You Again?

It feels good to have moved from Rabat to Ifrane.  Coming on the heels of my last trip, the move was painless thanks to the efforts of the embassy, my small moving crew and new landlady.  Barely eclipsing six hours (including a two-hour drive), my stuff was packed, moved and unpacked in what was the least complicated intra-country move in memory.

Of course, it helps that I left all furniture and military items tucked away in a California storage unit before I arrived here in January, but that's besides the point.  After only half a year, my good friend, "the move," showed his ugly head.  He won't do it again anytime soon though, as I'm slated to stay in one place for the longest period of time in the last nine years.  Oddly enough, it's in a foreign land not part of a deployment!

To welcome me to my new abode, I received a rather unusual guest: a fully-grown stork.  The day after my move, I woke to find my new buddy in my entry stairwell.  Having left a window open the night before, I can only imagine that he flew in looking for some food.  Though his company was appreciated (and I got to join the ever-growing fraternity who can say they woke up with a stork in their house), I forced his departure before he could leave any unwanted presents on my floor.

Storks are common around Morocco.  Here in Ifrane, they've nested atop most of the red, pitched roofs.

The guilty window.

Free of my visitor, it was on to the day's first order of business: take a look at my foot and assess whether or not I could take out the stitches I somehow required in Pamplona.  After consulting my at-home medical book and a few less-than-convincing websites, I decided that ten days were enough for the healing process and prepped for my minor procedure, which involved gauze, iodized solution, a pair of scissors, tweezers and toenail clippers.

Before...

...and after.  As if my feet weren't pretty enough!

Following the brief "post-op" period where I realized that I need to conduct more stretching exercises, my toe was clear of all threaded material, leaving me safe to shower normally again.  Adios, buddies - I won't be seeing you again!  Just as the thought crossed my mind, I heard scratching on the tile floor behind me, turned around and there was that stork again.

My visitor, staking his claim...

This time, he was right behind me in my saloon (living room).  How the heck did he get in here?  Having closed the traitorous window from the night before, the only plausible entrance was the open door 23 steps between my place and the lawn outside.  Did he enter there and climb all those steps?  I thought, He must have.  After an embarrassing six minutes feeling like an old Betty confronting a mouse, he was out the window and gracelessly gliding down into an apple tree below...where he crashed.

Man vs. Bird (and the end of any future political aspirations!)

Going down to see if he was alright afterward, he didn't even thank me for the "help" (though I did just push him out of a second-story window).  Free of my goofy visitor, I was left to continue organizing my things and preparing some paperwork.  After a couple hours of half-assing a report diligent work (thank you again, Megan H for the writing style), I heard the now-unmistakable sound of stork feet cautiously slipping and sliding on my tile...directly behind me.  You again?  Ballsy fellow! I thought after jumping out of my shorts.

...and getting a little too comfortable.

This time he made it for my bed and then every open doorway (except the exit) in my place before I could corral him out.  Chasing him around with my trusted umbrella felt like one of those cartoon hallway scenes where the chased leads the chaser through multiple doors, never leaving the one they entered.  Once outside the main door, I resigned myself to accepting this little fellow as my new roommate, put a couple chairs in front of the door, made some popcorn (which he didn't like) and started referring to him as "Stu" (yeah, not too original, I know).

A little later, my landlady stopped by and nearly had a heart attack when she encountered my new "bodyguard," who hadn't moved a feather since I left him a couple hours prior.  She didn't get my quip about his quack being worse than his bite, which inadvertently slipped after her gasp informed me of her presence.  I had to laugh, as I nudged him with an umbrella down the steps toward the great outdoors.

That was a couple days ago now, and my little buddy hasn't been back up to see me (must've been the popcorn)...but, he's not slipped on his guard duties, as I've spotted him standing sentry in the yard a couple times.

As a shameless plug, my "Military Monday" and "Middle East Tuesday" pages are up and running (located under the header at the top of the page), so if you're in my professional or cultural shoes and want to give it a look, I'd appreciate your comments and recommendations!