Casablanca

When our petit taxi driver at the airport heard we only planned to stay in Morocco's biggest city for one night, he was horrified. "Casablanca is the BEST," he shouted, looking back at us for emphasis even as we darted through traffic, weaving through the swarm of pedestrians. He groped for a map of the city on his dashboard and began pointing furiously at various places of interest, listing with genuine concern all the shops and restaurants we would be missing out on. "SEE? This is the biggest mall in all of Africa! I'll take you there."

But that's the thing: mostly, the only things to do in Casablanca were shopping and eating. We weren't planning to shop, and most of Casa's trendy restaurants would be closed for Ramadan. More importantly, the very characteristics that made our taxi driver so proud of his city made it less appealing to us: as the country's commercial center, Casablanca is urban and modern...but urban and modern metropolises look much the same, no matter where in the world you are. 

In the rush to "update" and internationalize, many of Casablanca's lovely older buildings and landmarks have fallen into disrepair. They've been replaced by seemingly endless new construction projects, but these identical bland, white concrete boxes can't compete with the whimsical Mauresque and stately Art Deco facades of the old colonial center. Many of the new buildings appeared uninhabited, or even abandoned halfway through construction; meanwhile old women and single mothers with young children gathered outside them to beg for 10 dirham coins and gangs of disgruntled looking young men hunkered down to sleep. Casablanca was a modern city alright, and modern cities always show the gap between the rich and the poor most strikingly. 

After finding our AirB&B (which was on a street our driver had never heard of and which he told us was in "the bad part of town" and had we met the guy whose place we were staying at because he probably planned to rob us and didn't

we want to stay in nice hotel near the station because he had a friend who...) and, of course, haggling over the fare, we said goodbye to our concerned friend and went to explore our first home away from homes.

Our apartment in Casablanca was basic and adequate, with slightly disturbing touches here and there to give it character: absolutely no windows or lights in the dark, narrow, winding staircase to  our fifth floor room, a dead bird on the little balcony, a scuttling noise in the ceiling at midnight that I'm pretty sure was a rat wedding. This was all made much more enticing by the fact our host had been kind enough to buy two complete strangers bus tickets to Essaouira for the next day, so we were actually pretty satisfied. At this point, we had been awake for about 30 hours and needed an early bedtime in order to be functional for another long travel day, so we limited our Casablanca bucket list to two items: the Hassan II Mosque and Rick's Cafe.

Hassan II Mosque is so massive that it feels much closer than it is from a distance. By the time we got there in person, it was a little overwhelming. The minaret, at 656 feet, is the tallest in the world--almost twice as tall as St. Paul's Cathedral in London and a good third taller than St. Peter's Basilica in Rome. But it's more than just tall: the Mosque complex sprawls 215,278 square feet (that's four acres!), with a massive courtyard than can theoretically accommodate all the men of Casablanca for prayers. As non-Muslims, we won't be allowed inside any of the mosques in Morocco (typically Hassan II is the exception, however the state mosque also closes its doors to tourists during Ramadan), but the decoration is so elaborate we felt lucky to have seen just the outside: rows of repeating horseshoe arches covered in carvings of twisting vines and flowers, zellige tiles arranged in striking geometric patterns around the doors and on the fountains, red stone and green glassy ceramic clashing perfectly, all against the backdrop of evening prayers broadcast from the minaret in surround sound.

As for Rick's, I know what you're thinking: can you possibly get any tackier and super-tourist than to go out of your way to eat at a fake restaurant from a movie that was supposedly set in Casablanca, but was based on Tangier and was filmed in Hollywood? The answer is no.  But when in Rome! (Or more accurately, when you don't have time to explore the "real" Casablanca, stick with the classics!) And in its defense, Rick's was legitimately good--it was such a classy joint I was embarrassed to take out my camera to get photographic evidence and managed only the sneakinest shot. The ambiance was wonderful, dark and jazzy, and the food was even better: lamb tangine with caramelized sesame-coated figs, saffron rice and spiced tomatoes, pea and beet salad with mint, spicy harira, and (shhhhh!) a glass of Volubilis gris, a Moroccan rosé. 

Next stop, Essaouira!