Friday, June 3, 2011

China year

This year is China year for me - a bit like the year of China in France, when you have all kinds of events, concerts, exhibitions about China. I spent a whole month in China in April, and I've just booked my tickets to fly to Shanghai again this summer.
This past month in China was really awesome, I cannot believe I had not been there for almost 5 years, 5 years too many without visiting my definitely favorite country! It's not that I do not like other countries, it is just that I know and understand China too well, I will not be able to get the same interest for another country. Been too tiring to get to that level of Mandarin anyway...
So I was supposed to fly to Shanghai beginning of April, but I was extremely needed one week early ^^ to work on a project. Of course this is not an issue, I will pack in a few hours, and Saturday night I am flying out of CdG to Pudong. 8.30 Monday morning, after a short night trying to recover from the jetlag, I am sitting in front of my computer making sense out of what I am supposed to do for that first week in Kunshan - but here I am back in China. And I just love it here - what a surprise!
I spent 3 days in Kunshan, then 2 days in Wuhu meeting with colleagues I had welcomed in France a while ago. We started the training - the original reason why I was travelling to China for work. Good atmosphere and it looks like we are doing a good job together, but two weeks is such a short time to teach them my job! I especially appreciated the very Chinese dinner offered by my very Chinese colleague, excellent food and Chinese wine. I think our cooperation is only just starting...
I took advantage of being in Wuhu at the end of the week, to spend the weekend in Nanjing. As a great coincidence, I have never been to Nanjing, and my friend Clover, met in Malaysia last year, lives there and is adamant I should stay for the weekend! She is absolutely lovely, welcomes me in her home with her parents, and takes me to all the nice places in Nanjing.
Clover in Nanjing park
Ming tombs in Nanjing
Visiting Nanjing also includes some excellent culinary experiences... Clover took me to plenty of different restaurants, and as she enjoys spicy food I will get to enjoy Sichuan vegetable wok, a fish hotpot, then shuijiao (boiled dumplings - from North China), lotus roots filled with sweet sticky rice, xiaolongbao (I call them tangbao in Wuhan), which are dumplings filled with soup - one of my favorite dish in China, very hard to find in France!
Sichuan spicy wok
Fish hot pot
Clover also took me out with her friends: one bottle of Nth year whisky (supposed to be very good), green tea and coke, pick the mix you want to get! I do not enjoy that drink as much a ginzhu naicha, but it brings all kind of good memories back.
That was the first week in China... Soon to come, second week, Kunshan, Shanghai, etc.

Tuesday, March 15, 2011

A bit more about Morocco...

The funny thing about travelling in a country that people - in my case, my dad, grand mother, uncles and aunts - have been talking to you so much about, is that you do expect a lot. And I did expect a lot from Morocco. The people that had to be nice, the scenery that had to be strikingly colourful and impressive, and a little bit of magic from these family relatives when they where 10 years old scouting for adventure in Agadir and Marrakech.
I have to say that, from expecting so much, I had to be a bit disappointed. Not in the scenery, walking the Dades gorges, or camelling through the dunes while the sun was getting up kept its promises. No, I have to say I was a tad disappointed with meeting people over there. But what was I expecting! I was a tourist just like anyone else, big white tourist with euros by the dozen and a big camera!
Actually, a lot of average encounters made the few interesting ones really worth it. Both happened while I was on the train, travelling on my own from Casablanca to Marrakech. I had made my way into the compartment quite easily the first time, being in a French-speaking country and an experienced traveller paid off. So I had to find a seat without too many staring at me - after 2 days of Morocco I was already getting tired of the stares. So I sat in front of a nice young couple, with the guy being too engrossed into his girlfriend to notice anything else, and next to a old veiled woman. At first glance she looked like an old and nice countryside woman.
We left and did not chat at the beginning. The old lady spoke a bit with the young couple; at some point she dropped something and I tried to catch it for her - we actually both went for it and hit our heads. She was curious of where I was from, and that's how we started to chat. I was really surprised when she explained that she used to be a social worker, and that she had helped young women for all her life, helping them deal with pregnancies, hard family relationships and forced weddings. She would also teach them how to make a living on their own, should they would be raising a child on their own.
Shaman's story was amazing - Shaman is her name; she had been raised in Marrakech in the 60s by open-minded parents, went to school at the Sisters' school, from which she said they never forced their own catholic faith on top of her muslim beliefs. She recalled these Sisters with foundness, and I guessed she had behaved with the women she helped, in the same way as the Sisters had taught her school.
Surprisingly for the times, her father did not force her to marry someone she did not like. Her husband she met where she was working in her twenties, and she felt like she could trust him. After they got married, they waited for two years before getting pregnant, while all her family was wondering why she wasn't expecting. As Shaman said, she wanted to be sure he was the right man to be with.
In her life she behaved with respect for others and thoughtfulness, while in Morocco it's the use of welcoming anyone in the family that comes to visit, she actually refused those visits and kept Sundays as an untouchable day for family, but her close family: husband and children. Once a week the children would be invited for a family gathering and asked to discuss if anything was wrong, they were also in charge of their own pocket money as soon as they asked for it. The pocket money increased to be their monthly allowance for canteen food, clothes and entertainement as they grew older. In summer time they wouldn't visit family but would take a month off to visit different cities and areas in Morocco, camping all 6 of them in the countryside.
Now that her children are all grown up, with only the youngest daughter to finish her studies, some are married and others not. If I remember well she is the grandmother of 2, and has now stopped working to study religion and look after her husband, children and grandchildren.
Her trip from Rabat to Marrakech was made to visit a friend whose daughter, living in Rabat, had just miscarried the day before. Rather than announcing this over the phone, she would take the train to Marrakech and back on that day, to make that difficult announcement to the woman's family.

Writing and reading what I've just accounted, seems a bit surreal... I get the impression that I'm depicting someone perfect, which I know is not the truth. No one's perfect, and I'm sure this lady has some weak points as we all do. But it was all so interesting to discuss for 4 hours on the train and get this deep insight of a woman's life, Moroccan family life, unfolding just for me to remember. If there was one encounter I'd have to remember in Morocco, it'd be that one.

Tuesday, February 22, 2011

Morocco my darling...

I have been travelling a lot recently, and the last "big trip" abroad was to Morocco for the New Year's Eve. A big group of 5 girl friends, gathering from all the corners of Europe into Marrakech of a few days travelling and celebrating NYE together - although I was the only European one. So along with three Singaporeans and one Japanese, off we went...
Morocco has a big appeal to me. First of all, my dad was born there in 1954, and I had never set foot in Morocco apart from in imagination. I've got children stories going as far as I can remember, my father and his 7 siblings trying all kind of jokes and adventures together or one onto the other. Sometimes funny, such as swimming under the sea pier and ending being tetanos injected by a big black guy pursuing them with a huge seringe in a hospital, or dangerous, trying to force black scorpions to commit suicide by surrounding them with fire... Somehow not the upraising all parents have had from growing up in France, so very appealing to my kid's eyes!
My grandparents have lived in Agadir for 15 years. It looks like after WW2, when everything had to be done in Europe and in Morocco, my grandfather who had fought throughout Morocco during the war with the "forces fran├žais libres", did not want to stay in France and took the job to supervise the building of the dam in south Morocco. So they moved to Agadir, and lived a happy though hectic expat life in Agadir, having 7 of their 8 children born there, including my dad and his twin sister.
In 1960 though, an earthquake happened in Agadir. It was a major one and killed 60% of the population in the Medina, but only 10% in the expat quarters. Intensive building and overcrowds in the Medina would have explained the big gap in such numbers. My grandmother's story is part of our family memory.
A few weeks before the earthquake, she made a dream that she couldn't really understand: she was on the beach in Agadir with all of her most precious jewellery. Suddenly a big wave comes, and she finds herself up to her neck with water, alive, and with all of her jewellery floating around her. So she gathers them, and that's how the dream ends. Compelled because that dream seemed to have a significance, my grandmother told the fatma that was working at the house about it. The fatma explained that an event of big importance would happen shortly, and that my grandmother would lose everything, but not her most precious items: her children.
Some time later, the earthquake happened and I remember my dad's story, who was only 6. He woke up with my grandfather knocking at his room's door, and can recall seeing the stars through the roof which had fallen off. My grandfather gathered all 7 children, all alive without a scratch, even the yougest daughter who had a cupboard fallen over her, but with the doors open. All safe and sound without an exception, as the dream had said, including my grandmother 7 months pregnant with the 8th and last child of the family.
My grandfather had them moved to Marrakech and proceeded to help those who hadn't been so lucky, trying to save those still under the fallen houses, for at least 8 to 10 days after the quake. My uncle was born in Marrakech one month after the quake, and the family stayed in Morocco for another 4 years, until they left the country at its independance.