Navy Pier

Missing Chicago 

Flashback to Navy Pier Skyline...

 

Weaving Magic

Dreams really do come true (I always remember that whenever I travel). I am too grateful. 

Morocco boasts some of the friendliest people I've ever met in my life. People go the extra mile to try and make you feel at home, be it preparing a feast for your lunch at a moment's notice, greeting you warmly after only meeting you once, or giving you the best that they have. 

And today, the kindness was shown once more. 

        To start off, the merchandise here is often hand-made. So when I saw these breath-taking rugs...well I just had to see how the heck someone can manage to create something so perfectly symmetrical and aesthetically pleasing.

              Though the pottery is absolutely, mind-numbingly magnificent, I could still see how, with a lot of time and talent, you could manage to paint onto the bowls and pots, etc. The rugs, however, completely blew me away. I had no idea how they were made with such perfection and color.

So I vowed to go back and ask. And they did much more than just answer my question. They didn't tell me much about how they made the rugs. 

Instead, they decided to show me. 

I was lead past the bike (in the photo above) through a hallway and out to the back of what looked like 4 buildings that formed a square. There were old bikes lined against the walls, and I felt like I was in some kind of vintage French movie. 

It smelled like a form of fresh linen. but not quite...I can't exactly explain it. But if I had to "fresh rug" comes to mind, but that phrasing makes no sense whatsoever. There were piles of rugs lining the shelves outside the rooms and inside the rooms of the building. Every color. Every design imaginable. Balls of thread hung on the walls.  

And then I stepped inside a room where an old man was weaving together a rug before my eyes. It was most definitely second nature for him after having done this for so long. But nonetheless, it was astounding to see what ease he made the designs...

He told me how the designs were formed, where the thread came from, how much he loved to weave because it reminded him of helping his father when he was a child. I absorbed everything, and honestly didn't want to leave...the work was hypnotizing.

And the kindness didn't even end there. He asked me what I wanted him to make him, and told me the many options I had to choose from.
I custom ordered a woven jacket with my favorite color: blue. 

So today, I got to watch an old, kind man weave magic into a rug. I got to watch a store owner answer my simple question of "How do you make these" by leading me to the place of production. I got to experience that overwhelming feeling of  curiosity and amazement you feel as a child with your face pressed against a window looking in at all the toys in a shop you pass by.  

That custom made jacket is going to be so much more than just a couple of strings stitched together. It'll remind me again of that kind, old man's face. 

And like his nostalgic returns to his childhood memories when he weaves, the jacket will take me back to Morocco, to gratitude, 

                                      to magic.

Shopping in Rabat

The beginning of my summer adventures in Morocco has arrived...

           After landing in Casablanca, I was transported safely to where my home-stay was destined to be: the beautiful Capital City of Morocco, Rabat. I'm taking two classes here in Morocco: Arabic and Oud (an instrument also known as the Lute). I think "excited" is an extreme understatement to how I feel at the moment. The country here is alive. People greeting others warmly at every corner, the smell of freshly squeezed orange juice and delectable mint tea drifting through the air, the small chatter among neighbors and louder, tame arguments of bargaining. Random cats scurry along the streets as buses, motorcycles, and cars drive quickly around the round-abouts. And best of all, I can hear my favorite sound over all the din: the sound of the ocean. The noise of the water is quickly rendered unnoticeable and habitual after a few minutes. But every so often, I remember to listen for it. 

           When it comes to traveling, I have an assortment of priorities. But today, I was especially keen on completing three tasks:

1. Meet and interact with host-family.

2. Stuff my face, because I was SO hungry getting off that plane. 

and 3. Shop for souvenirs. 

       
 I completed tasks 1 and 2 as soon as I arrived in Rabat. And so, it was time for the third task of the day: shopping. We headed to the souq, or the arabic word for a north-african / middle-eastern open-air market. Morocco has plenty of malls too, but I don't think malls can ever live up to open-air markets. Plus, I have plenty of malls in America I can go to when I'm home in Chicago.

All of these rugs are hand woven

Even the ceilings were detailed.

We arrive at a souq, and no exaggerations here, but EVERYTHING and I mean everything was stunning. The doors were ornately decorated, the ceilings were ridiculously detailed, there were radiant colors as far as the eye could see.

 Door to a Store

           I had to exercise an amount of self-control I didn't know I previously had, just to make sure I didn't purchase every, beautifully handcrafted item I saw (and store-owners' attempts to persuade me to buy their merchandise didn't help ease this difficulty...)

          Bargaining was ridiculously fun as well. In order to do so, you have to look at the item you want so very badly, and manage to look completely apathetic towards it, as if you don't mind if you get it or not (though in your head you're screaming I WANT IT). Once you get past that, you haggle the price a little, and if they don't budge, pretend you are about to merely leave the store. Whenever I'd aloofly walk away, I'd always here a "WAIT" and then a very good compromise for the price I wanted.

Morocco specializes in leather artifacts

      What amazed me was how perfectly symmetrical all the designs were...even though most were hand-made, they boasted the symmetry a machine made product would. I have quite a fondness for extremely detailed pieces. I understand that modern and sleek look simple and clean, but nothing beats symmetrical, detailed and classical pieces. 

         When I saw a lot of the goods in the souq, I could glimpse traditions, customs, and history. They were so rich in colors and small details that you could examine a seemingly small piece of pottery for an hour and still find new curves and designs on it.  Even the parts of the walls that  were crumbling or had cracks had beauty to them.  

           I'm also a huge fan of painting and art in general, and I came across the cutest little art shop with the most vibrantly colorful paintings (some of them are shown on the left). I wanted to stuff them all in my luggage and bring them back to Chicago with me. Sadly, that dream had to stay a dream....
I don't think I have enough room in luggage or money in my wallet to bring them all back...Maybe one day...
              I ended up buying a traditional Moroccan dress, a leather backpack, two leather jackets, and a bunch of key-chain souvenirs. This is obviously not the last of my souq shopping sprees. Next time, I'm going to try and see if I can watch the rugs being woven. 

Until then!

Inevitable Wanderer

I never knew where I was headed next
and so they said,
I was a wanderer
with aimless movements
and a journey with no destination

and so in search of an ambition

I explored book bindings lining my shelf
lost myself in the words on every page
plunged into the abyss of fiction
traveled someone else's journey.

I searched religious structures
where people find spiritual refuge
discovered safety in faith
constructed fortresses from miracles.
Divinity became my sanctuary.

I stitched my journey together
with all these books
and numbing naps
pictures of trapped memories
and desperate prayers

until I realized
that while lost in thought, in words, in hope
I was starting to understand
something much greater
than the smaller decisions of every day

I am the inevitable wanderer
and  it is in being lost

that I have found myself