To the tour groups watching from above, we must have been a surprising sight.
How did these foreigners — a woman in a loose head scarf and platform sandals, and a lanky photographer, snapping away — manage to get down there? But the workers took our presence in stride, stopping for introductions and saying what they could in French or English. The boss, rotund, cheerful and curious, came over too. We quickly attracted a posse of young men as Mr.
El Mounadam kept up a steady narrative, explaining the tanning process in detail. The crumbling buildings around the pits are used for scraping and softening the skins, he said, leading us up a rickety staircase to a low-ceilinged room where one of the young men demonstrated the technique, staring at us as he sliced away with a sharp metal tool. If this were a thriller instead of a travel tale, this is the moment when the ominous music would kick in. Instead, some of the men took Ben upstairs for more photos, and Mr.
El Mounadam and I compared life histories and talked about love. Moroccan hospitality may have choreographed our welcome, but American mores are equally ingrained, so in the end, when Mr. El Mounadam hinted around it, I offered him some money for his time and expertise. It was the only moment when we paid for any guidance, and it was well worth it. Afterward, we found a quiet cafe, which smelled thankfully of fresh herbs and juices, and had a cosmopolitan look.
Cassandra is forced to watch in her visions and in reality as her brothers, friends, and countrymen are brutally slaughtered on the battlefield before the city gates. Czech 1. By preserving the stories written by survivors and making them widely available to a broad audience, the Holocaust Survivor Memoirs series seeks to sustain the memory of all those who perished at the hands of hatred, abetted by indifference and apathy. Enable full ADS. Sunday , December 8 ,
Viewing the city through Bab Rasif, one of the entrance gates, you can see the green-and-white tower of a mosque floating above a sea of satellite dishes. In the square at the entrance, we watched a clutch of little boys playing soccer; some held their right sandal in one hand, trading off footwear so they each had a Croc or sneaker to kick with. The goal-markers were a rock and a plastic bag, but they took it very seriously; the alpha player wore a Cristiano Ronaldo jersey, No. The game was raucous, the black-and-white ball a geometric blur on the white stone tiles, and before long someone had a bloody head.
Teammates and opponents swarmed over to check on the injured player before he was led away by hand. Little girls are a presence in the medina, too, but the boys are bolder, practicing for their roles as future tour guides. In Place Seffarine, a child offered us a pack of tissues for a few dirhams. When we gave the money — pocket change — but refused the tissues, he dashed away, returning with a tiny yellow slipper as a souvenir.
Generosity was easy to find. A vendor selling vegetables from a small table, listening to American rap music on a radio and smoking a long hash pipe, even offered us a puff. We encountered the market on our walk with Mr. Saili, the comb craftsman. We trailed him as he strode through the medina, earning waves and greetings along the way.
This man, we sensed, was important. It was our first full day in Fez, and the walk was a dizzying sensory overload, full of unexpected turns and visions, especially when we reached the market. Here was a fragrant rosewater stand, next to a tableful of live snails, abutting a tray of pastel halvah. He stopped to buy cantaloupe, a treat for lunch. After a trek through garbage-strewn alleyways and three tightly locked doors, he welcomed us into his home.
The narrow entryway and dun-colored building opened to a vast, multistory oasis, with high ceilings, blue, green and white tile and traditional woodwork.
His wife, Aziza Krimi, had prepared lunch: spiced lamb, served with fluffy pita and French fries. It was easily the best food we had in Fez. Her grandfather, she said, was He carved his combs and spoons not out of bone but out of cow horns. It was a common skill generations ago, but now practitioners are rare.
At first, Mr. Doors open at pm June 1st, All sales final.
Rain or shine event, no refunds or rain dates. Every reasonable effort will be made to ensure all acts perform.
However, performers may be delayed or cancelled if environmental conditions are deemed unsafe. Lawn Chairs normal size permitted. And the reality is, many fraudsters have no intention of doing something dishonest until an unexpected pressure hits their life. What matters is the part we choose to act on. Segregate, Segregate, Segregate: The foundation to good business controls is segregation of duties. A single employee should never have access to both 1 the physical assets, and 2 the recording of the assets. One employee opens the mail and makes a list of the checks received for the deposit.
and Wednesday evenings at PM. Eucharistic Adoration begins at PM on Wednesday evenings. St. Paul Inside the Walls is closed on Thursdays. One Way for Young Adults (Sunday Mornings from AM to AM) Young adults in their 20's and 30's are welcome to join this interactive, small-group.
A different employee uses that list to record the receipts and update the accounting records. For entities where the number of employees limits the ability to separate these duties, at least have the bank statement mailed directly to someone knowledgeable who is not an active part of the accounting staff perhaps the owner to be reviewed for any oddities.
Have HR join the fight : Utilize good human resources practices to avoid falling victim to someone with ongoing pressures and a history of rationalizing.