Update coming....

Thanks for all who have been taking the time to check for the continued Imlil update, life of an elementary teacher can be hectic to say the least, I will try and get the post up by Saturday afternoon at the latest....

Thanks

Back to the mountains

I always used to think of myself as more of a beach person than a mountain person. It is only when we head up into the hills that I appreciate just how at home I feel there. It's refreshing and invigorating in a completely unique way. And while I don't have that drive to climb the highest peaks and scale all I encounter, I love the feeling of being nestled in valleys and protected by the massive peaks. Around this time two years ago we were in Nepal, and while nothing will match the grandeur of the Himalayas, the feeling of increased energy you get is the same.

Arriving in Imlil our taxi was met by a boy with a mule. Without a word he loaded our bags onto the mule pack and headed uphill out of the town. Ten minutes on having passed through a damp walnut grove we found ourselves at Dar Adrar. Here we were welcomed with spectacular views from our window, a roaring fire and hot mint tea.

http://www.daradrar.com/

The view from Dar Adrar

Imlil is a small town perched on a hillside at the joining point of three valleys, and ringed with tall rocky mountains. The Atlas Mountains are very dramatic. At the highest point they are only about 4170m, but driving across the Marrakesh plane towards them they appear to rise straight up out of the otherwise flat and featureless ground. Once up in the mountains you are struck by the rich red colour of them. These are rough and ragged peaks at their best. 

Once a small Berber village, Imlil has become a hub for tourists keen to experience Moroccan mountain life. Imlil is the starting point for nearly all summit attempts of Morocco's highest mountain, Jebel Toubkal. Toubkal can be summitted in two days, with an overnight stop in a refuge near the top.

 

While many guidebooks describe Imlil as an ugly and characterless town, I think it would be hard for any town to be described as ugly when it sits in a location like Imlil. As well as incredible mountain views stretching out along three valleys, the valley floors are lined with apple and walnut groves that are criss-crossed by babbling irrigation channels. Exploring on foot it's possible to wander round villages such as Armend, and see a way of life that has remained relatively unchanged for centuries. That is apart from satellite TV, there are more satellites here than in any other country I’ve ever been to. Life is not easy for people here and is often subsistence based; growing and trading to get what you need. Outside the houses you see weather-worn women cooking over home-made clay ovens. Walking along the dirt tracks you pass women carrying heavy loads around on their backs, taking the shopping home from the weekly souq a few kilometres away. It is quite humbling to be overtaken by an eighty year old carrying two enormous sacks up a steep hill. 

Although life in the High Atlas has many parallels with that of what we saw of Nepal, while exploring Imlil that first day we noticed one distinct difference. In Nepal the villages we walked through have a long history of interaction and dependence on tourists. Big smiles and warm welcomes came from everyone you encountered. Walking around Imlil and other small villages, while many people were friendly, you got the sneaky feeling that some people would just rather you weren't there. The occasional stare and frown could be a little unsettling.

We stayed two nights in Imlil, where we were lucky enough to have great fireside company with an American couple who travel the world looking for adventure. A love of speed flying had brought them to the area. For those unfamiliar with the extreme sport of speed flying (as I was), it is the slightly questionable activity of throwing yourself off mountains with a mini and seemingly fragile para-glide that weighs a no more than a couple of kilos. Usually done over snow with a pair of skis on it seems that the idea is to slow your fall down the mountain only enough not to injure yourself while still making occasional contact with the ground before propelling yourself into the air again. 

   

Our time in Imlil was just the start of our adventure, the stay there was just the relaxing precursor to a three day hike across the mountains and into a neighbouring valley. I’ll post more about the journey with our guide, cook and a female mule called Bob very soon.

Dancing Days

This isn't the blog I had intended; the long review of our latest adventure. That has been temporarily postponed as life has caught up with me instead. This blog is instead to share with you one of my depressing moments of realisation of the undeniable fact of getting old.

Fast approaching my mid thirties and lucky enough to have had a full and varied social life, it has been easy for me to stick my head in the sand and whisper sweet words of denial about the ever increasing gap between how I see myself and how others see me. It feels like only last year that I spent six hours dancing on top of a wheely bin with some random stranger in Cream, or last week that I spent the countdown at New Year on podium at Ministry of Sound Bangkok. Sadly, or not, depending on who's looking at this, many years have past, and in all likelihood if I did these things now there would be unprecedented levels of embarrassment experienced on all sides. This weekend while away at a professional development conference in Lisbon, this depressing realisation slowly dawned on me while watching people dance at the last night gala dinner.

Throughout the night the dance floor could usually be separated into three parts...

The first group is those between roughly 20-30 who dance to every song, no matter how bad it is, and who truly believe they are Michael Jackson reincarnate. If you belong to this group then good on you, doesn't it feel great, enjoy it while it lasts, because believe it or not it doesn't. I should know, I clung onto this group for as long as I could. I shall refer to this group as the 'Jacksonites'. 

The next group who I’ll I call the 'Handbaggers' are a big group made up of two smaller parts; those who may never have had that love of dancing and have been unwillingly dragged into that great place of embarrassment they know as the dance floor; and those who used to belong to the Jacksonites until they hit 30 and suddenly found themselves strangely self conscious when they spun across the floor and felt like everybody turned to look at them. The Handbaggers are busy on the dance floor in many ways. Unlike the Jacksonites, who are just busy thinking 'this feels great' and letting their body do the work, the Handbaggers are busy either trying to maintain that even rhythmic side stepping move that blends right in with everyone else, or they're trying to relive their youth by throwing a few moves out there, which they then busily analyse in their heads as to whether they actually pulled it off without looking stupid. Finally this group is busy with occasional furtive glances at the Jacksonites with something akin to horror, “do they know what they look like?”, “look at all that sweat”. 

And then there is the last group, the Christopher Walken's amongst us. These are those brave people who manage to break the boundaries and effortlessly move between the other two groups. Often slightly older, they have managed to overcome any feeling of self-consciousness and as a result have found their mojo again. They whip it up on the dance floor and really don't care what they look like. Instead, not unlike the Jacksonites, they simply dance and enjoy the music.

So, where am I at...? Well I’ve sadly left the Jacksonites, but I’m not ready to join the Walken groovers; there is still way to much self analysis going on for that and I run when the music isn't in my favour. I have to sadly admit that the days of mindlessly dancing to anything and everything have passed. Soon I will give up any attempts of fancy footwork and become a master of the side to side step.

For those of you out there, you know who you are...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZM1fkHQP_Pw

Off Again...

Thank you for checking for updates....

We are off on our travels again so there may not be an update for a week or so. Right now I am sitting in a small cosy gite on the steep side of a valley under Morocco's highest mountain; Jebel Toubkal. When we arrived last night we were met and escorted to our gite by a boy and a mule.

Tomorrow we set off on a 3 day hike to an adjoining valley staying in Berber villages on route. Accompanied by mule and guide. We have little idea of what to expect or where we will be sleeping...

Stories and pics to follow soon.

And, for those who were concerned, Snowy is doing fine in his very very grand temporary home in Meknes, with a student who didn't talk about anything other than his impending visit for the last 3 days of school.

Our First Pet...

Many people express great surprise at our lack of desire for children. Many try and convince us we will, 'one day'... A kind mother of one of my students said we should 'at least try', we might like it. This made me laugh, there is no 'try' with children, there is do or don't. You can't say 'well, I tried, I don't like it, can you take it back?'

Those who know us well know that all we really want is a dog. Sadly dogs can be even trickier than children to look after, and before I cause uproar with this statement I need to point out that we travel. A lot. A dog is not quite as easy to take on a plane or find a bed for. What makes it worse is that in Morocco dogs are seen as dirty; many people don't even want to touch them, let alone have them in their house. A dog in a house is said to invite in evil spirits. We're not going to find too many volunteers to dog sit for us here.

It is for this reason that we have never had a pet. Apart from the odd gecko that is. In school this semester my class is doing the living environment. We went through two weeks of having birds, reptiles, fish, insects and molluscs brought into the class by one young boy who is a definite David Attenborough in the making and who happens to have very understanding parents that open their house to an incredible range of animals. What he lacked though was a mammal that was calm enough for class handling; his dog wees on the floor when stressed, something I didn't really fancy, not even for the noble purpose of science education. It was this dilemma that got me thinking about getting a class pet.

After much deliberation about animals kept in cages and the need for two for company, we got a white male Syrian Hamster. Thankfully they are territorial and need to be kept alone. I had visions of, hamster novice that I am, mistakenly putting a boy and a girl together and then ending up with a much bigger science education lesson than planned. We had bought a cage for him from Spain the weekend before he arrived, and when he was brought into school by my budding David Attenborough in a water jug I was rather perturbed. Not only was he far bigger than I expected, far too big for the cage, he was long and ratty looking; white with red eyes, and he stank of wee. This was not the cute addition to the class I had anticipated. 

With a few adaptations to the cage (I had to make a ladder out of BBQ skewers as he was too big for the hole to get on the slide), our hamster soon settled into his small but cosy cage. I asked the students to think of a name and write on papers to be picked out of a hat. When I pulled out 'Snowy' three kids simultaneously shouted “Yay, that's mine!”. They then continued to bicker about who actually got to name him all the way to computer class, but Snowy it was.

To my surprise hamsters sleep all day and party all night. Our new class pet likes to bury himself so deep in a bed of white tissue that you don't even know he is in the cage. He wakes up about 8.00 in the evening and then is well and truly partied out by the time the kids get in to school in the morning. If he is seen during the day it is only to sleepwalk to his water or fall asleep in a corner with food in his hands. When woken by overexcited children, or more likely their teacher, he opens one sleepy eye and then the other to peer at you, unamused, before going back to sleep.

I have to admit I was a little bit disappointed with our acquisition. This was not the educational interaction that I had intended. Saying that he gave himself a good bath and we all quickly got attached to our sleepy little friend. So attached that when the first weekend came I found I couldn't bear to leave him all alone in school. I carried him home in his cage wrapped in a jacket through blisteringly cold wind, talking to him all the way to keep him calm. If anyone one else was brave enough to face the weather they would have thought I was nuts.

 It was only during this first weekend, when I went to a friend's and came home at 1.00 in the morning, I saw that our boring little mammal had morphed into a frantic overeager gymnast. I now know that hamsters sleep most of the day and spend most of the night hanging upside down on the bars at the top of their cage, well at least that's what ours does. This frenetic energy made us go out and get him a cage twice the size, where he can now spend hours running in his wheel or doing cliff-hanger impressions of the top of the cage. Our boring little hamster is actually full of character and is more addictive to watch than the TV. You find yourself having to rewind things you have missed while watching him clown around, chatter for your attention or walk around bumping into things with a cheek bulging at odd angles, stuffed with an over sized piece of carrot. After that first weekend trip home we have found that we can't leave him in school on his own each night to perform his tricks to an empty room. He gets carried back and forth in his second home each morning and afternoon. At home the three of us have a sofa each to watch TV from. He is becoming a very spoilt little hamster.

Being a pet owner for the first time has not been stress-free. It was only after a week of having him and then doing some internet checking that I found out that we had been caring for him all wrong. This distressed me greatly, 'had I scarred him for life?', would he ever recover from our over exuberant handling? When he woke up after one particularly deep sleep his eyes were all wonky... Thinking I best be pro-active, I did the stupid thing of Googling it and found our hamster was probably dying. Obviously the same applies for hamsters and self internet diagnosis as does for humans. Why had I never appreciated how difficult animal care was? It seems that at every turn there was a chance I could kill our precious little man. When Nick came to me during a party we were having at ours and said quietly 'I have just thrown the hamster across the room", explaining that it had clamped its teeth into his finger which he quickly yanked away, inadvertently sending Snowy flying. Like any blinkered parent I found myself making excuses for his out of character behaviour... he was stressed by the noise, all the people unnerved him. The worst thing was that as well as being shocked by the fact that there was blood everywhere, I was somewhat relieved that it was Nick's. It is so much easier to patch up a finger than a hamster.

As for keeping animals in cages... I’m still not sure. But I know that if we didn't have him some kid in town would have him in a small and probably dirty cage judging on how the majority of people care for animals out here. With us he is clean, safe and entertained. Surely that's got to count for something? If we were to just let him go he would either freeze or get eaten by a kestrel.

But now we are back to that old concern....the holidays... who gets the class pet? One parent has suggested we put him in the freezer to see if he hibernates.

I wonder how easy it would be to pack him in a suitcase.

Holiday Highlights

If you read the previous post you may have gathered that I am now somewhat sold on the benefits of Spanish and Portuguese holidays. Endless blue skies and a food a wine lover's delight, there is lots to enjoy. Having grown up a country girl and spent much of my time in Bangkok craving wide open spaces, it was something of a surprise to me that the highlights of both Spain and Portugal were exploring the cities. Then again in reflection, it is perhaps not such a great surprise when you think that other than the cities and towns, you are left with Mediterranean and Atlantic coast beaches (dirty and windswept respectively and both Arctic by my standards), or sleepy mountain villages.

During our trip the places that stood out were Ronda and Seville in Spain, and Lisbon in Portugal. These three locations all share some of the same features; great food and drink, narrow cobbled streets, character filled buildings, an abundance of Mediterranean culture and lets not forget that wonderful endless blue sky. As well as all this, each place has its own uniqueness and offers something different.

Seville

The Andalucian capital of Seville swelters in intense heat and is not best placed for any kind of breeze. The mid-day streets, quiet and empty of locals, are left to the tourists who don't know better and swealter. During July and August many locals leave for cooler climates or embrace the siesta experience. Businesses shut down and people retreat indoors for up to five hours. 

Seville has something for everyone. It concentrates all that is good about Andalusia; medieval winding streets, plazas filled with orange trees, is the home of flamenco, has a huge range of historical landmarks and there is high street and boutique shopping galore. 

 

Possibly the best thing about Seville though is the night-life. After snoozing away the hot hours, the streets come alive as the sun descends. The people of Seville really know how to enjoy themselves and as with the day time activities there is something for everyone. Posh restaurants interspersed with old and new tapas bars serving award winning nibbles, bar streets that stretch as far as the eye can see, and this was just our local area. We went to one unassuming little tapas bar that had taken over the church plaza across the road. Vacated tables and chairs here were quickly filled by locals trailing dogs. This is definitely my kind of dog walking.

Lisbon

In stark contrast to Seville, Portugal's understated star attraction is surprisingly cool at this time of year with a constant breeze that travels in from the Atlantic and up the Rio Tejo to keep Lisbon at a refreshing 25-30 degrees in the day and 20-25 degrees at night. This relative chill catches many unawares and clothes shops must do a bustling trade in extra layers sold to unprepared tourists. 

Lisbon has a profound effect on its visitors, with it reportedly found that over 90% of people wish to return. So just what is it about the Portuguese capital that sets it apart from other cities? The first thing that strikes you about Lisbon is the colour. Built partly on hills, the colourful buildings appear to tumble down into the water. The contrast of orange roofed, white washed cottages interspersed with brightly tiled town houses and grand Gothic churches are all complemented by the bright blue sky and the deep blue river. Steep tree lined one way streets are filled with the ringing bells of rickety yellow trams, a visiting driver's nightmare. This is a modern city with a village feel. It has an air of Sydney and what I imagine Rio to be like, but far more laid back.

 

While exploring the town centre it is hard not to get distracted, as we did, very, by the opportunities for Port and wine tasting. It is possible to go from one side of the road to another testing Tawnys and LBV's. All we were doing was walking to a friend's apartment, the 10 minute walk took us about an hour. I now have a new found love of Port. Thankfully it's not just seen as an old man's drink out there. I’ll just have to drink it in private when back home.

As well as the relaxed cafés and restaurants that can be found on every corner (apart from on a certain night where we were looking for a cheap eat and seemed to walk for 40 minutes without spotting anything better than a greasy spoon Café... even classy cities have them), there is the famed Bairro Alta area where you can enjoy fine food, music and pint and a half mojitos for €5. Here beautiful people spill out into the streets until they have drunk too much to remain beautiful, but by that point nobody really cares.

The draw of Lisbon is very acute. Even the fact that the city is rife with pick-pockets was not enough to put us off. Well maybe, just for a short while, after some huge Eastern European thug shouted in our faces that he was going to find us and '**** us up later' when Nick called him out for stealing someone's wallet on the tram. Regardless of all this drama we still found ourselves scouring the internet for possible job opportunities in the area even before we left. Lisbon is a city that takes hold of you. 

Ronda

Saving the best for last? With all that Lisbon offers it might be hard to believe that the small Andalucian mountain town of Ronda could top it as our favourite place to visit. Andalucia’s fastest growing town is full of historical charm, dramatic views and arguably the best tapas bar we've ever visited. These days with us it all eventually boils down to the quality of the food and drink. 

Ronda is the home of modern bullfighting and was the first place where a man got of his horse in order to come face to face with a bull. To be fair I still figure they should have left the bull alone either with a horse or on foot. Perched precariously on the edge of a plateau and divided by a 120 metre canyon, the two parts of the old town are linked by a grand Roman bridge. This bridge is about 220 years old and took forty years to build. It is architecturally stunning and is made up of three tiers of arches. What is perhaps most impressive about the bridge is the fact that it is still used today as a main thoroughfare. 

 

Ernest Hemingway once described Ronda, one of his seemingly endless summer holiday destinations, as 'the perfect place to honeymoon'. With its history, hidden plazas and dramatic views it is undoubtedly a very romantic city. While this wasn't completely lost on us, we arrived there after days in British styled Fuengirola with one thing and one thing only on our minds... tapas bars. It took us about half an hour to park the car and find the hotel before we hit our first tapas bar. While unlike Ceuta and Mellia the tapas are not free, they are the cheapest we have come across in our travels of mainland Spain. Perhaps it was the €1 beer €1 tapas deals that sealed our love of the place. We ate and drank until we could eat and drink no more. It was at that point we turned the corner on the way home to find the holy grail of tapas bars. Set into a brick arch with old barrels as tables outside, Entrevinos is distinct for offering twenty Ronda produced wines by the glass as well as a wide selection of gourmet style dishes. Actually, maybe my love for Ronda comes from the squid ink pasta and calamari or duck breast in Madeira sauce for €1.50. Not sure how we can work it into our travel plans to go back, but we'll try. 

 

With this new love of Europe it is hard to see how we will tear ourselves away from our convenient spot in north Morocco. Anyone know any jobs going in Europe?

Wondrous Espana

I am the first to admit that over the last ten years I have been rather spoilt with my holiday destinations. I may not have been sun-baking in the Seychelles or Maldives, or hitting the shops in New York, but what with living on a Caribbean Island, being only hours away from white sand beaches in Thailand, New Year in Sydney and honeymooning in the Red Centre, camping our way across Southern Africa, these all add up to a rather impressive passport full of stamps and a whole lot of memories. It is for this reason that for many years I have looked down on what some of the UK's closest sun spots have had to offer. Although being blessed with a climate of near constant blue sky and sunshine, I have long been put off places Spain and Portugal due to thoughts of them being too 'tame'. At only 3 hours flight from the UK, I have always visualised it as the place of big noisy resorts and large family groups with lots of demanding children... a childless teachering couple's worst nightmare.

In the last year I have had to temper this view, particularly when it comes to Spain. Living in Morocco it has become our haven, an opportunity to return to reality and live a little. Having two Spanish enclaves tucked away on the northern coast of Morocco has helped us keep our sanity. Living in Morocco is nice but the social scene is more than somewhat lacking in spark. Five minutes after crossing the border into Spain and you are surrounded by people enjoying life and setting the world to rights over a glass of wine or chilled beer in the sun. 

 

 

While these visits to 'Moroccan Spain' have opened my eyes to many of the wonders the culture has to offer, I have still been unsure as to how reflective this is of Spanish culture as a whole. Are the Spaniards living across the water in Africa trying to be more Spanish just to prove a point? Even the locals there don't consider themselves to be living in Spain, when they go over to the mainland they are travelling to Spain, when you question this logic by pointing out that they are in fact in Spain, they are adamant they are not. Saying that, Spanish spirit is there in spades, flags are flying on every corner and the traditional tapas lifestyle is more evident here than anywhere else I have visited.

Watching the Euros semi final between Spain and Portugal in Ceuta was an unprecedented experience for me. 95% of the customers in the bar we were in had not only the football strip on, but the hats, flags, face-paint and scarves too. Musical instruments were played, a traditional Bota bag was passed round the bar; a goat skin bag filled with strong fermented wine, 50 Euro strips of ham were brought out of pockets and shared amongst friends. At the end of the evening, after the tension of the penalty shoot out had brought the whole place to their feet, we watched the entire bar, in fact most of the city, turn itself inside out with celebration. Anyone would think they had just won the World Cup for the first time. People emptied out into the streets, took to their bikes and cars and circled the city waving their arms in the air, honking horns and trailing flags in their wake. This went on for a few hours afterwards. I wasn't about to tell anyone that it had in fact been quite a boring game, not unlike the one we watched between Spain and Portugal in Cape Town for the World Cup two years ago.

After our complete immersion into Spanish culture for three days in Ceuta, we caught the ferry across the Med to Algeciras where we picked up a car and headed north. Now I am sure that I have made this journey quite a few times as a child. Obviously I had never paid much attention. There is little that is 'boring' or 'tame' about the Andalucian countryside. Yes you may be driving on a busy highway to avoid cramped coastal towns, but the road winds its way up through majestic craggy peaks that thrust dramatically up into the blue sky. Here you have that beautiful combination of mountains, sun and sea, a combination not too dissimilar to that which we went all that way to South Africa to see. And while the Med might be dirty and cold, it is blue enough to make a stunning backdrop when you do get a break in the stretches of property development.

 

 Sadly, the Costa Del Sol has been very developed. There are complexes everywhere and most of the empty space is development waiting to happen. Saying that, much of it still retains a traditional Spanish feel. There are pretty whitewashed towns dotted in the folds of the foothills. Narrow cobbled streets lead to pretty terraces where you can stop for a beer and snack and enjoy the view. Many of these little towns have become a little too touristy, but for others life still goes on same as always.

For our stay in Spain we had been lucky enough to get an apartment for free about five kilometres away from Fuengirola. This vastly developed stretch of coastline is a British home from home. British pubs and cafés selling meat pies and fish and chips line the seafront. But even here, if you're willing to look hard enough, it is possible to find the Spanish bars and local café culture enjoyed by locals and foreigners alike. For us we spent our days exploring the coast and inland and eating plates of fried fish and calamari before retreating to our spacious apartment. We couldn't believe our luck getting two terraces, one a roof terrace the size of two bedrooms which we bought a paddling pool for so we could sunbake without ever having to go down to the pool. From here we had a view of both mountains and sea. I only went in the pool three times, twice out of guilt for not using it, and once to sit on the bottom of it in an aim to shake of the effects of the night before. 

 

To sum it up, after seven days of incredible food, cheap wine, great culture and a whole lot of sun, I am sold, Spain is obviously the place to be.

Summer....

My apologies for the lack of posts, there is much to write about but I am being unusually lazy during my summer holidays, 3 weeks of sun, wine, foo and late nights have taken their toll and I need time to recover.

Thanks for checking.

Clock Cafe Cooking Day

A few weeks ago I went down to Fes for a cooking class in Clock Café. This highly recommended course is something I have wanted to do for a while as I have yet to master the intricacies of Moroccan cuisine.

I went to the cooking course with Megan, the mum of one of my students who has uprooted her family of six to come on an adventure to Morocco for eleven months while helping educate local farmers on the ins and outs of successful sheep breeding. Trin, a friend of Megan's from Australia who is currently based in the UAE was visiting for a week and decided to come along. Trin has been working in the genetic selection and breeding of racing camels for one of the wealthiest sheikhs and was quite fascinating to listen to. In the UAE camel racing is much bigger bucks than horse racing. It is a spectator-less sport and is basically a lot of men in pick up trucks driving around in the middle of the desert chasing after camels ridden by robots that are controlled by whistling into remote controls. I digress, but this blew my mind.

The cooking course at Clock Café is far more than just a simple cooking class. Starting with a menu discussion with other students (a mother and daughter from England) and introduction to the incredible friendly teacher, Souad. You then go out into the local food area of the medina where for about thirty minutes you walk around learning about the different stalls. The confusing variety of stalls usually specialise in one or two things. You build up a relationship with vendors by repeat business and then get the best cuts of meat, freshest vegetables, and the warmest and softest bread.

After an education in olives, bread, vegetables, oils, spices, fragrant water and smem (presevered butter, note preserved as in rancid), you retrace your steps slightly wiser and a lot smellier from trying oils and buy what you need for the class.

The Clock Café is deep down a narrow alley and is a warren of rooms and levels that rise steeply up to a remarkably comfy and airy multi-levelled roof garden. As well as offering some of the tastiest and healthiest Morocco fusion food, it offers Arabic classes, calligraphy classes, art exhibitions and Sunday sunset concerts of local music. The cooking class was to be held in a private but spacious kitchen and dining area in one of the many hidden rooms within the old converted riad.

Matching aprons on, you are walked through the spice and flavour combinations that make up the basics of many Moroccan foods. Souad was an entertaining and cheeky teacher, who was keen to test whether we had been paying attention by quizzing us when we had finished preparing the three course meal and were waiting for the pressure cooker to do its magic. After she was sure we could remember everything she encouraged us to ask any questions about Moroccan life that we had yet to have answered.

I have lived in Morocco for nearly a year and yet the secret life of women has remained largely hidden from me. Wherever you go you see men... working in the souqs, medinas, marches and shops. Mostly you just see them passing entire chunks of each day sitting putting the world to rights in one of the million cafés there are everywhere. Souad gave us a bit of a window into the world of women. Explaining about the importance of family, in general, but in particular your relationship with your mother in law; “happy mother in law = happy life”. When not working Souad will take some cakes round to her mother in law's house where a collection of women will sit and gossip about love, life and health for hours at a time. Seriously, I think it is a miracle that anything ever gets done here with all the talking, coffee drinking and cake eating that occurs.

After a fair amount of gossiping we sat down to our three course meal of Zaalouk, followed by lamb, prune and apricot tajine, topped off with Kunaffa, a tasty and incredibly light dessert of toasted Moroccan filo pastry with frozen rose water yoghurt, honey, walnuts and cherries. Sadly I haven't got the recipe for the dessert yet, but should be able to remember it, the tajine recipe is as follows...

Lamb, Prune & Apricot Tajine

800 grams lamb (or beef if you prefer) for lamb shoulder is best.

150 grams dried prunes

150 grams dried apricots

1 big red onion, finely chopped

1 cinnamon stick

1 tsp ginger powder

1 tsp black pepper

1 pinch saffron

Splash of olive oil

3 cloves of garlic, crushed

1 small bunch of parsley and coriander, finely chopped to garnish at end.

1 tsp of cinnamon powder

2 tsbp of sugar

1 tbsp of butter

Wash the prunes and boil in 1 litre of water until soft.

Marinade the lamb in the olive oil, garlic, ginger, saffron, salt and pepper for a good 10 minutes.

Put the onions and the lamb into a big pan or pressure cooker. Cook on a high flame, turning the lamb on all sides. Add cinnamon stick and water to nearly cover. Turn down the heat to medium. Stir and cook for about 30 minutes (depending on cut of lamb) if using a pressure cooker, 45-60 minutes if not. If lamb is not tender continue cooking. If the tajine is watery, let reduce till thicker.

Remove the water from the prunes and add the sugar, cinnamon powder and butter to the pan. Heat on a medium heat for around 10 minutes until they are caramelised. Add the apricots to heat through.

Mix the fruit through with the tajine and garnish with herbs to serve.

Thought Provoking Words....

Rather than give a full review of last week's cooking course at Cafe Clock I thought instead I would share the words of someone much wiser than me. This moving piece was written today by a six year old Korean student in my class who started learning English last summer. This was her final piece of writing for the year and it was completely free choice, the product of which is a heart warming and thought provoking tale. For effect I have copied this as written.

Three Seeds

Once upon a time there was a great beautiful field full of flowers named dandelions. All the mother flowers were ready send their baby dandelions. 

 

One day three dandelion babys told their wish to their mother. The first one said “My wish is live rich forever.” The second one said “My wish go for a big trip.” The third one said “My wish make poor and beautiful people's hearts rich". 

 

The first and second one's dreams didn't came true. But the third one's dream came true. She sat on a windowsill and there lived a girl named Irli and a mother named Wali lived there but they were poor and also nice. Their heart was nice but the just didn't thought they were rich. 

 

The girl and the mother saw the seed and grow it. They understand that they are rich even though they are poor. 

I would like to take credit for this beautiful piece, but the credit is all down to a very dedicated and hard working young girl. It genuinely brought tears to my eyes.