Casablanca Morocco

RTW – 10-11 Oct 2008
Royal Air Maroc had some lengthy security procedures which required us to be at the airport at 11:30 PM for a 4:30 AM departure. I had forty dollars in Ghanaian Cedes, which, like most African currency, would be totaling useless outside their borders, so I picked up two bottles of French wine and a box of Cuban chocolate while wasting time at the duty-free store.
Except for a long sleepless night, I was prepared for Morocco. My initial plan gave me a hotel in Fez for two days. In Accra, by way of the Internet, I booked a hotel in Casablanca for my additional two days. With a spark of determination and bravery, I decided to rent a car to get to my far-reaching destinations. I had been too dependent on guides and drivers, now I needed my freedom. With a vocabulary of two words in Arabic and a few dozen in French, this move was bordering on foolishness. C’est la vie. Arabs love negotiating even at a car franchise, so when the Eurocar guy was no fun, I haggled a deal with the Budget guys. No one seemed to have a map, but the guy printed a Casablanca map and penciled in where I was and where my hotel should be. From the scratches and dents we noted on the outgoing car inspection, I knew I would be in for some excitement on the road.
I had followed his instructions reasonably well with only one stop to ask for help. He pointed to an ornate arch behind this construction zone, so I left the car, walked back, where the floor mat below the regal entry read Riad Salam Hotel. I had picked this hotel in Casablanca on the coast so I could drive south with ease, but it was not going to be that day. Exhausted and late, delayed for two hours at the airport where they misplaced my luggage, I opted for a nice lunch and long walk. I sat poolside soaking in some sun and reading about Morocco. Early the next morning, I pointed my petit Renault south. I kept to the ocean side secondary road venturing into villages along the way. Donkeys were in everyday use. Sheep were prominent, rather than cows and goats, as in Ghana and Ethiopia. Vast fields had been tilled with mechanized equipment, but minimal crops were visible except some next to the ocean where the sea mist must have provided nourishment.

In the town of Azemmour there was an old walled village. I parked and walked in to find a bustling community with friendly people eager to greet a stranger. Frescoes in the alleyways punctuated the artistic value of such a quaint place. I had read about an oyster farming community called Oualidia some distance down and was hoping to reach there for lunch. As I arrived, a drizzling rain had become a downpour, so I kept moving. Now the journey was becoming arduous, but I was expecting the weather ahead to clear. It did somewhat by the time I came to Safi. It was a massive city, so I thought I might seek out the fishing boats in the harbor but became entangled in a dreadful industrial area. By the time I got back to civilization, my adventuring mood was gone, and it was time to head back to Casablanca before dark. Despite my frantic driving, it was dark and rainy as I approached the city. I put in to play my old Brazilian driving techniques – pretend you are the only one on the road, never yield to anyone, and overtake trucks at any cost. One wrong turn, and I was totally lost. Any sense of getting towards the ocean road was failing. After two failed attempts to get directions, a third put me on to what I soon found was the opposite direction of my ocean road. Voila, within a short time, I was at my hotel, devouring a very late dinner.