Initiation

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Despite everyone’s advice to the contrary, I went to Casablanca for the weekend with some of the gang from school. I had been warned by my professors, program leaders, and host family that Casa is noisy, crowded, and rife with crime. However, with trains running from Rabat every half hour, at the cost of only 35 dirham ($5), I made the hour-long trip, split the cost of the $85 hotel room (to be fair, we could have paid less, but this was our weekend of luxury and hot showers), and set off for this Mecca of ill-repute.

As soon as we dropped off our bags at the hotel (somewhat furtively, I might add. We put three people into a two-person room, which seems all the more clandestine when you have to give your passport number to the front desk.) and walked onto the main boulevard, I realized why so many people hate Casa: this city could be anywhere. More specifically, this city could be in Europe or, perhaps more chillingly for someone in search of whatever Morocco’s supposed to offer, the United States.

More on Casa, food poisoning, and some photos after the break.

Most of Casa was built under the French protectorate, and even the medina isn’t much older than the 19th century. It’s fairly well-organized and modern, but it largely lacks historical charm, which is perhaps why it feels like the United States and why my American friends and I felt so comfortable.

Now, I understand that my brief visit was confined to Casa’s more cosmopolitan neighborhoods. Modern skyscrapers and Art Deco apartments line the streets, restaurants are decidedly less “Moroccan” than those in Rabat, and there’s an entire neighborhood of ice cream parlors.

As in Rabat, consumption is conspicuous here, and this only underlines the huge divide between rich and poor. I think this is the deeper reason why people are repulsed by Casa. Like any big city, it has great nightlife and shopping, and more than once we compared it to New York. But, at the end of the day, about one-third of Casa’s population of 3.8 million lives in shantytowns and doesn’t have access to the city’s best features.

On our last morning I was seized with an attack of food poisoning. A program leader, who I had called for advice, told me this was my official “initiation” to Morocco, and it wouldn’t be my last experience with food-induced illness. In my sad state, I found this oddly reassuring.

Before eventually sprawling out on a couch in the hotel bar for the rest of the afternoon and traveling first-class (only $ back to Rabat, I rallied my strength to see Casa’s most impressive tourist site, the Hassan II Mosque, the third largest mosque in the world.

If I can wax poetic for just a minute, I think the Mosque, itself a new creation completed in 1993, sums up Casa for me. This elaborate monument to tradition cost half a billion dollars to build and is still pristine. However, just beyond the 210 meter-tall minaret and beautifully tiled archways is the beach, which is entirely covered in Styrofoam and trash.

So to all the naysayers, you were partly right. Casa isn’t the exotic, mysterious Morocco Westerners love so much; it’s a big city with big problems. But for an American trying to adjust to living in Morocco, a weekend in Casa is a relief. My guidebook warns travelers not to start in Casa, but to check it out when they’ve had their fill of tradition. I agree; in a non-touristy city like Rabat, where it seems like everyone knows everyone else (and this is a city of 1.7 million), and something as basic as your physical appearance is conspicuous, Casa’s shear magnitude is a release. You can romanticize small-town Morocco all you want, but sometimes, all you need is to take a long shower, stay out late, and to be part of the crowd.

 

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Tags: Casablanca, food poisoning, Hassan II Mosque, ice cream parlors, trains