typical day

Well, I'm gonna circle back to conclude the tout saga later - I'm bored with it at the moment.

I want to tell you what a typical day looks like before it's not typical anymore.  Don't expect adventure stories, 'cause that's not how we're living.  Things are quite mellow, and we're both good with that - feels as though we're wallowing in these uneventful days (and fighting the urge to feel guilty about it), stacking'n em up faster than harira soup is inhaled at an iftar-signaling call to prayer.  We're keeping a wary eye on each other to see who will cave first and suggest a road trip or other exploratory mission, thereby shattering this luscious zone of comfort we're basking in.    

Here's what the last month has been like:

On my better mornings I roll out of bed at 7:00 and run the beach, 2k out to the ruin at the far end of the horseshoe bay and back, but more often we get up slowly between 8:00 and 8:30.  Ramadan just ended, so we hopefully will have the opportunity to pedal an earlier sleep cycle soon, as the medina is quiet and the beaches are empty in the morning.  Up to this point, our sleep has been disrupted regularly.  My experience is that participants in the month-long daylight hours fast rearrange their schedules to varying degrees for aid in matters of diligence.  I lived through several Ramadans in Lebanon, and was granted access one summer to the complete reverse-sleep patterns of a pair of  Beiruti socialites.  These two women (sisters-in-law, living in adjoining suites in a posh Hamra apartment complex - I tutored their daughters four days a week)  simply slept all day, and were up though the night, presumably stuffing their plastic-surgery enhanced selves with sushi and full Lebanese mezze spreads.  Cheating?  What do I know? But I had  front row observation deck seats for the humble Moroccan version of Ramadan endurance, as we are on the third and top floor of a traditional riad with a large and open inner courtyard light shaft running consistent through the structure - imagine taking the roof off a dollhouse and peering down.  These guys haven't fully reversed sleep cycles, but they stay up late, nap, then fortify themselves with pre-dawn breakfast before sleeping till noon.

We're sipping coffee by 8:15.  We listen to news radio - usually BBC (for posterity: Ukraine/Russia, Israel/Palestine, Malaysia Flight 370 AND 17).  We linger for an hour or more. Josie makes bread. It's a pleasure. Besides a two month stint working for room and board at my friend's surf camp in San Juan del Sur, Nicaragua (which consisted mainly of going surfing) and J's later-mentioned goat gig, we haven't worked a day in ten months.  And we have tried to stay conscious, with the proper amount of appreciation, for that fact.  We mainly succeed.

Late morning, we split paths.  J goes medina cruisin' and souk shopping - she comes back with herbs/spices, vegetables, milk and yogurt, eggs, and seafood from the fish market (sardines, shrimp or dorado).  Conservatively dressed, she takes a wicker basket like a loc-dog, and recedes towards invisibility with each trip.  She walks with purpose.  We revel in how cheap everything is, frugality caressed.  I take this time to write essays (15 and counting to date) towards my teacher license recertification, or more accurately the transition to an Oregon Initial II Teaching License.  If I take the time to tangent on the process and requirement I will become so incensed about this no-sense license (to be read with rhythm) I will get grumpy.

 

We make lunch: sardines fried, sardine spread, sardine pizza, sardine salad. We nap, lay around. 

We go swimming, sometimes for distance, sometimes to bob.

We make love.  I indulge in Moroccan treats, J drinks a smoothie.

We transition to evening with a podcast (I like Joe Rogan and Marc Maron - suggestions?  I'm new) and dinner prep: sardines, soup, pasta, salad.

We stream documentaries from "Top Documentary Films," the only site that functions uninterrupted.

We sleep.


A theory on why we're so content to do little (and be home):

a) We've been transient/homeless for nine months. A quick account: since I left New Zealand last October, shortly after to chase down J in Fuerteventura, Canary Islands, Spain (where she was herding goats and making cheese), we've been on the move: Greece, Italy, France, Florida, Nicaragua, Florida II, France II, Spain II, and finally Morocco. 

b) The Spanish road trip.  Greece and Nicaragua were multi-month situations with almost regular schedules, but the other stops we were guests or tourists, never static enough to own our surroundings, culminating in a six-week roadtrip thru Spain that was hardcore by anyone's standards: (mainly) camping on rivers or beaches or lagoons or in fields in sand dunes in campgrounds in forests, sleeping on the ground, eating by campstove, hiking, canyoning, swimming, cliff jumping, slab soaking, shapeshifting, driving: a complete delight but exhausting as hell.

c) Josie is almost six months pregnant and slowing down.  Slowing way down to live in strict accordance with What to Expect When You're Expecting. I'm slowing down by association.

There are derivations of course.  Sometimes we take a picnic to the rampart wall overlooking the ocean.  We hiked in Paradise Valley.  We read.  There's French lessons.  J sketches.  We eat out occasionally.  We stroll.