Where in the world is....

Yes, I'm in Mexico now - San Miguel de Allende to be exact. I have the very great fortune to be able to stay at the house of a generous friend until the end of January.

For those who haven't visited, San Miguel is a beautiful town rich in colonial history, architecture and color. It's been a favorite of artists and ex-pats for decades and it's not hard to find aging hippies from Marin draped in Mexican silver strolling the streets. That said, it's also not hard to find humble Mexican families who have lived here for generations. It's an interesting balance that keeps this town wonderfully appealing (though personally I could do with a few less Texans and Marin-ites - no offense). 

While I was in Morocco, I found many familiar comparisons with Mexico - the climate, landscape, architecture, colors, and warmth of the people. The contrast of extreme poverty and wealth is also obvious in both countries. 

Now that I'm here though, I'm finding the differences even more remarkable. The most fundamental is perhaps most obviously based in religious culture, but most striking in comparison. Islamic culture strictly avoids the representation of figures in religious contexts and these are rarely seen elsewhere. One sees no paintings or sculptures of saints, prophets, or historic figures in Morocco. 

Mexico, on the other hand, couldn't be further apart on the spectrum, especially this time of year. Richly embellished churches are "enhanced" by garish exhibits of tinsel and flashing christmas light-draped nativity scenes. And one would have to walk with their head to the ground to avoid seeing shrines of saints and statues of heros on every corner (even Starbucks can't avoid it... and the fact that we even have one here is a whole other story). Even now as I type this, I'm watched by 7 faces - traditional Mexican dance masks staring down at me.

I love the richness and visual vibrancy of Mexican culture, and growing up Catholic I'm no stranger to icons of saints. But I love Morocco too where words and designs, rather than literal pictures, are the expressions of our human souls.

Morocco vs Paris vs San Francisco

Roger Cohen's column in today's NYT beautifully articulated so much that I've been trying to express since returning from Rabat last week. Branding and consumer culture and the bustle of SF city living have been my life for longer than I care to admit, and chances are will continue to be a part of my future. But these things bombard me now and my de facto participation is leaving me with a sense of guilt instead of the satisfaction of being home again.

Don't get me wrong - I like my iPhone and the convenience of my microwave, and certainly my cab ride yesterday where the driver politely asked me to buckle up was much safer than a run-down grand taxi in Rabat. But the richness of the market street in the medina where fish scales stick to your shoes and the smells of mandarines are mixed with fresh herbs and incense cannot be found in the perfectly orchestrated experience of the Ferry Plaza Farmers market.

Where Cohen laments a safer and more sanitized Paris, I agree to a point, yet having spent a long weekend there last month, to me it is still Paris even if the cafes are non-smoking. In my youth I excitedly ran down the Champs Elysees to meet a boy under the Arc de Triomphe and tearfully said goodbye in the busy and dingy Gare St. Lazare. But I still think one can find those things in Paris, perhaps it just requires youth.

Like Cohen's description of Havana, I miss the "pungent texture" of Morocco, the primitive branding of the medina poultry seller, and the toothless grin of of the street merchant. But unlike Cohen's Paris, it's still there and I most certainly will go back.

Goodbye Rabat (for now)

I can't believe that 3 months has passed so quickly. I expected to document so much more in this blog, but will have to share many of my experiences in person... unless of course I realize my next goal of writing a book.

Morocco was different, and much richer than I expected. And much less foreign as well - I've said this before but it does feel like home in many ways. I can't imagine not returning here soon. And I've even been allowed to keep the keys to the house!

Today I play tourist and try to document everything, but so many things won't fit in my lens... the sound of morning prayers layering over each other in the 5am silence. The smells of sheep's heads grilling and fresh mandarines. The brilliance of the sun and the cold of unheated houses. The feeling of being drawn along in a throng through the market streets on a warm evening. The loud and laughing conversations in broken Arabic and French in crowed grand taxis. The food!!! The music and dancing. The poverty and the generosity.

My baraka.

The desert

Yes, I realized my little dream. I finally did ride a camel in the desert, sleep in a berber tent under a starry sky and dance by the fire. I also almost got caught in a snow storm and saw other wonderfully unexpected sights this past week. Thank you Omar.

My adventure here is almost over. But I know there will always be more to come.