Ibn Ibn Battuta

In Honor of Friday Couscous, Notes on a Moroccan Classic

Before I came to Morocco, I rarely ate couscous (كسكوس). My mother - ever the adventurous and talented chef - had made it now and then throughout my childhood. But although certainly no picky eater, I had never liked the dish much. At home or in restaurants, it always seemed a bit too mealy, too dry, and too bland to really be enjoyable.

In Morocco, of course, couscous is the national meal. Without fail, the kingdom's entire population eats it every Friday at lunch, by hand or by spoon, at home or in a restaurant. It is a nationwide rite unparalleled in America. (Catholics' fish-only-Fridays comes to mind, but Friday couscous in Morocco is

Toubkal: A Climb to the Roof of North Africa

The mountain had been on my list since we first arrived in Morocco - Jebel Toubkal (جبل تبقال), at 4,167 meters (13,671 feet) the highest peak in the Atlas range, and in all of North Africa.

By a stroke of luck, I managed to get last Friday off work, just as my friends Chris and Susannah were planning an ascent of the peak. I packed and provisioned, and made the 3:15am train to Marrakech with them. After a few hours of lousy midnight train sleeping, we took a winding grand taxi ride from Marrakech to the town of Imlil, at the foot of the Atlas.

It was late in the morning when, stocked up on water, Chris, Susannah, and I

The Final Countdown: Moulay Bousselham and Asilah

As our final months in Morocco tick slowly away, Jacqueline and I are doing our best each weekend to visit some of the many sites that we haven't yet hit.

Several weeks ago, we headed up the coast to Moulay Bousselham (مولاي بو سلهام), a quiet fishing village poised between the Atlantic and a large inland lagoon. The Merdja Zerga ("Blue Lagoon") is a major pit stop for migratory birds traveling between Europe and sub-Saharan Africa.

We checked into the Villa Nora, a friendly bed and breakfast perched high above the beach, and made ourselves comfortable.

Looking Back on a Year in Morocco

For Jacqueline and me, Ramadan's passing had another, more personal significance: it marked a year since our arrival here in Morocco.

On first reflection I feel like the year has rushed past. But then I recall all that we've done and seen and survived. In just our first few months, we found a first home in Fes, learned to navigate the old city, road tripped through northern Morocco, visited Spain without leaving Africa, mastered shopping à la marocaine, expanded our culinary horizons, helped butcher a sheep on 'Eid al Adha, dragged my family around the country, skied the Atlas mountains, and suffered Fes' endless street harassment.