Goodbye France, hello Morocco.
I woke up this morning to the happy news of the Habs’ 3-0 shutout of Buffalo last night. Two shutouts in a row… go Halak! I’d actually managed to catch the first period online last night, but with the time difference I couldn’t stay up to watch the rest.
After a quick breakfast, I said goodbye to my Parisian host this morning and caught the train back to the airport. Deja vu. My flight to Morocco was more or less on time, and a quick three hours later, we landed in Casablanca.
The airport was surprisingly empty, and so was the train station. I don’t know why but for some reason I was expecting large crowds. I jumped on the train to Casablanca, meeting several other Canadians on the way (funny how we seem to be able to spot each other from a mile away). From the train station, it took a few negotiations but I managed to find a taxi at a seemingly fair price to take me to the hotel. Everything – and I do mean everything – in Morocco is a negotiation of some sort.
First impressions of Casablanca? It’s hard to say, since I haven’t seen much. The city appears to be full of large concrete buildings, not particularly pretty but I might not be seeing its best side just yet. The weather is pleasant and breezy. And being able to speak French is a huge plus here, since all of the locals seem fluent and it really helps to not have a language barrier.
By the time I arrived, it was late afternoon, and I had just enough time to relax for a few minutes before meeting my traveling compatriots for dinner. We headed to a restaurant across the street that was located in a beautiful traditionally-decorated Riad, and I had the first of what I assume will be many tagines. It was delicious.
After dinner, Dani – my Australian roommate – and I wanted to check out Casablanca’s nightlife. We’d been warned that this was a tricky thing for women in this city, since most bars and clubs are frequented only by men, and women on their own in those places would be considered to be, erm, “professionals” (for lack of a more polite way to say that). Well, that wasn’t at all what we had in mind, needless to say, but we heard that there was an area along the waterfront with a number of hotels and restaurants and bars that was supposed to be tourist-friendly and happening. We caught a taxi and went out there only to find… well, not much. Maybe because it was a Sunday night, maybe because it was a bit early for beach weather, but the area was fairly deserted. We did eventually find a tapas bar that turned out to be a really great surprise – along with our drinks we got nuts and olives and even a fresh fruit plate “on the house”. There was live local music, and the place’s manager even got everyone up and dancing. It was a bit cheesy, to be sure, but fun in an “only-in-Casablanca” sort of way.
We caught a taxi back to the hotel. The taxi driver, learning that I spoke French, was keen to tell everything he knew about the country and give lots of travel advice . Of course, this was accompanied by the requisite offer to play tour guide, for a “good price”. Everyone has an angle, which, I suppose is to be expected. The old “la, shoukran” (no, thank you) is coming in quite handy.
Casa is just an overnight stop, so tomorrow I’ll be hitting the road. I’ll post updates when I can.