Casablanca

The Awakening: After waking many times in the night with banging noises, I successfully ignored what sounded like a repeated knock on the door at 7am. I still don’t know what caused all the banging while we were underway (unless we were swaying enough for the picture on my wall to be moving) but I will be keeping a close eye on it when we set off this afternoon.

The Transfer: Casablanca Port is large, so shuttle buses operate every half hour to get us to the entrance to the port. Fortunately the drop-off point is right next to the Sofitel and Novotel hotels, which should provide an easy place to find in order to go home.

The Gauntlet: As soon as we were off the bus, taxi drivers came rushing, wanting to take us to see all the sights. They showed maps and offered about 3 hours for €30. While the price seemed okay for that time, it was not what I wanted to do. They didn’t take any notice of the fact that I only wanted to go to the New Medina and be left to wander, but kept showing me more and more places on the map. I managed to extricate myself and walk on.

The Exchange: I found a bank and exchanged £20 for about 260 dirahim. I thought it was more than I would need for the day, but I felt happier having local money. It’s a closed currency so I had not been able to get any in England, and it’s not available on the ship.

The Encounter: Walking up the street I ran into a couple who I had met at lunch on the first day. Like me, they had been put off by the taxis so were simply wandering.

The Taxi: I found a taxi driver prepared to take me to the Habbous (the New Market) and brought his price down from 150 dirahim (seemed excessive at over £12 when earlier drivers had been offering 3 hours for €30) to 70 dirahim. I invited the other couple to come with me. As we drove, I found it was further than I expected and debated giving him more money to make it closer to what I would expect to pay in Oxford. However, the taxi was run-down, no air conditioning, no seat belt in the front, and I had read prices on the internet and knew we were already paying above the rate.

The Sting: When we arrived the taxi driver told me he had negotiated the 70 dirahim for just me. Now there were three of us we should be paying that amount each! He kept trying to hand the 70 dirahim back. I wasn’t having that. I told him a price was a price. I handed him an extra 20 and we all got out.

The Wander: We had been dropped just outside a mosque, so walked around and enjoyed the Moorish architecture and decoration. We could not see inside; tourists are only allowed inside the new mosque, closer to the port. We could not see any market stalls and wondered if our unfriendly taxi driver had dropped us at the wrong place!

The Shop: The people wandering by could only speak French, but one kindly went into a local shop and brought out the English-speaking shopkeeper to help us. He invited us to wander around his shop, which used to be an old house, and to take photos. He had several rooms of dusty goods for sale but was helpful rather than pressured. My friends bought a wooden camel but I just enjoyed the old architecture and ambience. When we left I gave him 20 dirahim to buy himself a drink and remember us. He rushed back into the shop and followed us out and gave his business card and a key ring to both Lorraine and me. A lovely encounter.

The Market: We turned a corner and found stall after stall of goods. We were in the right place after all. None of them had the atmosphere of the shop we’d visited – or the dust, either. I was impressed that no one pressured us to buy.

The Police: As we wandered further we came to a military installation, guarded by a policeman and a soldier. Evidently the gentleman with me (whose name I’ve forgotten) saluted them and they snapped to attention and saluted back. I’m not sure if this fooled them into thinking we were official, but when we asked where we could find a taxi, the policeman stood in the road for about five minutes until an empty taxi came by that he could flag down for us.

The Translation Problems: The policeman and taxi driver spoke French; we spoke English. We thought it would be simple asking to be taken back to the port. I mentioned the names of the hotels but it didn’t seem to mean anything. I tried ‘le bateau’ and ‘le mer’ but didn’t get far until the policeman said ‘le porrte’. Aha, same word but just change the accent! Then I tried ‘Novotelle’ and the French accent made the words reconisable.

The Traffic: Our taxi forced itself into the smallest of spaces in incredibly crowded traffic. We had one instance of road rage, but our driver kept smiling all through what seemed to be a heated exchange. He exchanged a few comments with me in French. While driving through a crowded market he leant across me and locked the door, saying ‘les voleurs’ (thieves). He took us to the hotels but on the wrong road, but we communicated enough to get him to turn left and then left again, where we found the shuttle bus and the line of taxis. This taxi had been on a meter, so the cost was only about 13 dirahim (less than a pound)! However, I gave him my remaining 150 dirahim as it was no use to me. (The moral: in Casablanca, if you are on a budget, make sure you get a taxi that operates by meter rather than by price, and have local money.)

The Welcome: As we got off the shuttle bus at the ship, there was local music playing and a double line of ship’s staff standing, clapping their hands as we walked between them. We had time for a drink together before lunch.