France and Morocco could be more different. They share some similar traits... Both are full of people and food and culture, both speak French (at least to some extent), both have a lot of scooters/bikes etc., both have less going on in August (for Paris it's because of holiday & for Morocco it's because of Ramadan). And there, many of the similarities end. Paris had dogs, Morocco had cats. Paris had modern, Morocco had... not modern. Paris had museums, Morocco had mosques. And so it goes...
Our original plan was to stay in Casablanca for the duration of our time in Morocco. As has become normal, our plans changed. We arrived in Casablanca with minimal complications with our flight (if you don't count the mysterious kid who was yelling things in arabic for the first 30 or 45 minutes we were on the plane resulting in several passengers being moved to first class). Once we arrived at the airport, Ed went to pull up the address for the place we were planning to couchsurf, and it was gone. In its search for wifi, his phone was no longer displaying the address we were intending to go to in Casablanca. A younger Moroccan guy in an Australian t-shirt walked with us all over the airport in the endeavor to find wifi (unsuccessfully) and then told us where to get the train from the airport to downtown. We head down to the train, go to get our tickets & despite the credit card emblems displayed on the window, find out that they only take cash (dirham- the Moroccan currency). I stayed downstairs with the bags while Ed runs back up (talking his way out of waiting in line at the security station) to exchange money. Did I mention that we first got to the ticket station with ten minutes until our train left? Ed rushed back and got our tickets... we just boarded the train when it started moving.
Everyone speaks Arabic & most speak some French. All the signs, announcements etc. are in those two languages, neither of which I understand, though Ed speaks some French. We rode the train until we felt like we were in a "downtown" area and then got off. We roll our suitcases down some dusty streets past many people who are blatantly staring at us (reasonably so) and several taxi drivers insistent on offering their services. The streets are mostly unmarked, littered with trash & rubble & stray cats. We find an internet shop- a bottom floor with three or four small booths for telephones and a tiny staircase to the internet lab upstairs. Ed tried asking the guy in charge of the shop the "nom de rue" (name of street) so he could get directions, and despite several attempts and the guy supposedly speaking French, he had no idea what we were asking. Maybe they don't really use street names there? It appeared our suitcases would not easily navigate the stairway so I stayed downstairs with the bags while Ed went up to figure out where we would go from here. Long story short, we were not able to get in touch with our host so we set out to find alternative housing. We ventured out in search of our prized free hotel so we could get some rest. And for now we're gonna give this a rest... We'll return with more stories to share...
