The Dream Begins

Saying good bye to Vermont and these goobs (for a little while) with a not-so-traditional fall pumpkin photo shoot.

And so it begins. The last of the tears have been shed, and the good-bye hugs are behind me. The challenging job of reducing my life to one, fifty-pound suitcase has been conquered. After a quintessential Vermont autumn Saturday, I find myself in the Detroit Airport pinching myself. The dream is about to become reality, and I am set to board a flight for Paris en route to Morocco. At this time tomorrow, I should be enjoying (or sleeping through) my first afternoon in Rabat.  Ten months ago, I began the process of applying to be an English Language Fellow. This month the adventure begins. What started as an exercise in patience quickly evolved into a whirlwind of planning, organizing, purging, and packing.

In June, I gave up my job and threw caution to the wind - trusting that the universe will see to it that this adventure is just the beginning of a new phase. I rented the house and spent the summer emptying it for its new family. Each week that the kids returned home to me, they found fewer and fewer pieces of furniture. Eventually bed frames were whisked away to the attic, and mattress-camping became the norm. By mid-August we were down to the dining room table, and it was time to go. Grandma and Grandpa took in this family of nomads and endured our invasion for four weeks. Now I am on the cusp of a much-anticipated journey to a new country, a new job, a new community, and new challenges. I could not be happier.

I am not exactly sure the U.S. Department of State knows who they've hired (shhh...don't tell). They put me in a swanky hotel in D.C. for a week, while they taught me everything I need to know about being an English Language Fellow. It was intimidating, overwhelming, and incredibly exciting.  This promises to be a year of opportunities I can't even imagine. For that matter, apparently no one can really imagine them. My job is a bit of a mystery. The details will reveal themselves eventually. No one else seems too concerned, so I am trying to embrace that spirit and just go with the flow. The overwhelming message that came out of my week of orientation in D.C. was to be flexible beyond my wildest imagination (thank goodness for my stellar yoga skills - yikes). I'm on it. I'm being flexible. I'm flying to Morocco.

I've got an agenda for the next week. It says things like "security briefing" and "health and safety briefing." The word "briefing" makes me feel very official and just slightly anxious since security in Jericho, VT consists of closing the front door instead of leaving it wide open. I also have a very fancy invitation for a dinner "to honor the new English Language Fellow." Once again, I am concerned that they don't know who they have hired. I had to R.S.V.P.;  I didn't know if I should offer to bring a potato salad or a bag of chips. The invitation says "casual attire," but I am struggling. What is "casual attire" in Morocco? The country is at the forefront of the burqini battle. When you Google appropriate attire for Morocco, you'll see things like "conservative but liberal for the Arab world." What does that mean? In practice, it meant I had to use almost all of my allotted luggage weight for my flight on a whole host of potential outfits for one dinner.

Evidently I'll be shopping for clothes in the markets of Marrakesh as soon as I arrive. That will be amusing with my complete lack of Darija (the Moroccan form of Arabic). I'll be doing my best to dress conservatively in the relatively cool ninety degree-September temps. I'll be scouting out the pool situation from the safety of my apartment in hopes of resolving the burqini question before I need to make an appearance poolside. So much anticipation. So much excitement. So much fatigue. So many questions.

Bonjour Paris!

Lights out.