kit flying but prevented my arm from cracking on the wood. As the wooden stand splintered it slid forward, again pulling me away from the wall. When I came to myself and regained control I was able to pull myself from the morass without serious injury. Inshallah.

Happy Christmas to all!

I had a Bill Bryson moment the other day- no, I didn’t suddenly start writing laugh-out-loud prose (I wish). In his best-selling, and laugh-out-loud, volume Notes From a Small Island, he describes his road trip around the British Isles; a farewell tour to the country where he had lived for years before moving back to his native USA. In and amongst, he said some rather uncomplimentary things about Bradford. Well, I’ve been known to express similar sentiments about my home town myself, but Mike Priestley has never wanted to interview me. He did once sell my dad a MkII Cortina, though. I’m like that with the stars, me.

Anyway, one of the very few good things he had to say about the town concerned the National Museum of Film, Television and Photography Media Museum, and particularly the Pictureville Cinema, where he saw This is Cinerama. Cinerama was an early version of IMAX, which can also be enjoyed at the Photo Museum. The film was a showcase of the opportunities provided by the new technology, but Bryson enjoyed it more for the panoramic vision of an idealised 1950s America that it offered. I read the book while I was still living and working in Russia, and determined that I would see the film myself the next time I was home. Alas, catching up with mates in Denholme resulted in a lock-in at the pub, plus more liquid refreshment once we’d staggered home. I never got up in time to recover sufficiently to face the bus ride back down into town in time, and in the seven years that have passed, I hven’t tried once to go again. Although it’s on my list: The film is still shown every month.

It was this image of a sepia-tinged 1950s that sprang into my mind in the unlikely surroundings of Flamingoland, which is a theme park and glorified zoo. First impressions of the place are grim: with a canny Yorkshire eye for making an extra bob or two - and note it was the best part of thirty quid for myself and a three-year-old just to get in - once you’re through the turnstiles you’re immediately presented with stalls selling candy floss, ice cream and rats on sticks, just to get your stomach churning nicely for the roller-coasters. You’re surrounded by sugar-rushing kids, and despondent parents viewing the lengthy queues for the rides, which were all plastic and soulless. Matters are not helped by the doleful animals in their enclosures, which even in the better safari parks always seem too small, and there is something very dispiriting about watching a Siberian Tiger padding about under a Yorkshire drizzle.

And then, like a vision of the HolyGrail, tucked away like the poor cousin at the back of the park was a wonderful wooden carousel. Take a look at this motorcycle:

The attention to detail is staggering - the sprung saddles; the fuel tap (which, natch, you can’t see from this side…); those gloriously valanced mudguards, and the flowing figurehead; a thing of joy, only outclassed by this fabulous conveyance:

Again, you have some great styling touches - the ridge that runs the whole length of the car to become tailfins, the four - count ‘em - headlamps; from the driver’s point of view you can see not only a radio, but a petrol gauge and temperature gauge. Where do you get these components from? Were/are there suppliers of parts like pretend mudguards to the fairground industry, or was it just some talented bloke scratch-building models in a shed, somewhere in Belgium (in this case)? A luxury sports-tourer, then, from the glory days of American-influenced automobiles, although the punchline is provided by the caravan that it was towing… What saddened me was the contrast between the craftsmanship that some anonymous artisan had put into this ride, and the production-line shoddiness of the more modern attractions. Is it coincidence that this was the ride that Ms Dynamite-^e-e spent most time riding on? Particularly given the first photo, I’m tempted to set off musing on Pirsig’s ideas on the perception of quality, but I’ll leave that for another day and another post. All I will say is fair play to Flamingoland for keeping this relic going, but, er, lads? It shows up the rest of your operation.

I never thought that I would be saying this, but Germans are really funny.

In Germany, everything from mobile phones and internet services to cars, videos and even condoms are marketed as Schottenpreis to emphasise their rock-bottom cheapness.

Even international companies have got in on the act, with Greek-based Superfast Ferries, the operators of the Rosyth-Zeebrugge service, offering Germans trips to Scotland at Schottenpreis.

The VisitScotland web page of special offers boasts: “Nach Schottland zum Schottenpreis” (Travel to Scotland for a Scotsman’s price).

The SNP Members of the Scottish Executive are getting angry “These adverts are crass, they are outdated and they are offensive to Scots and are an outdated and misleading cliché..”

What do we expect after all those years of ridiculing Germans as humourless square heads.

The image of the thrifty Scot began in the 15th century, when large numbers of Scots left for the cities of the Baltic, which at that time were mainly inhabited by Germans.

Large numbers became pedlars, selling very cheap household products, such as pots and pans. And the expression Schottenwaren (Scottish wares) emerged to describe the ultra-cheap items which they sold.

But the jokes are good.

The Germans have a great sense of humour; the problem is they reserve it for the Scots, as these examples show.

Scots traditionally marry on February 29, goes the joke, so that they only need to celebrate their anniversary once every four years.

How can you tell that the trawler coming to the harbour is from Scotland? There are no seagulls in its wake.

“I’ve received some photos from my Scottish pen pal?” “What do they look like?” “Don’t know. Have to get them developed first.”

Two Scots fall down a crevasse while in the mountains. The mountain watch is alerted, and the rescue team appears. “Hello, we’re from the Red Cross,” one rescuer says. The reply comes from below, “You’re getting no donations from us.”

Very funny. Now where were those Kraut jokes again?

Cross Posted at Adelaide Green Porridge Cafe

From Scotland on Sunday

The latest version of Google Earth (4.2) is very cool with the addition of Google Sky. The kids and I just spent a very entertaining and time wasting hour travelling the galaxy. Fantastic free resource.