Ramadan!

Ramadan!  Ramadan is the ninth month of the Islamic calendar, where Muslims fast for the entire month.  Devout Muslims refrain from eating, drinking and sex from sunup to sundown.  Ramadan.  First thing I noticed on Ramadan was that there were a couple of dogs down the street from my new flat, the garden apartment, getting, shall we say, intimate.  I took that as a bad omen.  I mean, love is love and so on, and you can't tell two animals to say, get a room, but I mean, this is Ramadan, and these are the dog days of summer.

Empty on the way into the medina

Later that night, we wake to banging and barking in the entrance way to our apartment, there are three or four apartments in the building.  It is the dogs and cats who have busted into the closed door and began fighting, waking the whole building up.  One of the neighbors is yelling at them to get the hell out, in Arabic.  They flee, but they are back the next day.  One of them is even gracious enough to leave a little present.

Jacob's birthday fell at the very beginning of Ramadan, lucky for him, the holiday hadn't really began, I guess it started at daybreak the following day.  We went out for pizza, eating at one of the best restaurants I have visited in Fez.  The place was called Vesuvio and they had killer pizza and general Italian food, we had the eggplant as well.  Everyone, especially Jacob, loved it.  Although, next year he said he wanted McDonalds.  By that time, I think he would have figured on something a little more upscale, I mean you do plenty of learning during your fifth year.

So back to Ramadan.  The first day, we head to our normal place to be, Barcelona Cafe.  I mean, the place has it all, the decor straight from the matrix, wonderful staff, tasty 100% fruit drinks, fans and a very clean bathroom.  The regular staff is all gone, there is an older woman, who kind of is always around.  Anyway, she lets us in and makes our drinks.  She was awesome, and we drink away and pick up our vegetables and fruit in the medina.

Inside the medina

On the way back home, a man speaks, then comments, good start for Ramadan, and kind of sneered.  I mean, I never professed to being Muslim to anyone, if asked to a mosque, temple, church, I will attend, and study said teachings.  That I do.  I would consider converting to any of the above too, but if someone asks if I am Muslim I say I am studying.  Because I am.  But I study plenty of things...  But, that said, I think it was easier for most people to assume I was Muslim, because they don't see many brothers here, especially with big families who stay for a month at a time.  Most people come here for a weekend in a tour that might include two or three other cities.  So I had many people confused.  However, most people ended up loving us, once they understood we were just there to relax and try to understand them and their city.  Anyway, dude should have known from his own religion that there are exemptions to ramadan for those travelling and those ill, both of those I was.  But he was a hater anyway, mad at me cause he couldn't eat no vegetarian halal ribs, or whatever, till the sun went down.

A quiet morning at the medina

So now time passes and Ramadan is under way for a few days.  Everything that would be open early is closed, maybe for the month, maybe not, who is to say?  Some things open up after one or o'clock in the afternoon, some things stay closed.  So we got to go around the medina with hardly anyone present, for a few days.  After a while things picked up.  Then as things got busier, particularly in the afternoon, people got angrier.  Cabbies raging, road rage, and intermittent craziness.  I generally would ignore the rules about travelling during ramadan in the past, but now I will definitely consider them more.  Things can get hectic, especially when you are trying to prepare to leave the country, as I was.

The funniest thing that happened to me was when I was actually in the airport getting ready to leave Morocco.  I am in their immigration and passport control line.  They look at my passport and ask, if I am American.  I answer, Yes.  I damn well claim that one every time, because you don't realize the value of it, until you leave.  So I am like yeah.  So he looks at me suspiciously then asks, was your father American?  I almost am ready to bust up laughing, and answer - as far as I know, then I answer quickly, yes.  He looks at the lady officer next to me and they stamp my exit.  Ramadan goodbye.  Next stop Pisa.

As a bit of an addendum, I found this very interesting article concerning Ramadan in Egypt.