Morocco Trip Day 3: March 24

After a leisurely breakfast in Rabat, Smith and I hurried on to our next destination: Casablanca. The train ride skirted the coastline--the ocean is a beautiful green here.We got off the train at the port area. Everything smelled very strongly of fish. We wandered a bit before grabbing a taxi. The driver took us to a hotel--for a commission, of course--but that seems to be how things are done around here. After dropping our bags, we set out exploring.

Casablanca's medina is in some ways not quite as interesting as those in Fes or Rabat. It's mostly poor quality knockoffs of Western brand names. But our walk was very pleasant. On the far side of the medina was one of the most amazing sights i've seen in my life.

The Mosque Hassan II is the largest mosque in Africa and it sits right on the coast. The minaret is absolutely enormous and certainly seems as tall as an American skyscraper. It dominates Casablanca's skyline. Dressed in shorts and t-shirts, we would not have felt right about going in, but the exterior architecture was plenty to gawk at. Afterwards, we took a very long walk down the beach to a lighthouse. Smith and I made a very odd pair by local standards, so the children were eager to stare and chat. We responded in terrible French. The beach was covered in little soccer games and drum circles of considerable musical talent. We waded in the warm water and sunned on the big white rocks. Afterwards, we walked back through a very wealthy neighborhood of mansions that would not have looked out of place in Seattle's most exclusive areas.

We had a bit of an adventure after dinner. We were eating outside a small cafe when our neighbor wanted to start a conversation. We quickly established that Smith and I did not speak French and Joasin, our new friend, did not speak English, so things looked grim until I told Joasin that Smith had studied Italian. He knew a bit, so Smith and he struck up a bit of a conversation. When we had finished our "the al a menthe," Joasin invited us for drinks. Muslims do not drink, but there are a very few bars that cater to tourists and more secular folk. We learned that Joasin was a doctor and 27 years old. He bought us the local beer, Especiale, which was very bitter but also very good and delicious in the warm evening. He introduced us to his friends, a professor English, who was able to translate a bit ("Is Morocco savage by American standards?" he asked), a painter, who offered me a portrait, and an older fellow who, we were told, was a famous Moroccan actor and had, in fact, collaborated with Americans in the movie "Casablanca Express." Joasin urged us to visit his house and meet his mother and friends the next day, but Smith and I plead time, as tomorrow we had to get to Marrakech: four nights; four cities! Joasin reluctantly took us back to the hotel, but only after giving us his address and extracting from us a promise that we would write to him from England.