The next day we left for Casablanca (Casa). Charles and I are huge fans of the movie Casablanca and for nostalgia’s sake we wanted to have a drink at a bar named Rick’s. (If you havn´t seen the movie you must rent it right now). Tim and Katie were also looking forward to seeing Casa. So we grabbed a 5 hour train ride down the coast of Morocco in search of some Moroccan Hollywood magic.
After the long train ride we arrived in the legendary city. As soon as we got out of the train station the Moroccan welcome began. I think Tangier had such a horrible reputation that the government finally cracked down on the hustlers greeting the tourists. Not so much in Casa.
We were bombarded by Moroccan men asking us if we needed a taxi. I am used to traveling in the states and in Mexico where if someone non-legit asks if you want a taxi you say no and keep walking. So we ignored most of them. We eventually got out of the shuffle and a man approached us asking if we needed a taxi. We gave in and said yes, telling him the price we were expecting. So this guy became our unofficial negotiator. He went to each taxi until he found one that would take our price and we were on our way.
We were a little shocked by Casa’s dirty streets (we were in the new part of town). It is a dark and seedy town. We read in our guide book that a Ricks Café opened in 2004 and was built to pay homage to the movie. As soon as we freshened up we headed there. But not before the hotel maitrodee negotiated another taxi for us. This took a good 10 minutes.
First the cost was double what we paid from the train station. Then the maitradee said we would have to take two small taxis to get the price we wanted because they run on meters. One negotiates with the larger taxies. We said fine. As soon as we gave up on the taxi driver the price came down to 50 Durham. SOLD. I wish they would just offer a fare price right off the bat and save us all some time. But unfortunately some unsuspecting tourists say yes to the first offer and the taxi driver makes a sweet nights work.
Casa from the hotel.
Rick’s Cafe was fabulous and worth the stop in Casa. Great food, great service, great company. It was not at all Moroccan, but we knew that going in. They even had a lounge upstairs where you could sit and watch Casablanca. Thinking of the somewhat seedy hotel we found, not one of us wanted to leave Rick´s.
Rick´s Cafe with Casablanca in the background.
Because all the locals we talked to told us to leave Casa as soon as humanly possible, we headed for Marrakesh the next morning.
Marrakesh…wow. Between snake charmers (no kidding), henna artists, child beggers, decrepit burros pulling carts through the narrow alleyways, aggressive souk proprietors desperate to make a buck (souks are booths selling Moroccan wears, picture a gigantic Morrocan Santi Alley if you have been to the one in LA), and the sweet smell of rotten meat; we were all exhausted by the second day (not to mention I was overwhelmed).
The Central Square in Marrakesh.
Yummy. A pot of boiling water and you can eat the whole thing, minus the hair of course.
I had to stop looking at the burros. Their bones were litterally sticking out of their skin. ugh, sorry for the visual.
Cobra in the hot sun dancing for the tourists.
(Right after Tim took this picture a vendor came up to him and shook his hand. The held his hand tight and put a snake around his neck telling him it wasn´t poisoness. Tim was like, "Uh, I don´t give a fliying f(&$%, get this thing off me." The dude refused. He kept telling him it was not poisoness. At this point Charles, Katie, and I are yelling at him to get the stupid snake off of him. Just as Tim was about to rìp the guys head off, he took the snake. He then asked for money and was disgusted that we wouldn´t give him any. I don´t get it obviously.)
Marakesh was an amazing place to experience, but in hindsight I think I would have preferred staying in the new part of town so we could have a break from the chaos of the medina (old town). As soon as you walked out of the Riad you were approached by someone wanting something from you; and no was not an acceptable response (Riads are traditional Moroccan homes converted to small Inns). They would ask and ask again if you would like to come into their store and look around. They would follow you and anything you touched they would tell you to make an offer over and over again. It got to the point where I would just keep my eyes straight ahead and try not to focus on anything.
Katie secretly eying a purse she later bought.
Spices anyone!
Sometimes you would see an empty souk, “ahhhh, I will just take a relaxed look at one of these leather purses, do they have pockets”, and then as if appearing from no where the proprietor would be at your side telling you to make an offer. “I give you good price, you have good taste, how much you pay, how much you pay? Where you from. Hey English come back, I give you good price”. There is nothing to say; nothing that will satisfy him unless your money is in his pocket. So you politely shake your head, say Shakran and walk quickly away.
When many of the souk proprietors gave up they would often let us know we were welcome in Morocco. Most of them also thought we were English though! Seriously though, on one of our train rides there were two gentlemen in our compartment with us; one from Saudi Arabia. He asked where we were from and we all kinda looked a each other for a second. We told him we were Americans. He said we were welcome in the middle east and that he and his country men liked Americans. The other gentleman agreed with him. He also added that he does not like our goverment and what they have done to the middle eastern countries. We heard this a lot through out our journey in Morocco. He then insisted on buying us coffee. It was soo f-ing hot, we volunteered Tim to accept the generousity. he he
Having a drink in a "bar". It was one of very few we could find as muslims don´t drink. Women are not welcome in bars either, but they make exceptions for female tourists.
Interesting Contrast.
Marrakesh at night seemed to be even more alive.
Resting at the Riad. Peace and quiet! ahhhhh
The day we left we bought tickets for the night train back to Tangier. It was a 10 hour ride from 9pm to 7am. We bought tickets in the sleeping car so that we could get some rest before we headed back to fix Gertrude (Tim brought some keys with him so we were armed with the tools we needed). On the way to the train station in Marrakesh.
When we arrived in Tangier the next morning Charles was suffering from a bout of the notorious Moroccan food poisoning. We decided to rest the night in Tangier and meet Tim and Katie later in Spain.
We didn´t leave Africa until July 25th and made it back to Cadiz without any incident. We both rested a day on the boat and then tried to find Tim and Katie.
While Charles recovered they had explored Tarifa, Cadiz, Seville, a small town in Portugal, and Malaga. They even managed to find a couple to replace us! They met some nice people from LA and had dinner with them in Portugal.
Katie on the ferry back to Spain.
The replacements for Megan and Charles while Charles recovered.
Katie in Malaga sin Chalres and Megan
I was sure we missed our chance to see them again until I got Tim’s email saying they were on their way to meet us in Cadiz. Yeah!!! They stayed with us on the boat for a few more days. Tim helped Charles fix Gertrude so she would steer under power. They sailed through the Strait of Gibraltar with us and there is nothing better than sailing through the Pillars of Hercules with good friends. Granted Katie and I were sleeping by then, but only because we had the second shift and needed rest.
Unfortunately we had to say our vio con dios in Maribella, Spain (Marabella is a hot spot for the Russian Mafia. Apparently they have purchased a ton of real estate there in hopes of hiding some illegal revenue). We dropped Tim and Katie off in town so they could catch a bus to Malaga and then a train on to Madrid. We were sad to see them go. But glad we had the time to spend with them.
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