My new room has no windows to the outside, so I got up, dressed and went outside to see how things looked. I.E. Would I need five layers or one? Do I need my umbrella or not? And 97% of the sky is crystal clear! My las day in Marakesh will b e a beautiful one. The Palais Royale is closed tight, so part of today will be sitting in the park crying—crying because I listen to the Moth podcasts that I brought and that so move me!
Lunch will definitely be at The Fly Palace, but a new dish today, and tonight may be a safe dinner somewhere, or a trip to another numbered pop-up restaurant—I think the numbered restaurant will win because last night I actually talked to someone. To my left, we're two guys who were really nice and open and bright-eyed. One was from Seattle and the other was from Portland. And they had a lovely woman with a gorgeous unending smile. She sends out to the world, a radiant message of welcome. (I am glad she has two hefty guardians with her here.)
I remember in India, after quite a few months, that I suddenly felt that I had "got it." I felt, to a reasonable degree I understood how to "be." There were foreigners I saw there who liked to wear Indian style clothes. I could no not do that, except for fun at a private dinner with other ex-pats, because I loved their fashions. And there were those who joined Ashrams or studied with sadhus, but I had nothing to do with that, either. It is not about "becoming" one of the people, tossing off learned phrases or dressing the part.
I felt I "got it" when I figured how how to be me, a tourist and a foreigner, and accepted how I was perceived. In India, I told friends that I felt like a bulging white six-foot wallet walking around and I resented that. And I have had a sense of that here and it has been getting to me, but last night, a guy got really aggressive with me. he pulled me off the sidewalk and was stronger than me. I could not understand what he wanted but he would not let go of my coat and talking louder and louder, and I could smell liquor on his breath. Then, suddenly, I was able to break free and I fell down on the sidewalk.
This being Morocco, as soon as I hit the ground, men came to see what was going on. My assailant was cursing me and I was worried. He was wearing one of those Turkish hooded long coats and I looked like a total tourist with my backpack and white skin, but those who came came to help me and were kind and considerate, and others berated the guy and shoved him away. It was weird: everyone assumed the old white guy was the victim and that the younger l coal was the aggressor. They did not help their own as I feared they might, they helped me.
I went right home and I was trembling. My hands were shaking and my heart was pounding when I got to my room. Honestly, nothing happened. It was so quick. But something could have happened and I feel lucky it didn't. The incident has made me tougher. I have to be different here.
All the hustlers who work for the hamams, restaurants and booths work hard to get to a point where they have a hold of your hand and they ask you to promise to come back. Tat, I never do. I have learned that. The promise works for them. Duh, Chris. But I am a rather meek person, especially, as I say, when I am in unfamiliar territory. And I grew up learning to please people. Until I was twelve or so, I thought that if I was bad or screwed up with my parents or at Church or catechism, it could lead to going back to the orphanage. I became a pleaser, and that personality has to die here. So "getting it," to me, is about changing who you are but staying who you are.
That guy last night... Today I am mad, not scared, and everyone from here on will be dealing with a wiser me. I have to stay focused on what brings me pleasure and, although that sounds so selfish, it is about keeping true to my needs and not feeling guilty for not fulfilling their economic desires.
I think some of my mojo has come back to me from my long time in India. Plus, when I got home last night which took less than a minute, there was a fairly serious fight on the street, directly outside our front door. Two hotel staff were at the door and they were talking about the fighting. They said a lot I could not understand—some people speak French with an incredible Arabic accent—but there was some kind of football game last night and apparently there were little skirmishes all night all around the quartier.
I told them that a guy had grabbed me and went weird. The staff here were very, very concerned and felt I should call the tourist police who have an office just a block-and-a-half away. I said no. I saw no point in doing that because I have no idea what he wanted or anything at all. Besides, I leave tomorrow.
Things happen when you travel alone and you are older. I am completely ignored by touts focused on selling things for women, but I am a walking target for guys selling the myriad of legal things here, but particularly the touts shilling for hamams, night clubs, booze and drugs.
Tomorrow my flight leaves here for Casablanca at 11:50; at 2:10, I leave Casablanca for Cairo, arriving at 9:10 pm, so I won't be doing much that night. A not going to go out alone at night where I have no idea about the surrounding area. The next day, Sunday, I hope to go the the Museum and the Al-Azhar Garden and Park.
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