Spain 10

I should really be doing my homework right now, but I have to write down this trip to Casablanca while it's still fresh on my mind.

Thursday:
Wake up at 5 am, leave the house at 5:25 am via taxi (Alba, the sweetest host mother ever, called for me), pick up Leigh by her place, get to the metro station at 5:45 am. Perfect, the first metro to the airport leaves at 6:03 am, and we figured it's better to be safe than sorry. We met Megan at the Metro station, waited for a while, debating whether or not to get chocolate from the vending machine, and finally loaded onto the metro. Considering it was the first one and 6 am, you would think it wouldn't be that crowded. WRONG. It wasn't impossible to find seats, but it was a challenge.
To be honest I remember nothing of the airport, except that it was directly on top of the metro station, so we didn't even have to go outside, also that we walked back and forth a couple of times to figure out which desk to check in at. We also were confused about all having been assigned the same seat: XXX. Hm... We did not realize that on Easyjet and Ryanair flights there are no assigned seats, simply first come first serve. We were luckily among the first to check in and were in the first boarding group. We found three seats together, and I took the window. It was only a half hour flight or so to Madrid from Valencia, and we arrived groggy after our naps were interrupted.
The Madrid airport is another blur. I'm convinced all airports are pretty much the same, and I can't keep them straight in my mind. Anyway we had a few hours layover in Madrid and we looked around some shops, bought entirely overpriced but massive chocolate bars (or maybe that was in the Valencia airport?) and had something to drink at a little cafe. I think we finally found seats and chatted for a while about random things, and eventually boarded our second flight, the one that would take us to Africa.
We landed at the Casablanca airport around 3:30 pm or so, having gained an hour in time. We went through customs quickly and efficiently, and I attempted to speak French. I say attempted because, with Spanish so fresh in my mind, I tended to stumble over the two similar languages, and ended up speaking what I am now dubbing Franish. I did, however, manage to get a taxi driver to take us to the hotel for about 30 euro, 10 each. Considering the downtown of the city is a good forty five minutes drive from the airport, we considered that pretty good.
The drive was perhaps one of my favorite parts of the trip. The air was warm and humid, the grass bright green and there were forests (of trees!! real trees!!) to be seen. People walked along the side of the road (I hesitate to use the word highway), men and boys in sandals and women almost always entirely covered, save their faces. I saw cows and horses unpenned and roaming, low buildings and lots of construction. I spoke with our taxi driver on the way into the city, struggling a little to understand since he had a very strong accent. As soon as we entered a mass of buildings, the driving itself took a whole new turn (no pun intended). The streets were devoid of any kind of driving rules, we decided. Lines painted on the road had little meaning, and wherever there was space, even with less than an inch on either side to spare, a car would squeeze in somehow. There are also no crosswalks in Casablanca apparently, and people just walk haphazardly and in great personal danger, I believe, through streets of speeding and usually falling-apart cars. Everything was in Arabic first, French second. The people ranged from light to very dark brown, and we saw several times more men than women (the explanation for this will come later). We passed the Medina, or market, where prices aren't at all fixed and chances are no matter what you'll get ripped off and still buy whatever your heart desires at a much cheaper price than you could find it in Europe. The Dirham (sp?) is the currency of Morocco, and to give you an idea of its worth, I bought 1000 Dirham at the airport for a little under 100 euro, or about 125 dollars (give or take).
We finally arrived at our hotel and checked in. The lobby was dark and small, with a coffee table and two sofas. There were two rooms on the ground level, both large, one with low cushions and communal tables, and another for dining. The man at the desk wore a Barcelona soccer jersey and a huge smile, saying "Welcome" and "Bonjour" exuberantly. We found maps at the desk and a little old man sitting in the lobby (we'd walked right by him!) who spoke English. He showed us his official tour guide card, entirely faded now after around thirty years, or so he claimed, of giving tours. He spoke English very well, as well as French and Arabic, and offered us a tour the following day. We said we'd think about it and he gave us his number to call when we decided.
The room: Approaching the room we noticed the door was crooked, or the frame was crooked, and there was a gap along the top at a weird angle. The door, and actually all the trim in the room was painted a pastel blue/purple, and the walls were bright orange. Three white twin beds lined one wall, and at the far side there was a tiny terrace with glass doors that shut if you pushed hard enough, and again blue shutters. The view was of the port a little in the distance, and the square above which the hotel was situated. There was a bathroom with a shower pit inside (no curtain). The floor was dark orange tile, and there was a small TV suspended on the wall above a plug-in heater. Leigh immediately claimed the window bed and I ended up with the one closest to the bathroom and door, but I couldn't complain. It felt amazing to sit down and put my feet up after hours of travel, and breath in the African air. It felt sweet.
We hung around the hotel for a while to relax and eat our packed bocadillos, since it was late and we hadn't eaten real food really all day. It was still sunny and light out though so after a little we decided to walk to the Medina and see what there was to be had at the market. There was mostly silver jewelry, leather, all kinds of wood crafts of cedar, clothing, scarves, and more. We browsed and stayed close together, our hands on our purses. We'd heard Morocco isn't the safest place, for women especially, and we looked pretty out of place (Megan with her pale skin, blue eyes, and red hair especially, but Leigh and me as well). I at least could speak to anyone, and usually understand everything, so I played translator for Leigh and Megan if they wanted to know how much anything cost. After about five minutes a little old man (another?) started following us and talking to me. He seemed pretty harmless so I didn't shoo him away (which I would have felt very rude to do anyway). He didn't follow us into any stores but was there when we walked out to suggest what there was to see and where we could find the best priced leather. He was on his way to showing us this place, and I was following (why not humor him, it might actually be a good deal and if not we could just leave) but Megan hissed my name and I turned to see her and Leigh practically sprint-walking in the other direction. I struggled to follow and called Leigh's name to get her to stop for a minute, but they were pretty intent on ditching that guy. It eventually worked but not before he'd realized, came after us and telling me how rude and bad of a thing that was to do. I realize that perhaps that's the only way to get rid of people trying to sell you things in markets, but really, I left slightly irritated at having had no choice in the matter, since I couldn't exactly let Leigh and Megan walk away alone, nor could I prevent them from doing so.
Anyway we hurried out of the Medina and followed the shops alongside it. Leigh found an oil painting she really wanted, and I bargained for a little while with the man in the shop for her, but she had no money anyway and so we left to find an ATM. We ended up walking back to the hotel and then to the Mosque to see it before the sun set. The Mosque in Casabanca, the second largest in the world after Mecca, so they tell me, is definitely worth seeing. It could fit probably five or six cathedrals inside, and the whole thing is elaborately decorated in tile and carvings. The Mosque is right on the ocean too, and you can see the lighthouse across a cove, its light flashing periodically.
As luck would have it, we met another guy outside the Mosque. He noticed us speaking English and asked us to take his picture, and then we got to talking some. He was actually Turkish but spoke English fairly well, and was on a few days break since the cargo ship he worked on had pulled into Casablanca that day and they had a few days before leaving again. He was a fairly nice guy and showed us the Mosque, since he had just visited. We couldn't go inside, since they only do tours a few times a day and the rest of the time only Muslims can enter. We could, however, see inside, and I got some good pictures in the fading light as the sky turned navy and the stars came out. We had passed Rick's Cafe on the way to the Mosque (built in memory of the movie Casablanca and its Rick's Cafe, which was probably built in Hollywood's basement), and decided to stop there for a drink on the way home. The guy, Mehmet, came with us, and as would become the norm for the trip, Megan and Leigh stuck close together and left me to entertain our "guest."
The bar was very classy, and Leigh was super excited since she loves the movie and took tons of pictures. We sat at the bar for a while and had a drink, and a while later looked at a menu since we were starting to get hungry. The prices weren't too ridiculous, around the price of an average restaurant in Europe, and so we decided to get a table and eat. All the customers were American or European, and the waiters spoke French, so I translated for everyone. We ate and to our great dismay, Mehmet took the check. For all of us. We tried to stop him, but he seemed pretty adamant, and we didn't quite know what to do, so we just let him. We walked back to our hotel (by now it was probably 10:30 pm or so, and it was probably very lucky we had a guy walking with us, especially someone who looked slightly more in place), telling Mehmet we would try and visit him the following day or at least call.
We went to bed soon afterwards. I unfortunately could not sleep, as exhausted as I was, and listened instead to Leigh (or Megan) snoring.

Friday:
I must have slept eventually because I remember waking to singing outside. It was the 5:30 am call to prayer, and it was LOUD. I couldn't sleep through it, and unfortunately also couldn't sleep after it was over, some twenty minutes or so later, so I dozed and tossed for a few hours until 8:45 or so. I got up first and showered and dressed, Leigh and Megan rising slowly, zombie-like, after me. I went downstairs to call the tour guide and see if we could still get our tour today, and he agreed to meet us in front of the Hotel at 11 am. I then called the Hammam we were visiting Saturday to make reservations for the morning. Breakfast was complementary, and consisted of freshly squeezed orange juice (which could have been eaten with a spoon it was so pulpy, which was fine by me), tea for me and coffee for the others, and as much toasted bread with butter and marmalade as we could consume, which turned out to be a lot.
We met our guide, whose name I couldn't pronounce but sounded like Butch Cassidy, at 11 am, and he ferried us into a taxi to take us around town. I was lost in about five minutes of twisting roads, but the guide seemed to know what he was doing, so we sat a little cramped in the back enjoying the views of the streets. Our first stop was another kind of outdoor market, where our guide bought us all bouquets, purple irises and orange flowers I didn't know the name of, all the while saying, "Girls they like flowers, always remember, all the girls like flowers, and guys, guys like dates." I didn't know if he was referring to the fruit or not.
We visited a Catholic Church later, its tall, narrow, stained glass windows casting colorful mosaics on the ground. The church was dark and imposing, a modern looking structure with wooden pews and dim lighting. It was probably less than 100 years old; most things in Casablanca are about that age. We visited the old fort afterwards, walking around its streets lined with whitewashed homes. We went into the home of a man the guide claimed was his cousin (why not?), which was elaborately decorated in tile, and was small, clean, and serviceable. We walked through a park with Magnolias and pepper trees (!!) and tall palms. There was also the museum, which is what our guide called it. It was a gorgeous and elaborately decorated building. It had open courtyards and was apparently used for getting passports and things, like some kind of embassy perhaps, although I missed some of what our guide said I think. He was a funny round man, bald and enthusiastic. He stopped and gave a little boy a coin, saying "Me, I can't stand see children cry. Children should be happy always."
We then drove through the ritzy part of Casablanca, where we saw the fancy villas and wide clean streets devoid of the crowd, noise, and dirtiness of the city below. We passed the wife of the King's villa, as well as the US Consulate, the American flag taking us all by surprise. It's been a while since we've seen it anywhere. On the way back we stopped by the lighthouse and got the distant view of the Mosque, the waves crashing below. It was hazy and warm, and for some reason the ground was literally covered in old rusted bottlecaps. Beats me.
Anyway, we made our way back into the city and into a spice shop. The guide obviously knew the guys there, who gave us a little exhibition on the most common spices and herbs and their uses. He was from Tangiers and spoke fluent Arabic, French, Spanish, and English. He gave his little spiel in Spanish. We all bought gifts, and at the end the guide bought us a little bottle of oil to share. It was orange and rose, and apparently good for all sorts of things, like sleeping, vertigo, etc... We had debated getting it ourselves but had decided not to, so it was sweet of the guide to get it for us.
Next it was time for lunch, since it was about 2:30 pm already. We went to a restaurant and ate with our guide, sharing a giant plate of couscous, lamb for me. We paid and though we thought we were done, the guide took us back into town close to the Medina and into a tourist-like shop. The people there were very nice and very patient, although very keen on selling us things. They gave us tea and as much time as we needed to browse. I got some postcards but nothing else, since I had little money on me. Leigh and Megan did the same, and we decided to walk back to our hotel since it wasn't too far away. We tipped the guide (the whole day's tour having cost us each about 15 euro) and made our way back. We relaxed in the hotel for a while I think, and went downstairs to call about changing Saturday's reservations for the afternoon instead of the morning.
Downstairs at the hotel we hung out and had some tea, I think. It's a little hard to remember already... I think we watched a really crappy TV show, Flashpoint, at some point. t was so crappy as to be hilarious, actually. Later, we met two guys around our age staying in Casablanca for a couple of days at the same hotel. They were on vacation for two weeks in Morocco, and had recently come from Marrakech. One was American, the other American and Irish, and although he grew up in Georgia, retained his Irish accent. Sweet.
Anyway we talked in the lounge place of the hotel for a while, and finally decided to go back to Rick's for a drink. We realized we knew nothing about Casablanca or where it was safe to go. According to every guidebook, girls who go out are all prostitutes, and most bars won't sell anything to girls. Anyway we decided it was not a bright idea to go out, but Rick's was the tourist place to go.
Anyway we sat down in the lunge upstairs where they had the movie Casablanca on (on repeat actually, those poor waiters), so we half watched and had a drink and chatted for a while. We came back to the hotel and went to the roof. Even though it was a city we could still see the stars, better than in Baltimore, but not much better. I recognized the big dipper and Orion, exhausting my knowledge of constellations. It was cool out and I loved the feeling of being on a roof, looking down on the city. It wasn't a great roof for getting to other roofs, which probably would have been inadvisable anyway, but I did check. Sometime around 1 am we went back to our room to sleep. I blissfully slept better than the night before, but I still woke up for the 5:30 am prayer call. I wish I knew what that was called.

Saturday:
We slept in and had another leisurely breakfast. We decided since our Hammam appointment was for 4pm, we could spend the morning at the beach. It's still a little cold to go swimming, or even sunbathing, and I'm not quite sure that would be advisable anyway, as a girl. We caught a taxi to the beach, which was gorgeous. It was rocky and sandy and you could see the lighthouse in the distance. We sat on the rocks and watched the rollers come in, pounding the shore, slowly carving the rock into intricate patterns. The sound of the sea was soothing, and I realized that somewhere beyond the blue before me was home.
We walked some on the beach after taking pictures, and lay down to soak in the warm sun. We finally decided to go find a cafe or something, but walking along the road yielded nothing but a McDonalds. At the thought of ice cream we all cracked and went in to get blizzards. McDonalds certainly has a different connotation in Morocco, and even in Spain. It's less like fast food and more like a chill place to bring your kids and hang out as a family place for a while. The food is pretty much the same though.
Around 3:30 we caught another taxi to the Hammam. Now a hammam is something like a bathhouse, or spa, and certainly an amazing part of Moroccan culture. It is separated into two parts for men and women, so we proceeded to the women's floor. We had no idea what to expect really, and Leigh and Megan were even more lost than me, not being able to ask anything to anyone. We changed first, ditching all but underwear and donning cloths to cover, well, not much. We gave our clothes to the woman at the counter to put in lockers and were herded into a steamy entirely tiled white room. There were some tables for lying on, and entryways to other rooms. Our cloths were taken and we were again herded into another even steamier room. There were many women there all scrubbing away peacefully. The steam felt amazing. After a couple of minutes a woman came in and handed us packets of savon noire, or black soap, which was a thick pasty soap stuff we were to rub all over us. First, however, she threw some water at us, to get us properly wet. I wonder why they didn't ask us to wear bathing suit bottoms, and I'm glad I brought a change... We scrubbed for a while and after a minute a lady came and got me, since we were to go one at a time. I lay down on one of the tables in the first room, and a lady quickly and efficiently rubbed a thick coarse glove thing all over me. This exfoliating part was to get rid of all dead skin and it made me tingle all over. I was rinsed by having more hot water thrown all over me, and I was then passed on to another lady, who took me by the wrist and led me past a few showers into an empty and isolated room. Here I got the best part: the massage. Oh my goodness. It felt amazing. My entire body felt like dough being kneaded. After a little confusion of where to go next, since I had been separated from Megan and Leigh, I was put again on another table and nearly scalding hot paste was spread again, all over me. I was wrapped in some kind of plastic sheet (I deduced that this must be the seaweed therapy Leigh insisted to get as well) and left for some fifteen minutes or so. I stared at the tiled ceiling, water droplets forming and dripping continuously in the steamy place, and relaxed. It was pretty nice. Several buckets of water over my head later, I was directed to a shower, where I was allowed to wash myself at leisure and my hair. Done, I waited in the jacuzzi for Leigh and Megan, then rinsed off again in the shower, just for kicks. We were given massive thick robes to wear out to the relaxing room, dimly lit and full of lounge chairs to just lay down, dry off, change, and chill after the hammam experience. I changed and realized my entire body felt better than ever before, and my skin was as soft as the day I was born. This explains why we never see any women in the street; if I lived here I would also come to a hammam three times a week. Most women usually just do the exfoliating thing, or come with their own materials and pay solely for entry and scrub themselves. The whole thing for us was the equivalent of maybe 35 US dollars, which is amazingly cheap, as any of you who have ever been to a spa know.
We hung around for a little while basking in amazement and contentment, unwilling to leave this heaven back to the outside world of taxis and car exhaust and traffic and noise. Eventually, hunger ruled and we reluctantly took the elevator (no door, by the way) back downstairs, and hailed a taxi down the street. Back at the hotel we ordered food from the cafe, paninis and more tea. The tea, I might say, is the best I've had, and I am really sorry I didn't find some to bring back. I think they sweeten it with honey, or naturally, but anyway it was delicious. Afterwards we went upstairs and relaxed some more, catching the end of Triple X on TV (it was much cornier than I remembered). We went to bed early with the intention of getting up early and doing something before leaving on Sunday, although that didn't quite happen.

Sunday:
I accidentally set my alarm for 7:45 am, which was the time I wanted to get up, but I forgot about the time difference. Anyway after showering I went downstairs and killed a good hour or hour and a half on the free computers with internet, then went back upstairs before 8:30 am. There was a tour of the Mosque at 9am I would have liked to have caught, so as to see the whole inside, but Megan and Leigh were still sleeping and taking their time getting up. *Sigh* I guess you can't win them all. I finished my book and a postcard before Megan and Leigh joined me downstairs for breakfast. By the time we finished we only had about an hour until our taxi would come pick us up for the airport, so we chilled in the hotel room, packed up (I watched, I had packed earlier) and chatted for a bit more.
It was either this morning or Saturday afternoon sometime, or Friday for that matter, I really don't have a very good sense of the timeline, that we made it back to the store where Leigh had found that painting she liked, and I bargained the price down from 300 to 200 Dirham, the equivalent of maybe 28 US dollars. I would have tried to bargain it lower but Leigh was fine with the price and the guy seemed pretty adamant. It was still fun.
Anyway the taxi ride back to the airport was quick, and we had a repeat performance of the arrival, only I was cranky. We tried to catch the earlier train back to Valencia from Madrid, but it was full, so we had to wait for ours for an hour and a half. Mostly I was irritated because I had suggested getting the earlier train in the first place, which would have gotten us home at 10:30pm rather than midnight, but oh well. It didn't help that Megan and Leigh had at some point become best buddies and I felt very much out of the loop, which just tends to happen with me and girls sometimes. Oh well. The train ride back wasn't too bad, I dozed and listened to the train's classical music station, which also played hits from movies, including the Dances With Wolves theme song and Lord of the Rings, which reminded me of Aylin and New Zealand.
I got home and Alba, sweetheart that she is, cleaned me room and made my bed and even left food for me in case I was hungry when I got it. I did eat some which was perhaps not too intelligent since I then couldn't fall asleep immediately.

Overall, Casablanca was pretty alright. It's not a ton different from other cities, except for the heckling on the street if you're a girl, and the inability to go out alone as a girl. I would have liked to take a day trip to Marrakech or Rabat, both of which are more touristic and have lots to do, as well as have a little more history to them than Casablanca, which really is only a tourist area at all thanks to the movie. I would also have liked to be out of a city in general, and get to a smaller town, or some mountains, or simply countryside. On the other hand, we saw some pretty awesome things, namely the Mosque, and I did bargain in French. Next time I go to Morocco though, I am definitely going into the desert, and seeing Rabat and Marrakech. Also, I am going with some guys.

Anyway the week started as usual, although Spanish is more infuriating than ever. I feel sometimes like I am not improving as fast as I should be, and I've reached some kind of local maximum and can't get any better. Hopefully I will be much more fluent when I leave, but I need to practice more I guess. Anyway more adventures after this following weekend, when Anna will be coming to stay!!