No Monkeys, No Beer

We had our first day out in the field today. Chris and Dave and I went looking for the group that we plan on studying while Paolo took the car further up the road to see the group he has been working on.
The area that we are looking in is about 5 square kilometers of dense forest, which alternates between flat and ultra-hilly ground. From about 8 until 1 we ran search patterns, and found nothing. This is sort of to be expected, as the last time Chris saw the group was about a year ago, and it's likely that their home range has changed since then. So it looks like the next few days will be spent searching the area, only we're going to do full days (8-5) now that we're somewhat familiar with the area.
We spent the rest of the day driving to and back from the Marjane in Fez. The Marjane is the Moroccan equivalent of Wal-Mart. It's absolutely huge, and was our best hope for finding everything we needed (toiletries, food, electrical stuff, and beer) without scouring the market in Azrou for hours on end. Plus, it's open during Ramadan, when almost every other shop is closed during the day. While it's not exactly an 'authentic' Moroccan experience,
We succeeded in buying supplies, but one of the store managers told us there was "no chance" that we could buy beer there, or for that matter anywhere, unless of course we were willing to drive to Spain.
(A not-so-brief aside: Yesterday after Dave and Chris arrived we decided we could not celebrate without a proper beverage, we asked around town and the only place which anyone could think of that would cater to our needs was the most expensive hotel in town "Hotel Panorama". When we arrived the only woman working told us, after some confusion, that we were welcome to drink, but we would have to retrieve the beers -- which were in the bar through the kitchen, ourselves, as she didn't want to touch them. What followed was one of the most awkward drinking experiences of my life, as we all sat in the lobby with our tiny beers, trying our hardest not to be disrespectful by suppressing our natural inclination (Italian, Scot, Londoner, and Texan) to be a bit more boisterous.)
Other than being slightly inconvenient to non-Moroccans, Ramadan is a fascinating time to be here. The roads absolutely flood with cars approximately 15 minutes before sundown (when they can eat after fasting all day) and then promptly disappear. Even the relatively ubiquitous speed-checking police return home promptly around 6:30.
Now we sit down for a well-deserved dinner. Which I'm sure will end with me offending Paolo for not eating all of the huge portions that he insists on giving me.