I was sitting in an aeroplane at Gatwick just prior to departure when a guy stuck his head through the still open door and said “Is this your bag?”
It was indeed and its absence from the plane’s cargo hold was a matter of some concern. Fortunately it was reintroduced to its rightful location and somewhat to my surprise everything went smoothly. Air Portugal tossed me into the air, bounced me off Lisbon and dropped me in Casablanca without a hitch. My transfer picked me up and deposited me in the middle of town next to my hotel. In fact everything went so smoothly that I spent the rest of the night in a state of advanced paranoia waiting for the other shoe to drop but eventually I just had to accept that something I had arranged had worked flawlessly for a change.
Lonely Planet struggles to find anything good to say about Casablanca. Not that there is anything wrong with the city. It’s just that Casablanca is the commercial and financial hub of Morocco, tourism isn’t really what they do. However I have a high opinion of the city for one simple reason. There are cats everywhere in Casablanca (a trend which has been followed in every Moroccan city I’ve seen so far). I was having lunch downtown when I saw a cat which had been sleeping in the street being chased off by a local which I thought was rather mean until I realised it was sleeping on the light rail path and the light rail had actually stopped to wait until it got out of the way.
Aside from a light rail system so simple even I could use it the big attraction in Casablanca is the King Hassan II Mosque. Sadly if you want to see inside it you have to go on an organised tour. Even more sadly I didn’t realise that until after I got to the mosque.
Getting to the mosque was simple if you’re a semi functional adult who can read a map. Sadly I don’t fit into either of those categories. I decided to walk to the mosque, it didn’t seem far and indeed it wasn’t. However if you take a wrong turn and consistently misread a map you can wind up walking for an hour and a half in the wrong direction through the docks of Casablanca. Guess what I did? Eventually I turned around and retraced virtually all of my steps (the wrong turn had been at the start of my journey). I finally staggered up to the mosque more dead than alive to be greeted with the knowledge that I couldn’t get in. I took a few defiant photos then found a taxi driver and wept at his feet until he agreed to take me back to my hotel.
As tourist destinations go Casablanca may be less than impressive but then I’m a less than impressive tourist.
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