call to prayer

Five times a day, like a wailing siren, the call to prayer rings through the city. The chorus of disembodied voices proclaiming God's greatness is, at first, a bit alarming. But soon the call becomes a familiar punctuation to the day, and, moreover, a reminder to pause and reflect. The call to prayer highlights the surrounding beauty by demanding one's presence and attention. And often it underscores irony, like when the call caught us sitting in a dingy attic cafe in Casablanca filled with young hashish smoking Moroccans.  

Below,  a photo of our first call to prayer, overlooking Chefchaouen at sunset. 

The blue city

Laundry day at the river, Chef Chaouen

Charles getting a proper shave in Fez

The Moroccan drinking fountain: men dressed in these red outfits dispense cool water from the sheepskin canteens on their backs

Market in the medina (old city) in Meknes

Mint, a staple of the Moroccan diet

Your friendly neighborhood cow foot vendor

This was a very important stop on our journey: the Danan synagogue in Fes. I felt honored to be in the synagogue that bears my family name in a city where the Danans lived for hundreds of years. Visiting heritage sites has been a focal point of this trip, and I don't want to brush over the subject too lightly. Ill delve deeper in my next post.

Harira: traditidatonal Moroccan soup made with tomatoes, chickpeas, noodles, and cilantro.

Street food in Rabat: a sandwich with fried egg, eggplant, and peppers. Only 75 cents! 

Below: the Hassan II mosque in Casablanca,  the third largest mosque in the world. It carries the same majestic air as the Taj Mahal.

Early one morning,  while the air was still dark and cool, a familiar sound shook my sleep and sent my dreams whirling. The call was louder that morning, almost a war cry signaling the beginning of Ramadan. Half asleep, I was swept up in a gust of hot Saharan wind, a flurry of sand battered my face and I was separated from my dream companions. I called out, but there was no one around to answer.
The magical part is, just one week after I awoke from that dream, I was actually there - caught in a dust storm in the dunes of the Sahara desert riding in a camel caravan.
"Did you hear that?" asked Charles over the howl of the wind. Very distant, like an echo of an echo, I could hear the call to prayer. After that, the winds settled and the sun dipped beyond the edge of the desert. The world was quiet, just the shadow of a camel under a crescent moon, the sound of soft footsteps and sand.

Southward bound

Three weeks ago, I felt like I did at the beginning of my Vipassana silent mediation course in India. That is to say, I felt a bit daunted staring at the expanse of time that lay ahead while thoughts of Chico and murmurs of "when I get back.." vied for my attention. I glared at Charles and thought to myself, "Oh my god, nine more weeks," 

"Stop staring at me, weirdo," he shot back. Sigh. 

 But here we are, at the close of our time in Spain, and it feels like we have settled comfortably into our travel rhythm. Our pace seemed to take on the leisurely measure of life here in Spain; we took the mornings slowly, the afternoons sleepily, and the late nights wandering happily through the unusually lively streets.

Our first chocolate and churros experience in Spain, prompted by a drop in blood sugar and a google search for the "best chocolate and churros in Madrid." It was delicious. We also searched for the best gelato in Madrid, which turned out to be around the corner from our hostel, so we ate there four times.

Look! We found another Danan sister wandering through Spain!

It was great to spend time with Liora, here we are in the gardens of the Alhambra. The Alhambra was a fortress and palace for the Moors who lived in Granada. Its a massive complex layered with gardens, intricately carved buildings, and sweeping views.

Apparently instead of tanning, Charles turns greenish-blue and I turn pink?

The Alhambra at sunset.

Our second chocolate and churros experience.. Charles ate most of it.

We went hunting for a "flamenco cave" per recommendation of my good friend, Cooper. "Just wander up the river in Granada at ten o'clock at night under the full moon and listen for the sounds of flamenco, you´ll find it," he said. Well, our search wasn´t quite so romantic, and I´m not positive it was the same place, but it was certainly a flamenco cave and it was definitely an amazing performance.  The guitarist´s cool demeanor made the complexity of the melodies seem fluid, while the dancer´s fierce gaze highlighted the almost heart-breaking passion of the music.

This photo is from the Casa Sepharad, the Sephardic (Spanish) Jewish museum in Cordoba. It summarizes some of the teachings of Maimonides, a renowned Jewish rabbi and scientist, regarding a proper diet. Though the validity of the claims is debateable, certain Danans will tell you that we are direct decendents of Maimonides. So who better to take advice from, right? Except for he hates apricots and eggplants and swears by baby lamb.. 

Directly disregarding maimonides, we ate fried eggplant for lunch

the mesquita in cordoba

"goat cheese quesadilla" in Seville

The skyline of Seville

Now we are in Chefchaouen, Morocco, a beautiful city tucked into the rif valley. The streets here are washed in an entrancing shade of periwinkle blue making everything feel breezy and open. I am certainly wooed by the scenes here: the young man leading his goats to pasture, women washing their rugs in a stream, the smell of tagine wafting from a home, and the call to prayer echoing from the rooftop. Hopefully a better internet connection and many pictures will follow soon..

So far, so beautiful.

The journey begins! The next two months will take us through Spain, Morocco, and Israel on a quest to reconnect with our heritage. Our dad's side of the family is from Morocco and, we believe,  originally from Spain. I am eager to better understand my  relationship with this region,  and I wonder when (or if) I will feel a connection. Will I have some sort of revelation in an ancient synagogue in Barcelona? Will I feel at home in the neighborhood where my dad grew up? Or perhaps my body is best adapted to this bio-region, and I will 

naturally feel the most healthy here.  

Forty eight hours,  four planes, and not much sleep later. . We arrived in Barcelona. 

The first neighborhood we stayed in,  Gracia, was quite charming.  As we walked to the plaza with our picnic, ambient accordian music filled the air. Where are we?  The baguet in tow spoke more of France than Spain, and the narrow streets with floral dressed balconies recalled my time in Italy.

We spent the weekend in Barcelona with an awesome couch surfing host.  We ate paella, drank cervecas, and watched flamenco.  Next we journeyed to Girona (pictured above) which has one of the most well preserved Jewish quarters I'm Spain. 

Almond milk in Spain!

 

From Girona, we traveled north to Figueres to visit the Dali museum.

Definitely the coolest art museum I've been to, and very strange as well; I wasnt expecting to see his grave casually perched in one of the galleries.

Let's go to France, I suggested.  Let's go to the beach and get tan, said Charles. Next thing you know, we found our way to Tossa de Mar, a small coastal city, for a spontaneous Mediterranean getaway.  The water is crystal clear and the air is fresh.  We are much happier than this photo suggests.  

Ill try to post as best I can, but blogging fron a phone quite a chore..