Tag: Casablanca

farewell to casablanca’s satellite dishes & hello to fellow travelers

wanderessence1025 January 14, 2020

This morning, we said goodbye to the satellite dishes of Casablanca. It didn’t mean we were leaving Casablanca yet; it simply meant we were moving out of our Airbnb with its 7th floor patio and moving to the hotel where we’d meet our G Adventures group. We moved out after eating breakfast at our go-to breakfast spot, Café de France.

satellite dishes of Casablanca

our Airbnb patio

We took a white taxi to Moroccan House Hotel Casablanca on Rue Mohamed SMIHA, where we were lucky enough to be able to check in right away. Susan gathered some laundry and turned it over to the concierge. The hotel was a bit over-the-top, with its frilly canopied bed, its two beds with brightly painted headboards, and paintings of harem girls playing tambourines for a belly dancer.

Moroccan House Hotel Casablanca

lobby of Moroccan House Hotel Casablanca

our room at Moroccan House Hotel Casablanca

me in our room at Moroccan House Hotel Casablanca

From our new hotel, we walked around Marché Central, an arcaded and walled market with fruit, flower, fish and meat vendors, and seafood cafés.

flowers in Marché

a very old newspaper on a wall in Marché

We wandered by and through the modern Casa Port train station, with its shops and eateries.

Casa Port train station

Casa Port train station

wall mural near Casa Port train station

Casa Port train station

From there we wandered aimlessly around the Ancienne Medina, mainly looking at bags, lanterns, magnets and scarves. I loved the paintings but didn’t know how I’d lug them all over Morocco and then Italy. I bought two scarves, so the madness was already beginning!

We returned to our dinner place from the night before, Casa José, where we shared an avocado & shrimp salad and some mushroom & ham croquettes. Stomachs full, we wandered more through the medina, admiring tiles, minarets, doors and windows. We heard some yelling and saw a brawl brewing between light and dark-skinned Moroccans. A woman was swinging an umbrella as a crowd gathered. Susan and I got the heck out of there.

Ancienne Medina

Ancienne Medina

Ancienne Medina

Ancienne Medina

Ancienne Medina

hair salon in Ancienne Medina

door in Ancienne Medina

We ended up back in the area we’d walked two days prior, near the Rialto Theater, and situated ourselves under an awning at a café directly across from it. We watched a mini-drama unfold as someone valet-parking cars created a huge honking traffic jam. We sat for a long time, whiling the time away, sipping a sparkling water and reading torn-out Lonely Planet guidebook pages about Tangier.

Rialto Theater

near the Rialto Theater

me at a cafe across from the Rialto Theater

Back at the hotel, we met Aziz, a Berber, who would be our CEO (Chief Experience Officer) for the 14-day trip through Morocco. He announced to us that he was single and available. We had 14 people altogether:

Me – from northern Virginia, USA.
Susan – from Maryland, USA.
Christian – from Germany.
Natalie (39) – from Australia, worked in London.
Father Anthony – a 76-year-old bodybuilding Australian priest who mostly worked in academia and economics.
Edward – one-half of a married couple from British Columbia. He was director of a school in UAE for 12 years; he also worked in Nanjing, China for a while, and Turkey as well.
Elizabeth – the other half of the married couple. She worked with orphans and was a physical therapist.
Tienchai, who goes by “Chai,” a pediatrician from Bangkok.
René – a dentist from Vancouver (half of a married couple).
Gabriel – American, and the other half of the Vancouver couple. He worked at the Center for Disease Control in infectious diseases.
Theresa from near Beijing, China. She didn’t speak much English.
Tammy, a Chinese-Canadian woman from Toronto.
Yulian (39), a Chinese-Canadian woman from Toronto. She worked as a legal assistant and lived with her parents. She was originally from Nanning, China, where I spent a year teaching English from 2014-2015.
Sue, a Chinese-Canadian woman from Toronto.

The last four women belonged to a travel club in Toronto that put people together to travel.

René and Gabriel seemed friendly and talkative. Gabriel applied for Canadian citizenship as soon as Trump was elected. He’d lived in Canada for twelve years already, and was debating whether he should renounce his American citizenship. Once you renounce it, apparently you can never get it back. This was the fourth G Adventures tour for René and Gabriel, (they’d been to Sri Lanka and the Maldives, Jordan, and on a short trip to Hanoi and Halong Bay) and for Christian. Chai had been with G Adventures to Egypt and was booked for another trip as well.

Most of us, except Chai and the four Asian ladies (who had a reservation at Rick’s Café) ate dinner at a cool restaurant where we sat on cushioned seats around brass tables. I ordered Kofta tajine (meatballs with carrots and potatoes in a hot terra cotta dish). It was good but made my stomach rumble a bit. No alcohol was served. It was a good time to get to know our fellow travelers.

Gabriel, René, me, Natalie, Christian, Susan, Edward, Elizabeth, and Father Anthony

Kofta tajine

our restaurant

the restaurant

The following day, our tour would take us 4 1/2-5 hours to Tangier, where we’d spend a couple of hours in Tangier’s medina. Then we’d drive two hours further to Chefchaouen.

*Steps: 15,130, or 6.49 miles*

*Monday, April 8, 2019*

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“PROSE” INVITATION: I invite you to write up to a post on your own blog about a recently visited particular destination (not journeys in general). Concentrate on any intention you set for your prose. One of my intentions was to write using my five senses, which I still struggle with, but tried to incorporate here.

It doesn’t matter whether you write fiction or non-fiction for this invitation. You can either set your own writing intentions, or use one of the prompts I’ve listed on this page: writing prompts: prose. (This page is a work in process.) You can also include photos, of course.

Include the link in the comments below by Monday, January 27 at 1:00 p.m. EST. When I write my post in response to this invitation on Tuesday, January 28, I’ll include your links in that post.

This will be an ongoing invitation. Feel free to jump in at any time. 🙂

I hope you’ll join in our community. I look forward to reading your posts!

casablanca: back to hassan ii, a walk along the corniche, & quartier des habous

wanderessence1025 January 5, 2020

The streets of Casablanca were deserted on Sunday morning. At Café de France, where we went for breakfast when we found our cafe next-door was closed, I enjoyed toast with cream cheese, olive oil and thyme, a café au lait, and orange juice. The servers were friendly; one enjoyed conversing with me in my elementary Arabic and teaching us a few Arabic words. I had to give a coin to the bathroom guard upstairs.

breakfast at Café de France

This time, rather than fighting our way through construction debris, we took a Petit Taxi to the Hassan II Mosque. We walked around and took a few pictures of the outside, then backtracked east along the sea again.

Hassan II Mosque

Hassan II Mosque

me at Hassan II Mosque

Hassan II Mosque

From the east, we had wonderful views of the mosque along with some interesting murals on the sea wall.

looking east at the mosque

wall murals

Hassan II Mosque

After seeing all we wanted of the mosque, we continued west along Boulevard de la Corniche, overflowing with trash. Somehow we ended up in a derelict neighborhood that soon turned into a shanty town. It was a horrible place. Apparently a quarter to a third of Casablanca’s population lives in shanty towns in harsh conditions, in makeshift houses made of cardboard or plastic, or in ruined buildings. There is no running water, sewage system or electricity, no schools, and no work. I could imagine the hopelessness and could see that this place might be a breeding ground for terrorism.

Here was the strong stench of garbage, piled everywhere, scattered around the containers. It smelled like the stench outside my “villa” in Oman where feral cats were always getting into the garbage and spreading it everywhere. It was disgusting. Trash was scattered all along the corniche.

view of Hassan II Mosque from the west, along Boulevard de Corniche

view of Hassan II Mosque from Boulevard de la Corniche

nearing the shantytown area

the sea off Casablanca

In the midst of all this, we suddenly came upon the upscale French restaurant with an ocean view – Cabestan. We sat outdoors on the patio, glassed in to keep the cold wind at bay, and watched the waves dashing against the rocky shore. After gobbling down too much warm bread, I ate four big pasta shells stuffed with smoked salmon, ricotta and spinach. Susan had a seafood ravioli; I treated her as a belated birthday treat. It was lovely but a stark contrast to the shanty town all around.

Even the bathroom had a view of the ocean; the whole wall was glass and the toilet was in the corner, so when you sat on the toilet, your whole backside could be viewed from the sea. Luckily no one was out swimming or boating in the water. 🙂

entrance to Cabestan

pasta shells stuffed with smoked salmon, ricotta and spinach

the toilet at Cabestan

After lunch, we continued our walk down the Boulevard de la Corniche. The northern part was trashy; a big wall blocked views of the sea and another wall had an oddly out-of-place mural of Brooklyn. Derelict ruined concrete buildings tumbled into the sea. Finally we got to a nicer area with beachside cafes, the Tahiti Beach Club and other beach clubs, empty and full pools, waves dashing against and over walls, palm trees, playgrounds, derelict hotels, little sand piles shaped like pyramids, and the the upscale Anfa Place Shopping Center.

Brooklyn

Aïn Diab Beach

Tahiti Beach Club

Tahiti Beach Club

Tahiti Beach Club

Anfa Place

Anfa Place

Anfa Place

the corniche

hotel along the beach

King Mohammed VI

We stopped at a cafe under purple umbrellas overlooking the sea. I sipped on fresh papaya juice while Susan had a cafe au lait. My feet were sore, so I was happy to give them a break. The corniche was swarming with people, women in djellabas and headscarves, skinny boys in ripped jeans and black or striped shirts.

Terrasse Café

me at Terrasse Café

Terrasse Café

view from Terrasse Café

In front of a mosque with a yellow front, we caught a Petit Taxi with Mohammed, decked out in gray sweatpants and a sweatshirt. A song blared on the radio, “Big in Japan,” that made me want to dance. He drove like a maniac, passing cars into oncoming traffic and swerving to the right at the last possible moment. He asked Susan how old she was, and she said “28, same as you.” He laughed and said, “You mean the reverse – 82?” We all laughed.

mosque near Terrasse Café

He dropped us at Quartier des Habous, or the Nouvelle Medina, an idealized modern version of a traditional medina, with neat rows of streets, shop stalls, and arcades. Built by the French in the 1930s, it catered to western standards. It blended Moroccan architecture with French ideals. We found rugs, leather goods, djellabas, pointy slippers, and brass lanterns. I bought a magnet and two bookmarks. One shopkeeper said his friend told him, “Don’t talk to Americans. They’ll come in to shop but if you talk, they’ll walk away.”

oranges at Quartier des Habous

Quartier des Habous

pineapples at Quartier des Habous

melons at Quartier des Habous

dates at Quartier des Habous

brass lanterns at Quartier des Habous

Quartier des Habous

mosque at Quartier des Habous

Quartier des Habous

gaudy clothes at Quartier des Habous

poster at Quartier des Habous

painting at Quartier des Habous

paintings at Quartier des Habous

The call to prayer wafted over a loudspeaker as we admired colorful Moroccan paintings.

enticing paintings at Quartier Habous

We walked back to town a long way through an abandoned and derelict commercial area, then finally caught a white taxi to Prince de Paris Hotel, catty-corner from our Airbnb. Susan picked up two oranges and I got a 7-Up, and we relaxed on the balcony of our apartment for a while. It was a beautiful day – blue skies, a slight breeze, with temps in the mid-60s. Absolutely perfect.

In search of dinner, we walked past Bab Marrakech to Casa José, a Spanish tapas bar. The menu was only in Spanish and French so a bit baffling. We relaxed in a nice wood-paneled room with high ceilings and large windows, high and low tables, and a bar. I ordered gambas pil-pil (shrimp) and tortilla Espagnole. Susan ordered chicken brochettes. I had a Corona but Susan didn’t seem to care to drink. I looked forward to being with a larger group, and hoped some would have a glass of wine or a beer with meals. I enjoy having drinks with other people.

Bab Marrakech near Place des Nations Unies

inside Casa José

As we were walking back from Casa José, with my tortilla Espagnole in a take-out bag, a little girl came up beside me and fell into step. She repeatedly put her hand to her mouth. I simply took out the potato tortilla in its container and handed it over to her. I felt it was better to give her food than money. I hoped she would eat it before taking it home to her parents. It was 3/4 of the tortilla I hadn’t been able to eat.

In the big square near our apartment, Place des Nations Unies, kids were driving motorized cars around in circles, much like I saw in Korea. Kids were playing soccer, riding on scooters, yelping, hollering and chattering. Big crowds milled about or sat on concrete barriers. It was blur of motion and bustle. Most women wore the hijab, but some of the younger ones didn’t. The clothes sold in shops were shiny, glittery and gaudy, and these were the clothes the women seemed to wear when they were out on the town.

*23,011 steps, or 9.75 miles*

*Sunday, April 7, 2019*

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On Sundays, I post about hikes or walks that I have taken in my travels; I may also post on other unrelated subjects. I will use these posts to participate in Jo’s Monday Walks or any other challenges that catch my fancy.

This post is in response to Jo’s Monday Walk: Benafim to Alte.

rick’s cafe & a walking tour of central casablanca

wanderessence1025 December 29, 2019

After visiting Hassan II Mosque, we took a petit taxi to Rick’s Cafe, where we sat at a table on the second floor overlooking an enclosed courtyard. I ordered vegetable pokhara, saffron rice, raita, and eggplant compote. The meal consisted of piles of deep fried vegetables that I didn’t want to eat because they were too filling and fattening. I also had a glass of chilled white Moroccan wine that made me feel a bit loopy.

Ambiance oozed from every corner. The bar, lounge and restaurant, run by a former American diplomat, opened in 2004; it was designed to recreate the bar made famous in the classic 1942 movie Casablanca. Set in an old courtyard-style mansion built against the walls of the Old Medina of Casablanca, the restaurant/piano bar is filled with decorative details reminiscent of the film: curved arches, a sculpted bar, balconies, balustrades as well as beaded and stenciled brass lighting and plants that cast shadows on white walls. The famous song from the movie, “As Time Goes By,” is requested often of the in-house pianist on the 1930s Pleyel piano. Other songs on the repertoire include classic French, Spanish and Brazilian songs from the 1940s and 1950s, along with American favorites such as Summertime, The Lady is a Tramp, and Blue Moon.

Rick’s Cafe

inside Rick’s Cafe

Susan at Rick’s Cafe

inside Rick’s Cafe

After lunch we walked through the Ancienne Médina looking at the merchandise, while stray cats sulked about everywhere. It lacks the medieval character of other medinas, selling mostly plastic dry goods and tacky clothes. We stopped into La Sqala, the restaurant where we ate the night before, for a few daylight pictures. Then we made our way through the labyrinthine streets to the shops lining the outer wall, and then to the Café de France where we enjoyed more cappuccinos and people watching.

walking from Rick’s Cafe to the Ancienne Médina

La Sqala

La Sqala

Casablanca is definitely not a tourist town, so after Hassan II Mosque and Rick’s Cafe, we wondered how we’d fill the rest of the day. We decided to try a walking tour outlined in my old Lonely Planet Morocco book: “Central Casablanca,” which led us through neighborhoods built in the Mauresque style of 1912-1924. The style blended aspects of traditional Moroccan design such as Islamic arches, columns, scrollwork, and tilework with more liberal influences of early 20th-century Europe. By the 1930s, Mauresque architecture began to reflect the Parisian art-deco style, characterized by ornate wrought iron balconies, staircases, windows, carved façades and friezes, and rounded exterior corners. Some were restored and in good condition, but many were dilapidated.

The architect Henri Prost ((1874-1959) designed Casablanca from the air. The city is considered the pinnacle of French colonial achievement.

mosque in Central Casablanca

derelict Central Casablanca

laundry

Agence Urbaine de Casablanca

Following the tour, we walked up a majestic tree-lined promenade, dropping into the Parc de la Ligue Arabe, or Park of the Arab League, designed in 1918. Here, we found a modern day skate park with young men on skateboards surfing into giant concrete holes and sailing into the air. Everywhere was the sound of metal rolling on wood and concrete.

The streets around this expansive park were dotted with art deco designs from the French protectorate era, as well as some modern buildings.

palm lined boulevard

We spotted the Maruesque Cathédrale du Sacré Coeur, with elements of neo-Gothic, from 1930. The Roman Catholic church was deconsecrated in 1956; inside it is now a cultural center and apparently quite dilapidated, with pigeons living in the towering art deco columns.

Cathédrale du Sacré Coeur

palm lined boulevard

skate park at Parc de la Ligue Arabe

We followed the palm trees toward the wilaya, or old police headquarters, now the governor’s office, dating from 1930. It’s topped with a modernist clock tower.

wilaya

At the Palais de Justice (law courts), built in 1925, pigeons slapped their wings against the air, cooed, warbled, and strutted, jutting out their iridescent necks. Pecking at seeds, fruits, plants, and crumbs, they seemed to have taken over the fountain. Moroccan families congregated in the grand square, Place Mohammed V.

palais de justice

Central Casablanca

We passed the main post office with its arches and stone columns.

Casablanca’s Main Post Office

La Princière Salon de Thé has a huge stone crown at its roofline.

La Princière Salon de Thé

La Princière Salon de Thé

The Hôtel Guynemer has restored art deco paneling.

Hôtel Guynemer

The 1922 Hôtel Transatlantique was beautifully restored and is brightened by lines of colorful flags.

Hôtel Transatlantique

Hôtel Transatlantique

The Hôtel Volubilis also has a great façade.

Hôtel Volubilis

We passed the derelict shell of the Hôtel Lincoln, now in ruins and covered in scaffolding, but I wasn’t able to get a photo.

We walked past the Central Market Post Office with its delicate carved motifs.

Central Market Post Office

We admired the intricately decorated façade of the Le Matin/Maroc Soir building.

Le Matin/Maroc Soir

The Petit Poucet bar was once frequented by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, author of The Little Prince, Edith Piaf, and Albert Camus.

Petit Poucet bar

Cinéma Rialto is a classic renovated art deco building. It usually has two showings of the movie on offer, one in the afternoon and one in the evening, usually in French or Arabic with French subtitles.

Cinéma Rialto

At Place 16 Novembre is an array of art deco buildings.

Central Casablanca

Central Casablanca

After returning to our Airbnb for a rest, we went out for dinner to Le Cuisto Traditionnel, an upscale restaurant where I enjoyed shrimp pil-pil, with plenty of oil and garlic flavoring. We shared Susan’s huge pyramid-shaped vegetable couscous. Aziz, the owner, served us graciously in his golden pointed slippers and bright stockings under his djellaba. We had to do without alcohol as none was served.

Three American women at a nearby table talked loudly the whole time about money. “It cost $265/day in Tokyo. Well, it cost $120 in Turkey.” Figuring out their bill seemed an ordeal as the restaurant’s credit card machine wasn’t working, so they had to pay in U.S. dollars after converting the bill from dirhams to dollars. They discussed the proper payment endlessly in strident voices.

We had Jouhara for dessert – crispy triangular pancakes topped with yogurt and honey. Then we walked back to our Airbnb to rest up for our next free day in Casablanca before our tour would start Monday evening. We wondered what on earth we’d do to fill the next day.

*Saturday, April 6, 2019*

*22,132 steps, or 9.38 miles* (total) (including casablanca, morocco: settling in & a walk to hassan ii mosque)

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This post is in response to Jo’s Monday Walk: Christmas in Tavira.

casablanca, morocco: settling in & a walk to hassan ii mosque

wanderessence1025 December 24, 2019

Our first morning in Casablanca, Susan and I were up before 8:00, tossing on clothes to go in search of breakfast. At a cafe next door to our building, I had an espresso, yogurt with honey, and fresh squeezed orange juice. Susan wasn’t sure what she was ordering, but she ended up with a glass of warm milk with what looked like instant coffee sprinkled on top; she stirred it but it still wasn’t coffee but more like lukewarm coffee-flavored milk. Moroccan men in the cafe were having the same thing.

Back in our Airbnb room, we showered and dressed and enjoyed the views of the satellite dishes of Casablanca from our outdoor patio. Our Airbnb apartment was on the 7th floor of a building in Central Casablanca. The building was a bit derelict. It had a beautiful outdoor patio, but it was too cold to use it most days.

view of Casablanca from our Airbnb

view of Hotel Prince de Paris from our Airbnb

our patio at our Airbnb

our patio at our Airbnb

Upstairs was a nice kitchen that wasn’t stocked with anything, brass Moroccan lamps, a sofa and TV but no other chairs. Downstairs were three bedrooms. Mine had a heater but the other heater was in the hallway. The two downstairs bathrooms had been renovated and were the highlights of the apartment. The outdoor patio was lined with plants left outside year round. Tall ceilings were edged in beautiful plasterwork. My bedroom had floor-to-ceiling closets and cupboards. The bed was cozy, or maybe I was just exhausted.

inside our Airbnb apartment

We headed out to walk to Hassan II Mosque, first stopping for cappuccino, orange juice and a croissant at Café de France on Place des Nations Unies, considered the real heart of Casablanca. Here, we sat outside and watched people bustling by.

Place des Nations Unies

Café de France

We began our walk along the wall of the Ancienne Médina, past shops selling leather goods, djellabas, curvaceous wall sconces with cool patterns, paintings, shoes and lanterns. As we continued our walk along Boulevard Mohammed Ben Almonades, major construction engulfed us, with earth movers, dishevelment, and roaring and clanking noise. We had to walk on the road with cars and trucks because there were no walkways.

an official looking building

We found ourselves following a young couple, Hakima and Sufrin; Hakima was from a town near Casablanca and could speak some English. We followed them along the outer edge of the wall, or sqala, on the north side of the medina, facing the port. The sqala is a bastion, the last remains of Casablanca’s 18th century fortifications. We picked our way over dirt, trash, construction debris, and through traffic. It took forever to get to the mosque.

We stopped on the corniche east of the mosque for views of it perched atop a rocky foundation at the edge of the sea.

Hassan II Mosque

me and Hassan II Mosque

Hassan II Mosque

Ice Plant at Hassan II

the minaret of Hassan II Mosque

A couple told us to hurry across the sprawling plaza to the museum to buy tickets for the tour of the mosque. We made it there just in time for the 11:00 tour with an English-speaking tour guide. We removed our shoes and carried them in bright green cloth bags.

The mosque was built by the late King Hassan II to commemorate his 60th birthday. Built in six years from 1987-1993, it was designed by French architect Michel Pinseau. The mosque echoes the verse from the Quran that states that God’s throne was built upon the water. The 210m minaret is the tallest building in the country and the tallest minaret in the world. It’s topped by a laser beam that shines toward Mecca. It’s the third largest mosque after two in Saudi Arabia, accommodating 25,000 worshipers inside and a further 80,000 in the courtyards and squares around it. It also has a retractable roof, as well as an enormous glass floor suspended over the sea for prayer by royals only.

King Hassan II was King of Morocco from 1961 until his death in 1999. Hassan was known to be one of the most severe rulers of Morocco, widely accused of authoritarian practices and of being an autocrat and a dictator, particularly during the Years of Lead, a period of King Hassan’s rule from roughly the 1960s through the 1980s, marked by state violence and repression against political dissidents and democracy activists. I just finished reading the memoir by Malika Oufkir, Stolen Lives: Twenty Years in a Desert Jail. Here is my review of the book:

At the beginning of this memoir by Malika Oufkir, it was hard to feel much sympathy for her, adopted as she was into the household of King Muhammad V of Morocco. The king wanted her in the household as playmate to his favorite daughter, Lalla Mina, so she lived in the palace in luxury, removed from her family from 1958-1969. When King Muhammad died in 1961, and Hassan II became king, Malika continued to stay on in the palace. She finally returned to her birth home in 1969, and stayed with her family until 1972, when her father attempted a coup d’etat against King Hassan II. Malika’s father was executed and her whole family was taken away first to the Assa Oasis from 1972-1973, then to Tamattaght from 1973-1977, and finally to the horrid Bir-Jdid Prison for 10 years, from 1977-1987.

It was important to have Malika’s life in context; she was stripped slowly of all her human rights, after having lived a childhood of luxury and pampering. The family clung together, celebrated birthdays, and tried to make their lives bearable especially during their 10 year incarceration in Bir-Jdid Prison. They learned firsthand of hunger, squalor, disease and boredom. Several members of the family tried to commit suicide and went on hunger strikes.

Eventually, four of the children (who had grown into adulthood by this time) – Malika, Raouf, Abdellatif, and Maria – escaped by digging a tunnel out of the prison, only to be captured in Rabat several days later. By then, Malika, who certainly had her wits about her during the entire debacle, had contacted journalists and lawyers in France. The rest of the family, Malika’s mother and two other sisters, Myriam and Soukaina, as well as Achoura Chenna, the mother’s first cousin, and Halima, the younger sister of Abdellatif’s governess, were released from Bir-Jdid Prison and joined the four who had escaped in Marrakech. Slowly – even though they were still imprisoned under house arrest in Marrakech for three more long years – the family saw public opinion turn against the king. Eventually, Malika would leave Morocco, after her sister Maria escaped from Morocco by sea. International pressure forced the king to issue passports to the rest of the family.

This was an excellent account of the horrors endured by this family, one of many “disappeared” political prisoners.

The vast prayer hall has amazing wood carving, zellij (tilework), and ornate stucco molding. A team of 6,000 master craftsmen carved intricate patterns and designs in cedar from the Middle Atlas, marble from Agadir, and granite from Tafraoute.

prayer hall at Hassan II Mosque

In the basement are mushroom-shaped fountains used for ablutions in a sprawling room with a forest of pillars. Called a wudu, this is where Muslims wash their hands, forearms, face and feet before they pray.

ablution room (wudu)

Susan in the wudu

ablution room (wudu)

me in the wudu

When we walked out of the mosque, it had been raining and was still sprinkling a bit. My shoes and socks got soaked because the marble underfoot didn’t absorb the water.

We walked through the museum focused on the glass, zellij, calligraphy, stucco, and woodcarving that went into the mosque. Plaster or stucco is called “Al Gabs.” It has been used in Moroccan architecture since the 12th century.

interior decor in the mosque

calligraphy

We left the mosque and walked a bit west to see a wall mural that had a Mexican feel to it.

view of the mosque from across the plaza

wall mural

Then we caught a petit taxi to Rick’s Cafe. We were hungry for lunch!

*Saturday, April 6*

*22,132 steps, or 9.38 miles* (total)

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Include the link in the comments below by Monday, January 13 at 1:00 p.m. EST. When I write my post in response to this invitation on Tuesday, January 14, I’ll include your links in that post.

This will be an ongoing invitation. Feel free to jump in at any time. 🙂

I hope you’ll join in our community. I look forward to reading your posts!

the ~ wander.essence ~ community

I invite you all to settle in and read a few posts from our wandering community. I promise, you’ll be inspired. 🙂

Jude, of Travel Words, wrote a fantastic and truthful portrayal of India in 1973.
- Impressions of India

Thanks to all of you who wrote prosaic posts following intentions you set for yourself.

on journey: morocco to rome

wanderessence1025 December 18, 2019

Marrakesh to Casablanca: I had arranged a car through G Adventures to take me from Marrakech to Casablanca for my flight to Rome. My driver, Mohammad, who surprisingly spoke mainly Spanish, arrived at 7:45 a.m on Tuesday morning. My friend Susan left at the same time to go to the Marrakech airport, where she would fly to Madrid, JFK and then Dulles in Washington. My drive was expected to take three hours.

Mohammad stopped at a gas station to put air in the tires. There seemed to be a problem with one of them. I was worried we’d have a flat along the way. At 8:25, we were outside of the city at Afriquia gas station, surrounded by signs for Petromin Oils, Petrom, and Green Oil. A Shell station was nearby, as was a garden center and a pottery vendor. Small green mountains hunched to the east.

We went through endless roundabouts and alongside flowers brightening the medians. The driver drove slowly through the rural countryside of green rolling hills and some small pointed mountains. Less than an hour after leaving my hotel, the landscape had changed to flat green and rocky plains in every direction.

looking out the window on the road from Marrakech to Casablanca

At 9:05, Mohammad stopped for me to use the bathroom. I had to walk across a pedestrian bridge to get to the rest area on the other side of the highway. A boy at the bottom of the pedestrian bridge wanted some money but I didn’t know what for, so I kept walking. If I gave money to every poor person in Morocco, I’d be bankrupt.

Then we were driving over red earth hills into a valley. Close to 10:00, the driver stopped to put more air in the tires, and I figured he must have a slow leak. It was another hour to Casablanca, so I hoped we’d make it. After that, the earth was red all around us.

Mohammad dropped me at the Casablanca airport at 10:45 a.m., but I couldn’t check my suitcases for the Alitalia flight until 1:20 when they opened the check-in. I sat and read my Rick Steves Rome book and enjoyed a coffee and a chocolate croissant. It was a long 2 1/2 hours.

At 1:20, I got in the line for Alitalia. It took forever for them to open, and then forever for them to check our luggage (although luckily they took my 2nd bag for free), and then forever to get through security and an even longer time to get through immigration.

Finally, I was released and enjoyed some warm shrimp sushi rolls and arrived at A8 Gate by 3:14. Check-in was supposed to be at 3:40, but at 3:47, there were no signs of life.

Casablanca to Rome: Alitalia was due to leave Casablanca at 4:25 and board at 3:40. They didn’t start boarding until nearly 4:00, but by 4:20, the passengers were in their seats and the stewardesses were demonstrating how to buckle seat belts, pull down oxygen masks, and inflate life vests, as the plane taxied for take-off. We took off nearly on time, the wheels squealing and groaning as they folded into the airplane.

A large group of people from Israel were having a grand time all around me, whopping it up, laughing and eating boxed kosher meals, and walking around in the aisles. The people sitting beside me, an Israeli couple, didn’t say a word to me, nor I to them.

Atitalia seemed like a happy-go-lucky fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants kind of airline. They threw it all together at the last possible minute and then hurled themselves into the sky. Seat and leg room were tight but the staff and pilots were laid back and no one seemed to expect much of them.

The meal included three small sandwiches, a yogurt drink, a pudding, and some weird rice. I had an apricot juice. I skipped my regular glass of wine because I didn’t want to be out of it when I made my way to my Rome B&B at a late hour.

We made it to Rome a half hour earlier than planned, around 8:00, and I took the Rome Capitale taxi for a set price of 48€ to Atos Bed and Breakfast. The taxi driver was bald with a goatee and spoke a bit of English. He pointed out some old famous buildings in downtown Rome and said he loved to drive at night in the city because there was no traffic.

Rome

He asked if I liked Trump and I said no, I hated him. He said he didn’t mind him because he was comic. Especially that hair – fake or not? and that orange color, which we both agreed was frightful. He said he liked Melania but I said I thought she was miserable with Trump; I thought he had convinced her to stay with him until his presidency ended. Our communication seemed to break down here because I couldn’t understand him, nor me him.

When the driver pulled up to Via Milazzo, 23, it was just a door in a wall and luckily he wasn’t in a hurry to abandon me because no one answered the buzzer or his phone call. A tenant was going into the building, so he let me enter with him. The door said the B&B was on floor 5, but the elevator went only to floors 1-4. Luckily I heard Gabriella yell from the top, “Floor 4!” I had to haul my two heavy bags up two flights of stairs to get on the elevator and to get off and up to the fifth floor.

Gabriella had bright red dyed hair and didn’t speak much English, so she checked me in and showed me the multitudes of keys and the lights and how the room and breakfast worked (I was to walk across the street to a restaurant for breakfast). She told me she’d walk me to The Beehive Hostel in the morning, only a three minute walk (I was unable to book The Beehive on my first night because they didn’t accept late arrivals). I paid her 70€ in cash and showed her my passport.

I stayed up late trying to sync the time on my FitBit and it finally worked (after endless unsuccessful attempts in Morocco). I also chatted by text with Mike and went to sleep very late!

I was so happy to have a room to myself after sharing accommodations with Susan over the last 2 1/2 weeks. 🙂

Arch of Constantine in Rome

*7,030 steps, or 2.98 miles*

*Tuesday, April 23, 2019*

**********************

“ON JOURNEY” INVITATION: I invite you to write a post on your own blog about the journey itself for a recently visited specific destination. You could write about the journey you hope to take in the year ahead. If you don’t have a blog, I invite you to write in the comments.

Include the link in the comments below by Tuesday, January 14 at 1:00 p.m. EST. When I write my post in response to this challenge on Wednesday, January 15, I’ll include your links in that post.

This will be an ongoing invitation, once on the third Wednesday of each month. Feel free to jump in at any time. 🙂

I hope you’ll join in our community. I look forward to reading your posts!

the ~ wander.essence ~ community

I invite you all to settle in and read a few posts from our wandering community. I promise, you’ll be inspired. 🙂

Jude, of Travel Words, takes us along on her challenging overland journey through Asia.
- On Journey: Part 3: Tehran
- On Journey: Part 4: Tehran – Mashad – Afghan Border

Many thanks to all of you who wrote posts about the journey. I’m inspired by all of you!

enticing moroccan markets

wanderessence1025 October 3, 2019

Some of the most beguiling things about Morocco are the markets filled to the brim with enticing and colorful decorative objects and foods. I fell prey to many of them, and came home with an extra bag stuffed with scarves, paintings, mother-of-pearl inlaid mirrored frames, Fatima hands, spices, a leather bag and two wallets, and even a rug. 🙂 I sadly never bought any ceramics because the pieces I wanted were large and cumbersome, and I would have had to carry them not only through Morocco, but through Italy as well.

Essaouira

dates in Casablanca

Casablanca

Tangier

Tangier

Tangier

Tangier

Tangier

Tangier

Chefchaouen

Chefchaouen

Chefchaouen

Chefchaouen

Chefchaouen

Chefchaouen

Chefchaouen

Fès

We stopped at a modern grocery store in Asima on the 10-hour drive from Fès to Merzouga. Here, we bought ingredients for a picnic lunch that we enjoyed along the way.

modern grocery store in Asima on the way from Fès to Merzouga

Aït Benhaddou

Aït Benhaddou

Essaouira

Essaouira

Essaouira

Marrakech

Marrakech

Marrakech

I so wanted the purple rug shown below but would have had nowhere to put it!

Marrakech

*********************

“PHOTOGRAPHY” INVITATION: I invite you to create a photography intention and then create a blog post for a place you have visited. Alternately, you can post a thematic post about a place, photos of whatever you discovered that set your heart afire. You can also do a thematic post of something you have found throughout all your travels: churches, doors, people reading, people hiking, mountains, patterns, all black & white, whatever!

In my case, my intention was to look for thematic possibilities during my trip to Morocco and was enticed by all the colorful markets (and the goods!).

You probably have your own ideas about this, but in case you’d like some ideas, you can visit my page: photography inspiration.

I challenge you to post no more than 20-25 photos (I have a lot more here!) and to write less than 1,500 words about any travel-related photography intention you set for yourself. Include the link in the comments below by Wednesday, October 9 at 1:00 p.m. EST. When I write my post in response to this challenge on Thursday, October 10, I’ll include your links in that post.

This will be an ongoing invitation, every first, second, and third (& 5th, if there is one) Thursday of each month. Feel free to jump in at any time. 🙂

I hope you’ll join in our community. I look forward to reading your posts!

the ~ wander.essence ~ community

I invite you all to settle in and read a few posts from our wandering community. I promise, you’ll be inspired!

Jude, of life at the edge, takes us back to summer at Heligan’s Sundial Garden.
Suzanne, of Life at No. 22, wrote a post about art in Lisbon: ARty Lisbon – A REvisit.
Sheetal, of sheetalbravon, has captured some of Venice’s fading elegance: Magical Venice!

Thanks to all of you who shared posts on the “photography” invitation. 🙂

I am traveling from September 1 to October 4. If I cannot respond to or add your links due to wi-fi problems or time constraints, please feel free to add your links in both this post and my next scheduled post. If I can’t read them when you post them, I will get to them as soon as I can. Thanks for your understanding! 🙂

on journey: a roundabout route to casablanca

wanderessence1025 August 21, 2019

Thursday, April 4: What a long morning of waiting and wrapping up loose ends. Mike came home from work early and drove me to the airport. I finally got through security at Washington-Dulles Airport at 3:00 for my 5:20 flight on United Airlines to Rome. The flight would be 8 hours and 50 minutes. I boarded right on time for once in seat 24K, an aisle seat with slightly more leg room for which I paid extra.

Waiting to board at Washington-Dulles

I sat beside Nayali, one of a group of 24 Mexican high school students from Chihuahua, Mexico. The whole group and their three teachers sported black jackets with yellow stripes on the sleeves. Passengers on the plane, including me, assumed initially they were from an athletic team.

Instead, they were going to Rome for a couple of days of sightseeing and then on to London for two weeks for a big international competition. Each team of 12 students would be given a challenge to come up with a viable business idea. They would have six days to create the business then would be given feedback and helpful suggestions about how to make it work. It all sounded very interesting. I wished I had been exposed to a program such as this.

For the first two hours of the flight, I watched A Star is Born, with Lady Gaga and Bradley Cooper. I felt the original with Kris Kristofferson and Barbara Streisand was much better. I didn’t sense much chemistry between the characters.

I had a pasta meal with salad and bread for dinner. A red wine before dinner. I passed on the lemon sorbet because I’d taken a Valium and felt I might be on my way to sleep. I was uncomfortable under the thin blanket, hardly warm in the overly air-conditioned cabin. I forgot my neck pillow which would have helped but then I would have had to carry it all over Morocco and Italy.

The “No Smoking” and the “Fasten Seat Belt” sign came on a couple of times over the North Atlantic whenever we hit turbulence. The flight map showed us over the dark blue Atlantic forever, heading in the direction of Glasgow and London.

endlessly over the Atlantic

One of the Mexican teachers sitting catty-corner across the aisle from me was watching Green Book with subtitles and I was distracted by it. I’d already seen it so kept recognizing scenes. Nayali curled up sleeping beside me. They had flown from Chihuahua to Houston to Washington, then were going on to Rome. I imagined they were all beat.

The interior of the plane was so neat and tidy in the beginning, but before long blankets and trash and electronic devices and pillows were all akimbo. Stewardesses kept coming by on trash pickup.

A sheer navy curtain hung between first class and economy, a reminder that mere gossamer separated the upper class from the rest of us.

A constant rush of cool air tried fruitlessly to dissipate the body odors that developed as the night wore on. Unpleasant odors emanated from people and bathrooms, a general miasma of sourness.

I was wearing baggy black stretchy knit pants much like pajamas, a white long-sleeved knit top with a knot in the front, and a black & white infinity scarf with coral tassels on it. My stomach was feeling cramped since early afternoon. Sometimes I wondered if it were just the nerves of traveling.

I was feeling a bit depressed because in a text conversation with my oldest son before I left, I mentioned I was heading to Morocco and I never heard a word back. No “Be Safe! Have fun! I love you!” We also hadn’t heard from my youngest for two weeks and had no idea where he was or what he was doing. I felt hopeless about the whole situation with him and often felt we were throwing him to the wolves. My eldest had threatened to quit his butchery job and do dog walking, which is not a career and simply another dead end job. There was no question we did a horrible job raising them, that we weren’t hard enough on them. We should have insisted they have jobs as soon as they were old enough to work. I was trying not to let them drag me down because I wanted to enjoy my holiday. I hoped I could let go.

I ate breakfast of Smooth Chobani Strawberry Yogurt and a warm croissant with strawberry jam as I watched the sunrise out the window. About an hour and a half from Rome, we went over Limoges, France, with Bordeaux to the southwest and Paris to the north, then were over Marsiglia (Marseille) and then Nice. Our altitude was 37,012 and time of arrival estimated at 7:59 a.m. Italy time. The outside air temp was -76°F and groundspeed 561 mph.

Over France

Roma became a big yellow target on the map.

heading into Rome

Friday, April 5: Once I arrived in Rome at 8:00 a.m., I got my boarding pass for Alitalia to depart at 1:20 p.m. It would be a 3 hour 15 minute flight to Casablanca with arrival at 3:35 p.m. It was sunny in Rome, but was forecast to be raining in Casablanca. Since I had a lot of time to kill, I spent the hours hopping from coffee shop to coffee shop, having a café Americano black and later a cappuccino. I was tempted to eat because I had so much time but the flight included a cold meal, so I felt I should wait.

coffee shop in Fiumicino Airport, Rome

I sat in various places to watch the world walk and roll by. A girl with a guitar and backpack. A Sikh. A woman with hijab and her husband with a skullcap. A lot of Asians – Koreans and Chinese. Girls and women with wide baggy patterned pants, or leggings or jeans. A lot of frumpy people. Asians carrying shopping bags from high end shops: Salvatore Ferragamo, Bvlgari, Tod’s, Gucci, Botega Vanetta. White-haired folks hauling compact carry-ons. A person carrying a turquoise hard case with flowering cacti painted on. A young lady hauling a tiny white fluffy dog in a pet carrier. Ladies pushing kids in strollers, and one in a wheel chair. People all on their way to somewhere else.

I couldn’t even go to my gate because they didn’t put it on the board until 12:25. So I walked around and found another seat. I watched people wearing fuzzy slippers, sneakers, hiking boots, fancy gilded sneakers. Colors of Benetton popped. The food “street” upstairs had inviting options. Asians always seemed to be buying stuff. Folks spoke Italian into cell phones. A woman’s voice, in a British accent, directed people to board certain flights at specific gates. People wore passport holders around their necks, making for easy access.

I was tired and wished I could get on the plane so I might sleep.

Fiumicino Airport, Rome

The seats on the Alitalia flight from Rome to Casablanca were tight and uncomfortable. Luckily there were many empty seats. A Moroccan man had the window seat and me the aisle. I ate a strange lunch of three small cold sandwiches: one hummus and shrimp, one turkey and pressed zucchini, and one with unidentifiable objects; there was a very strange salad with olives and something that looked like potatoes but wasn’t. A thick yogurt with granola topping. A container of melons, apples and grapes. Peach juice.

Alitalia into Casablanca

Late in the flight, the Moroccan guy got up to go to the bathroom and didn’t return to his seat. I put up the arm rests and stretched out across all three seats during the last half hour. It felt so good to stretch out.

Alitalia into Casablanca

I was surprised by the patchwork of farmland outside the window going into Casablanca. I don’t know why I expected it to be a desert landscape.

Alitalia into Casablanca

We arrived in Casablanca at 3:35. I had to wait over an hour in a long snaking and slow-moving line to get through immigration. The immigration guys were flirting with every young woman. They didn’t bother with me when I finally got to the front. I talked to a young woman heading off for an Intrepid Tour with an itinerary similar to our G-Adventures tour. They were to meet on Saturday night at 6:00; ours would start Monday night.

My driver, Youssef, was arranged by our Airbnb host, Myriam. He showed me photos of his family, a pretty wife and waladan (two boys). His sons were very young. I enjoyed practicing some Arabic with him, and even went through my French numbers. It was rather silly, because he spoke French, Arabic, Spanish and a little English, while I am pathetic with languages.

I arrived at our 7th floor Airbnb apartment in Central Casablanca. The building was a bit derelict, but the apartment was nice enough. It had a beautiful outdoor patio but the weather wasn’t conducive to enjoying it: cold, rainy and windy. My friend Susan had arrived earlier and had already walked around and figured out the lay of the land. We went out promptly to explore. I didn’t bother to shower or change my clothes, only adding my gray hoodie and rain jacket. I felt rather frumpy, gross and tired.

rainbow in Casablanca

rainbow in Casablanca

Oranges and melons beckoned from everywhere, piles of them neatly stacked. But there was too much trash, marring the city streets.

market in Casablanca

We walked by lots of cafés with gloomy looking, hen-pecked men staring out, past the Hyatt Regency, through the Old Medina, in search of a restaurant, La Sqala. We got lost, so ended up in a Petit Taxi with a guy who had lived in New York for a long time. The meter came to 9 dirhams, and I gave him 10 (~$1).

The restaurant had such a nice ambience, nestled in the ochre walls of the sqala, an 18th century fortified bastion north of the center. A fountain bubbled with pink flowers floating on the surface. The rustic interior was bordered by Moroccan arches, with a garden and flower draped trellises. It was a bit cold despite being wrapped in plastic, yet it was tranquil and atmospheric.

La Sqala

La Sqala

Susan ordered chicken tajine and we shared a goat cheese and honey on toast salad with an exotic flavor – maybe cardamom? No wine or alcohol was available. We dipped warm bread in two red sauces, one mild and one spicy. A bowl of Moroccan olives, black shriveled and green with pits. We didn’t know where to put the pits but when we asked, we were told to put them into what looked like an ash tray. I ordered kofta sqala (meatballs) with three oval-shaped mashed potatoes. The meal was artistically prepared on a rectangular plate.

kofta sqala & mashed potatoes at La Sqala

When we came out of the restaurant a guy tried to charge us 100 dirhams for a ride back, 10 times what we’d paid earlier! We hopped right out of his taxi and went down the line to the next one; that one quoted us 40 dirhams, saying it was double because it was nighttime. Since we couldn’t identify the address of our Airbnb, we told him to take us to the Hyatt, and he kept saying “5 stars!!” No wonder they wanted to charge us so much; they seemed, mistakenly, to assume we were rich. 🙂

*Thursday & Friday, April 4-5, 2019*

Thursday: 12,492 steps, or 5.29 miles & Friday: 8,917 steps, or 3.78 miles

**********************

One of my intentions was to use all five senses to describe an experience.

Include the link in the comments below by Tuesday, September 17 at 1:00 p.m. EST. When I write my post in response to this challenge on Wednesday, September 18, I’ll include your links in that post.

This will be an ongoing invitation, once on the third Wednesday of each month. Feel free to jump in at any time. 🙂

I hope you’ll join in our community. I look forward to reading your posts!

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