At 9:00, Natasha, Erika, Cynthia, and I met at the boat. Megan and Nathan were doing things with their host families. We hung around for a bit deciding what to do, then decided to go to Marina Bay. Just like every other day.
We were sat outside tonight, which was a change. The waiter who had told us to come back every night recognized us, and asked us why we weren't sitting inside, and where our man was.
There was understandable resentment on the second point, but the waiter really wanted to know. His English was self-admittedly not very good, so he wasn't sure what the proper term was. “Husband? Boyfriend? Friend?” We told him that it was “friend,” though I realized after he left that we'd missed the perfect opportunity to teach him a new word. “Stalker. The word is 'stalker.'”
We ordered drinks (I stuck with hot chocolate this time) and complained about the fact that everyone liked Nathan better. Admittedly, everyone else got more attention when we were on our own, but if we were in any kind of group, people would only ever want to talk to Nathan. Natasha theorized that he had a more approachable face, so she practiced an expression she called her “Nathan face.” (Slight tilt of the head, open, smiling mouth. It should be noted that Nathan doesn't normally have this expression.)
The next day, Erika would be going to the beach with a friend of her cousins who was also in Rabat. (It's amazing how many people end up in Rabat for unrelated reasons.) The rest of us talked and discovered that we all wanted teapots. We'd seen them near the end of Cynthia's mother showing us stores in the Mdina, but none of us had relished carrying them around. So we decided that on Sunday we would go check them out.
Leaving my house on Sunday, I saw my first evidence that anyone in Rabat actually cares about all of the cats that are wandering around. Specifically, I saw this.
It also marked the first time I saw a cat in a box. (Rabat kittens don't seem to like boxes that much, and they prefer to nap in the shade. It's weird.) But there's milk and chicken nearby, and inside the box is a female cat and her very young kittens nursing. It was so cute.
I walked to the end of the street that Cynthia and Erika lived on to meet them. Along the way, I met the same guy as yesterday (I think so. Like I said, I never really looked at him. However, I am going to give him a little fault for not recognizing me, since he was the one going solely off physical appearances.) This time, he didn't care what language I spoke so much as what my name is. I think he might have thought it was “Panimayu Znayu,” or something like that, because after I said “Ne panimayu. He Znayu,” he said his name.
He went away eventually.
Natasha and Cynthia were trying to trace our route through the Mdina to find the exact same teapot sellers we'd seen last time. I would have been content with any teapot sellers, but since they had a pretty good memory for a route we'd only taken once before (maybe I should go with them to the Casbah) I let them lead me there. We passed adorable kittens, bought teapots, and then wandered around for a bit more, trying to check items off the list of presents we needed to buy.
Some people were easier than others. Cynthia had fifteen aunts and uncles, though between needing to buy them all presents now and needing to give their names for practice in Arabic class, she probably wishes she had less. They got postcards. All of us had one relative who we thought about and couldn't decide what to buy them. So we kept looing at everything, and wondering if that would make a good gift. “It's a mug. It's a shotglass. It's a framed knife. Do you think he'd like that? Seriously, what was wrong with the tassel shop? It could work. What about a tile? Would he like a tile?”
While Natasha inspected art, I looked closer at the tiles. I'd recognized a Hebrew letter on one. When I looked closer, I saw that there were three tiles which each had a Hebrew name or word on them. (I could phonetically sound them out, but I couldn't recognize what they were saying.) I caught the eye of the shopkeeper and asked what they were.
“They're verses from the Koran.”
“What? No.”
He brought me outside and pointed above the doorway, where he had Koranic calligraphy. Wonderful, but not even close to what the tiles I was looking at were. I went back to show him the specific tiles, in case he thought I was looking at something else.
He picked them up, arranged them together, and showed them to me, repeating that they were verses from the Koran. He was holding either one or two of the pieces upside, which he had to, because the tiles included two right-hand tiles and one middle. Later, I'd go back and try to reassemble them (looking at art takes a long time) and determine that none of the tiles actually fit together. The shopkeeper was completely lying to me.
As we were walking, I kept feeling this attraction to rugs. I want to say “just the small ones” since the large rugs (sometimes called “carpets”) are outside of my budget, the size and weight limits for my checked baggage (even if I threw out everything else I owned), and anything bordering on practical purpose. But the large ones had so much more space to show their design.
I didn't buy any. I just kept staring at and stroking and inspecting the wrong side of a rug in pretty much every relevant store we passed. They were so nice. And I know I don't need a rug... but if I did, then I'd like to be able to say that it came from Rabat. (Rabat, in particular is well known fro their rugs. This isn't a whim like “I want to buy all the pens I could possibly need for the next 3 years so that whenever someone asks 'can I borrow a pen?' I can say 'you mean the pen I bought... IN RABAT!'” It's slightly more logical then that.) And at some point in the future I might want a rug. I'm still considering it.
As I was walking past, I noticed movement across the street. I glanced up, then hurridly back down. This time, it was definitely the same guy as before. He really should have recognized me and remembered that I didn't speak his language. I'm not sure if it's worse that he suddenly expects me to start, or worse that if I'm not careful I might. This time, I just responded to his questions with "Nyet!" "Nyet?" He asked hopefully. I ran forward a few feet and put a Moroccan woman between me and him. He went away after that.
It was a nice day of shopping, even if it wasn't terribly productive. The only thing I bought were teapots, and I'm not even sure if the items I spent the longest looking at (the tiles) were for sale. Still, I got a better idea of what was in the Mdina by wandering around instead of walking urgently and/or following a Moroccan woman. I have some time to go back and buy more souvenirs and gifts. (By which I actually means rugs. Huge rugs for myself. Maybe.)
*Assuming that 3:00 in the afternoon fits your definition of “morning”
