Casablanca, Morocco - part 1

Let me tell you a couple of stories:

James and Morocco
The first time James ever went to Morocco was just a few weeks ago in February. For his journey home, he was due to leave Rabat around 6:30 in the morning and arrive home around 2PM on a Saturday with a connection through either Brussels or Barcelona. He texted me at about 10AM to tell me that he still hadn't left Rabat! This meant he would more than likely miss his connection. Long story short, he didn't ever leave Rabat on Saturday. Sunday, he left and connected through Brussels/Barcelona and missed his connection so he didn't get home until about 7PM Sunday night. Nice weekend.

Trip 2 started on Tuesday, March 12. After a 4-hour delay in Manchester, he did eventually make it to Casablanca (because his connection in Brussels was delayed as well), but his bag did not. Lovely. Fortunately, I was flying out the next day and would be able to pick up his bag and bring it to him at the hotel.

Speaking of which.............

Me and Morocco
I had a very uneventful series of flights, though it did include a 7 hour and 45 minute layover in Brussels (and a 4am alarm). Upon arrival in Casablanca, I had to track down James' bag. I did, successfully. Then I had to find my bag. All the bags from my flight came out on the belt and the belt stopped. And my bag wasn't on it.  About 10 minutes after wondering what I was going to do, the belt started moving again. I'm watching where all the bags come out and there are no bags coming out. Then, in slow motion, I see my blue suitcase emerge from the outside, come down the little ramp, THUD onto the circular belt, and take forever to get to me. BUT - my bag had arrived. This is where things get a bit murky.

I had to get cash out of the ATM which was surprisingly easy once I found the ATM. Upon exiting the airport, there was a small gathering of men standing outside and cars parked along the road. I didn't know which were cabs, which were illegally parked cars, and which had just been abandoned for what appeared to be the last 6 months. I honestly couldn't tell the difference between any of the cars. I walked past the first group of guys asking if I wanted a taxi. I decided I should pretend I didn't speak French, Arabic, or English (I only had to pretend about 2 of those things) and kept my head down. I figured when I cleared the initial smattering, it would be perfectly logical where the taxi line was (just like NY when you come out of Penn Station) and I would get in the first cab in line that had a prominently displayed "TAXI" sign on it and a driver that didn't scare the daylights out of me. I was wrong.

Eventually, this very old man came up to me and asked if I needed a ride (presumably, he was speaking either French or Arabic, but apparently "taxi" is a universal word like "no").  I figured this guy was safe because I could out-run him and probably beat him up if he was going to put me in danger. Then the guy passed me to someone else. This guy was younger, but still old. I tried to barter the fare - the sign said 250 Dirham to center city (where our hotel was). James apparently paid 350 the night before. This guy said 300. Fine. Or so I thought. (side note: 100 Dirham is about $11USD. Keep this in mind when I tell you about the cost of a beer).

As I get in the cab, I monitored them putting my suitcases in the trunk (the first old guy and now this guy that was going to drive me.). I get in the back seat and the first older guy starts banging on my window, yelling in French/Arabic. I eventually make out the word "tip" (apparently another universal word). I ignored him. This may all sound harsh, but I just wanted to get the hell out of dodge. So we start driving and I notice the front passenger door is rattling - like it's going to fly open. I just hope it doesn't.  As if I'm on an episode of The Amazing Race, the guy has to stop for gas. He never shuts off the enging, pumps some gas (all the while 3 other guys come over to the car and are BSing with him and I'm getting nervous like I need to remember my Tae Kwon Do), doesn't pay (I guess that's optional?), tries to fix the rattling passenger side door by slamming it 3 times, and we take off again. I notice that the gas indicator is still below empty. And as I look at the dash, I notice the odometer doesn't work, and I wonder if there is THAT litle gas in the car or if the gas indicator is broken as well. The handle on the door on the other side (I'm in the back) is also busted off. I find comfort knowing at least there is a handle on my door though I don't know if it is going to work when I pull on it.

As we are driving, initially on a highway, I notice that the lines drawn on the road do not mean anything. It was a 2 lane highway and we rode right down the middle of it with cars zooming around this puttering Mercedes taxi from approximately 1959. Eventaully, there are 4 vehicles in front of us and a bunch behind us when 3 mattresses go flying off one of the trucks in front of us and splatter all across the 2 lane highway. People jam on breaks and/or swerve around; all using the horn as if the guy intentionally let 3 mattresses fly off his truck and or didn't realize it happened. We narrowly avoid meeting the back bumber of the car in front of us (and maybe the side of a few other cars). I'm fairly certain James would have had a heart attack by now so I resolve to enjoy the experience knowing I likely won't die (hopefully).

As we get closer to the city, we get onto a 3 lane road - by definition - a road with 3 lanes as detailed by the white lines very clearly drawn on the road. Apparently these are invisible to the people of Morocco because they have made this a FIVE lane road. Seriously, not even in straight lines, they just stack themselves as wide as possible in a road regardless of how many cars are supposed to be there. Oh - and blinkers are optional, but horns are not. If you are driving in Morocco, you MUST have a horn and you MUST use it all the time. Each time we stop, the driver has to open the window because the smell of gas in the car is so strong.

We make it to the hotel (my door handle DOES work) where James has texted me he and his colleague are at the bar having a beer (beers). We venture out to dinner where, even though the hotel confirmed we had a reservation, the restaurant has informed us that we did not. We waited for a while trying to weasle our way in before giving up and trying another place.

So my journey thus far as been very interesting. On Thursday, I have to work most of the day (James is gone all day), but I have a break in the afternoon. It appears to be very sunny outside my hotel window so I get dressed and decide I will take a walk. I go to the concierge to ask for a map because I want to take a walk. He looks at me as if I'm crazy. I guess that should have been my first clue. He takes out the map and draws a circle. He says you can walk here, but take a small cab (they are called "petit taxi" here) with a meter if you go anywhere else. I reckon that should have been clue #2. I walk outside, cross the street and make it about 30 yards when the staring starts. I have full pants, long sleeve shirt, and sunglasses on. I figured I was obeying all female-clothing-requirements. As I continue walking, I hear time and time again "welcome to Morocco." It was not a friendly statement - it was almost taunting or maybe mocking. I continued to walk and continued to get stares from the people lining the streets. Honestly, I could have been a unicorn. They must know blond hair exists! This made me start to feel uncomfortable. What made it worse is that as I stopped to cross a road, this guy comes up to me and says he works at the hotel (lie) and that I was so lucky because today is the only day in the whole year that something happened and he was going to take me to it. Yea, sure. He follows me talking to me the whole way before I - politely as I could - told him "thank you so much, but I'm just going to walk around on my own. Thank you." and I dart away from him.

The direction in which I darted was a good one - there was this really cool outdoor market. I was so excited to go in and see what people had and were selling. I figured there would be the usual aggressive salesmen. I didn't realize that I would be pursued - followed - every where I went. It got so uncomfortable. And it wasn't just one guy - it was multiple guys. I tried to ignore it, but it got really aggressive. They (somehow) knew I was American and could speak English just fine. I thought - maybe if I reply in Spanish they will leave me alone. Eventually I stopped walking looked at them and said "I am not interested in buying anything. I am just walking." That apparently wasn't the right thing to say as the aggression came out with statements like "this is my job," "I am being polite" and loads of other stuff that I tried to ignore, but that made me want to flee. Which is exactly what I did. On the way back to the hotel, it grew increasingly uncomfortable as the comments and the following me continued. All I wanted to do was take a walk, learn about the city and absorb some of the culture.  I love taking pictures and I didn't feel comofrtable enough to take my camera out at all. And there was a lot I wanted to photograph. Very bummed the day went like that.

I sit now next to a fountain in the hotel lobby where there is a man banging away on a synthesizer playing all American music - Simon and Garfunkel, Chicago, Bryan Adams - awesome. It's nice and funny at the same time. Tomorrow James is working (as am I) during the day. I do have breaks where I could take walks, but I think I'll be cooped up in the hotel room for the day. Although, I'm quite stubborn so I might wrap my scarf around my head to hide the hair and try again.

That's it for now. Here's hoping James gets a big deal in Morocco and our journey allows for us to explore and enjoy what this city is!