Tag Archives: Arabic

Libya: they call me Rahalla

25 Aug

They say it’s the ghibli, the southern wind from the Sahara, that brings the dust down to the populated areas of Libya. Wherever it comes from, it’s everywhere here – ramula. Sand, stretching as far as I can see, on either side of the lonely strip of road, with dry grey bushes and maybe a bit of the sea to be glimpsed at times to the left. It’s encroaching on all the towns and villages; between, behind, and all around every sun-baked, run-down building, and covering what used to be gravel streets. Trucks are equipped with extra-rugged tires, just so they can pull off the road or stop for gas. And this wind brings the fine dusty sand straight in my face as I painstakingly pedal across the country. (more…)

الجزائر : ruoF keeW

7 Jul

الجزائر, al-Jazā’ir, week four

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الجزائر : eerhT keeW

30 Jun

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الجزائر, al-Jazā’ir, week three

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الجزائر : owT keeW

22 Jun

الجزائر, al-Jazā’ir, week two

I left Oran late, after meeting new friends and really new friends in town. One random Christian Berber student taught me the phrase “asabi3 alyad mokhtalifa” – “each finger of the hand is different.” Allah loves wondrous variety!
“You sure you want to leave today? It’s five pm already….” Yes, I have to leave – my psyche is already out there pedalling.
“Aren’t you worried that you don’t know anyone down the road?” No. That is comletely normal. Adventure!

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enO keeW : الجزائر

14 Jun

الجزائر, al-Jazā’ir, week one
June 7. The visa begins, but I am still in Spain, pedaling more kms than ever before, under a hotter-than-ever sun.
I reach Almeria with plenty of time to spare, and give my rig a tune-up on the rambla, amidst an angry protest against Israeli terrorism and Spanish arms manufacturing.
The ferry terminal has a little makeshift mosque. Huge groups of Arabs and a few Europeans; ninety percent take the ten o’clock for Morocco, leaving me feeling quite hard-core alone with the Algerians. The midnight boat boards at one and leaves at one thirty.

Being a Tourist in Morocco

5 Apr

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There are people everywhere in Morocco. They have an “outdoor culture”; there is always someone around. If you take a piss on the side of the road, someone is probably watching you. If you are talking to yourself as you pedal down the road, there is probably someone listening. Even before lunchtime, dozens of people look at you as if you were an alien, too shocked to return an “o-aleikum salam.” Sheperds in Adidas gear pause their conversations as you pass; farmers in jilabas twist on their donkey-seats to stare; women in hijabs quickly avert their gaze – but only after you notice them looking at you. And that’s in the rural areas. In a place more frequented by foreigners, like a city, or the Rif mountain roads, the tourist hustle is just a part of life. You can’t take a break without an obtrusive offer of a hotel at a great price, or a flashy guy in a car trying to discover which language you speak, or a cute little kid yelling “Stop!” so he can beg for a stylo or un petit pièce, or a bold restauranteur shoving a menu in your face, or a dumb mute villager approaching you with open palms because, to him, your foreign face means money. (more…)

Being a guest in Morocco

1 Apr

The hospitality of rural Morocco continued to impress as I slowly cycled south. So much so, I began to wonder if I would need my tent(or my cooking pots, or my spice kit, or my campstove, or my sleeping mat, or any of the self-sufficient gear I schlepp everywhere) at all in this country – or would it be like this in all Islamic countries? Is this a Moroccan thing, or a Muslim thing? I was welcomed to the country numerous times with “American? Ah, then this is your country!”

Welcome to Morocco

29 Mar

Regatear. To haggle. One of the big words I learned in Sevilla. “Desde el ferry, Charlie, start haggling even at the ferry to Ceuta,” advised my friend Alberto. I’ve never been good at haggling – in Mexico I figured even if I was getting ripped off, it was still cheap, so I never worked up the guts to talk anyone down. But now, with a long stretch of Africa ahead of me, and a much more highly developed thriftiness than ever before, I figured it was time to learn. (more…)

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