(This is posted a few days late- be warned, you’re gonna see a lot of photos thrown at you,  à la family vacation slide show torture)

I’m totally set. This country’s got cannons, and might could easily stand in for Independence Day this year…

 I figured out that Dakar doesn’t know the definition of architecture.

Fez. Fresh air. Site of my 7 mile run.

I am incredibly lucky to have been born over there in the New World. Right place. Right time. With that kind of scratch ticket in hand I am able to travel the planet with relative ease, and thusly I marked my country’s 234 year of independence by gate crashing a Moroccan wedding. Well kinda.

First off, this country lives up to the hype. You all (and when I say you, I am also talking to myself as well) need to wipe away all of your media-generated preconceived notions of, North Africa, Islam in Africa, etc. This continent is far too expansive and diverse to accept such a simplistic point of view. Shocking, I know. You Massholes like being told you are exactly the same as Texans? No? Well then, now you have a frame of reference- and that’s not even an appropriate comparison to use…but you get the picture.

Speaking of pictures, check these out:

Oh yes. We stayed here. And the pool is indeed fantastic.

When I grow up, I want a retractable roof in my رياض‎ (a riad, a traditional Moroccan house or palace with an interior garden)

For this blog entry, my cultural reporting will largely take the shape of a food photo essay (I know, try to conceal your shock). As you can see, the natural and architectural aesthetics of this country alone provide a compelling reason to visit- but the food- above everything else, is an absolute triumph.

I’ll start with a wedding that I attended near Fez (in Meknès), and then I’ll end with the best glass of orange juice I have ever tasted (and no, it was not because I was starving and hung over).

First, here’s a video from the wedding. On my three week trip I never imagined I’d be attending some stranger’s nuptials, but that’s what we did for the Fourth of July. I really am not the wedding-going type, but I’ll have to henceforth precede that statement with “Unless it’s in Ireland or Morocco, I’m not the wedding-going type.”

Let me tell you that the bride wears five dresses in Moroccan weddings. Five!! And as you can see from her grand entrance, these weddings makes the electric slide banquet hall-style occasions that we Americans suffer look like a slow day at Chuck E. Cheese. It was easily the best wedding that I have ever been to outside of Ireland, and I didn’t even know the bride or the groom. And I don’t speak Arabic.

We showed up at about 9pm, one of the first to arrive. Typical. We didn’t eat any supper, and  were pretty hungry as a consequence for the first couple of hours. 

Little did we know that we’d be priming our stomachs for another three hours before Eat Time was to go down. The table near the front door offered a tray of milk and dates, which we all scavenged as soon as plates were set out, but it didn’t do much to tide us over. 

 Things didn’t get going until about midnight. And this is where the happy couple were perched for most of the night. It was a bit like they were the Main Event at the zoo.

Dress number two. Between the bride and the appropriately-invited guests, I was horribly underdressed for this occasion. The women in this country know how to look good.

I was too clouded by hunger to take a picture of the first food that was brought out- juice and neat cake. I’m pretty sure they do the wedding eating ritual in reverse fashion- as you will see:

 Course number two: Pastilla (phyllo dough holding together an outstanding combination of cinnamon, saffron, nutmeg, ginger almonds, poultry dried fruit and meat). This whole mystery wedding event was starting to go my way.

They bake bread three times a day in this country- alhamdoulilah!

Chicken stuffed with some sort of herb spice goodness. Our very cool table companions (who, incidentally, never bothered to ask us how we knew the bride and groom) told us to save room for the main course…

  This was the second day in a row that I ate mouton (is it sheep, is it goat?).  Doesn’t matter. It was fantastic.

No meal is complete without the mint tea.

This is dessert? Hey, fruit kicks ass in this country. I will never doubt this again (stay tuned for my glass of orange juice).

I think this was at about 3:30am. Only dress number three for the bride. Sadly for us, we were tired, and didn’t make it to see dress four or five.

Hmm. We didn’t make it to this course, since we were lame and left early. But I think this was the actual wedding cake version of the ceremony. We’ll never know, till we bust in on the next wedding.

The next morning.  Actually, a few hours later since we got home so late. Figs, ricotta and honey.  I don’t think it can get much better than that. Unless…you head out for a proper Moroccan breakfast at your local cafe…

Coffee, Moroccan breads, and as promised….

….the most delicious and unassuming glass of orange juice I have ever tasted. Is it lame that I am photographing a half-empty (yes, I said half-empty) glass of fruit juice? Only if don’t stop to remark on the fact that I must have had average expectations going into this endeavor. At first I sipped without any desire to capture the glass’s contents upon arrival.

It was really good. Moroccan weddings are really great, and Moroccan food is unmatched.

Honestly, this country offers such an assault upon your senses that I am having trouble picking just a few things to show you. I’ll be posting again, but for now I had to start with what probably ended up as a SpinArt depiction of my experience. 

I’m incredibly lucky to be doing this, and I have to thank my country and the freedoms that I enjoy for giving me so much in such a short lifetime.  I am looking forward to trekking north today to Tangiers, where we will ultimately cross the Strait of Gibraltar and head into Spain for more food, and god knows what else.