Casablanca, Day One

This is the first of a fifteen post blog.

As-Salamu Alaykum
السلام عليك
Hello

Morocco was the choice for our big trip in 2008. I've always wanted to go and my wife Kate, although less enthusiastic, agreed to the new experience. After researching, getting a rough itinerary together and checking prices I searched travel agencies. I quickly found Intrepid Travel, based in Australia, had an itinerary I liked and the company's ethics in regard to the host country seemed ideal. Intrepid carries travelers through various countries using largely local transport, focusing on the locals and uses businesses focused on helping the locals rather than exploiting them. We decided on October so as not to bake in the sweltering heat of an African summer. Booking our trip early, we then played the waiting game, and eventually took off for Morocco. We found the country was slow to reveal it's splendor.

Connecting through New York's Kennedy Airport, we then flew nonstop overnight to Casablanca, Morocco arriving in the early morning. Knowing little of Morocco and even less of the Arabic and French spoken here, we found an ATM at the airport, grabbed some Dirhams and located the train station. Must have been beginners' luck because obtaining a couple of train tickets to Casablanca's Voyagers train station proved to be very easy, giving me a false sense of security. We rode across the countryside toward Casablanca, the sunrise hazy, the landscape a sparse, flat brown occasionally dotted by a palm or scrub. Nearing the city, densely populated neighborhoods of cinder-block walls and tin roofs abruptly stole the open landscape and it seemed every tiny home had a satellite dish, as apartment buildings came into view they too revealed clusters of the skyward facing discs.

Soon we were on the streets of Casablanca along with the hordes of morning commuters, fighting our way through the gauntlet of ravenous cab drivers. We had packed light and each carried a small carry-on bag that convert to a backpack, along with a small daypack which connected to the larger bag. Figuring we were not burdened by heavy luggage and the day was in it's infancy, we'd hike the two or three miles to our hotel. We hit the streets and attempted to find our bearings, this is where one small detail thwarted our plan. We could find absolutely no street signs, nothing to point us in a direction we could trust. Asking passersby was equally fruitless as they spoke no English or French and we spoke no Arabic. We soon reluctantly agreed to return to the gauntlet of cabs. First we had to find a driver with a rudimentary understanding of English, then we had to make sure he would be delivering us to our hotel, then a price had to be agreed to. These three criteria proved very difficult and Kate was willing to forgo the agreeing to a price part. I believe "If they get us there I'll pay it" is a close quote.

After several attempts we found a driver and were on our way. We had seen videos of large Asian cities, third world countries and even busy European cites, so we had an idea of wild traffic but this was our first experience in it. A petite-taxi is a compact car, sometimes a little, mostly a lot, rough-shod, that will carry as many passengers at a time as the driver is able to fit. Soon we find ourselves in the back seat of a petite-taxi in downtown Casablanca in morning rush hour. Traveling at about 35-40 mph down the main thoroughfare we discover traffic lights and street signs have no real importance here, they seem to be merely polite suggestions. This means that as we careen down the street, pedestrians, motorists and bikers on all types of two and three wheeled vehicles are darting randomly across our path from all directions seemingly at once. As we careened down the boulevard, I glanced up at the rear view mirror to see the driver looking back at Kate and me and laughing. Fortunately we soon arrived at the Hotel Guynemere in the Ville-Nouvelle and are happy to find the staff allows us to check in early. I find a computer siting in the lobby and I decide to check my email. As I start to type, I notice not only that the Internet connection is painfully slow, but the keyboard has a few vast differences from the western keyboards I'm accustomed to; namely that the keys have French and Arabic characters and even the slightly recognizable French characters are completely out of order. With Kate's help I am able to put together a comprehensible note home. We decided to catch a jet-lag relieving nap before hitting the town and soon fell into a fitful but too brief sleep.

We awoke in the early afternoon to light showers, grabbed our raincoats and hit the streets. Most, if not all large Moroccan cities have a Medina or old town tucked behind city walls, and a Ville-Nouvelle, or new town which was established by the French imperials. As we wandered the Ville-Nouvelle our empty bellies beckoned, we agreed on a busy cafe, ordered the lunch special (I think) and were relieved to find grilled meat on pita bread, fries and a Coke on our plates. We watched the rain as we ate, and as the showers ended we were back outside. Soon we found the old city walls and made our way into the souk, or marketplace. The dank streets delivered some new and unique smells, none of which we found pleasant and the markets themselves proved just as disappointing, We found no unique wares or interesting trinkets, just stall after stall of second-hand plastic cast-offs and food vendors shilling kebabs cooked over seemingly anything that would burn. Leaving the Medina behind, we ventured to the coast to find the Mosque Hussan II. While navigating the streets the sun finally revealed itself and we were soon passing a multi-block trash heap being rummaged by several locals. We continued on, beckoned to the coast by the Mosque's magnificent minaret and found a rocky beach containing a distant lighthouse and a rocky shoreline. Exploring the mosque's plaza, we forgo the tour knowing tomorrow our group will explore the interior. After investigating the detailed stonework outside the grand building, we casually make our way back to the hotel to clean up for the group meeting and dinner. Our so far disappointing visit to Casablanca had us legitimately concerned what lay ahead as we toured the rest of the country.

Arriving early in the hotels' meeting room, we choose a small table and wait to meet our travel companions and leader. Bit by bit the group takes form and Mohamed, our young Berber leader introduces himself and invites everyone to a large table. After introductions are made and logistics finalized, Mohamed takes us to a local restaurant for dinner. Settling in everyone is relieved to find beer and wine on the menu and orders are placed as we start to get to know each other. Moroccan custom has the host offering mint tea to their guests, we then have the first of many glasses of tea during our journey. Our group was made up of our Moroccan leader Mohamed, Kate and I, as well as Edward from San Francisco come from the US; Cameron and his wife Nicole, Len and his wife Patsy, and Natasha are all from Australia; Debbie and Frances are from Tasmania; Peter from New Zealand; and Peter (Pete) from Scotland. Kate and I have our first Moroccan dinner and enjoy a tagine. After the hearty meal we all head back to our hotel and settle in for a restful night.