The trip here was blissfully uneventful. I always had a widow seat and an empty seat next to me (which sounds a bit like a modern airplane blessing. "May you always have the window seat and may there always be an empty seat next to you for your stuff." ) I accidentally sat first class on the train with a second class ticket, but apparently I look pathetic/white/obviously new to this/cute that the conductor didn't say anything. I also didn't drop my bags on anyone's head trying to get it out of the overhead compartment (that was a close one though...)
Once you leave the train station you immediately get ATTACKED by taxi drivers. In fact, you keep getting attacked the entire way to your cab. I imagine that the feeling is similar to being in a school of piranhas. Except without teeth. Thankfully there were no teeth. My taxi driver was this tiny man who spent most of his time yelling at people in Arabic (despite the fact that he was clearly moving against traffic as we were trying to get out of the parking lot.) Taxi drivers don't wear seat belts because that would prevent them from leaning out the window or leaping out of their cars (in the middle of the street) to yell at someone. He was very pleasant to me and to his friend (another taxi driver who also got in the cab) and both of them kept trying to get me to book a tour with them the next day. Very persistent those two. This was happening while ALL THE PEDESTRIANS IN CASABLANCA kept stepping out in front of everything. I was convinced that there are no traffic laws in Casablanca, but then I saw a lone street light. The rule of law is rather thin here, at least in the traffic department.
Once I got to my room in the hotel, my roommate (Shavon from Chicago) immediately rushed me out into the streets of Casablanca (well, not immediately - I demanded a shower first) and we preceded to get lost. We assumed we'd be able to get back to the hotel because we knew some of the tall building landmarks around it. Unfortunately, Casablanca is not at a loss for tall buildings. It is also not set out in a grid-like street plan. It's more like a bunch of starfish all vaguely connected. Also, Casa after dark is approximately 90% male, so Shavon and I decided the best plan was to walk like we knew where we're going. This sort of sped up the getting lost process (although, if you ask Shavon, she was NEVER lost.) We kept walking taking in the sights, sounds, and smells of the city (cats, car-horns, and the sewers :P ) and trying to find the BCMI bank or the MarocTelecom buildings so that we could get home. It was a nice night and we weren't being stared at too much, so we decided to keep searching.
We did try and ask for directions, but either our French is REALLY bad, or the directions were wrong, because all we got was a group of guys following us and asking for our numbers. Very persistently. The one guy kept shoving his (very fancy) phone in my face. Unfortunately, I'm terrible at getting Moroccan guys to leave me alone, so I was too soft spoken as I told him NO repeatedly and put up my hands (it didn't help that he WAS quite attractive despite the creepy follow-you-around-and-hit-you-with-my-phone thing). Shavon didn't have the same problem. She just yelled at him like a crazy person, which is apparently the best way to deal with situations like these. I'm pretty sure the initial conversation was my fault because I said "hi" back to one of the guys when he talked to me. I really have to break my nice-small-town-girl habits because they're just going to get me in trouble here.
Then it started to softly rain. We immediately found a cab (what can I say? We aren't THAT adventurous.) It turns out that we were on the opposite side of the city. Oops. The cab driver "ripped us off" by asking for the equivalent of 4 dollars for the trip. I really have to start seeing DH as real money and not (as Shavon says) "monopoly money"...
That's all the adventure for now. I'm just sitting in my room listening to all the perfectly functioning car horns of Casablanca. So melodious!
Sounds like you have found a fine partner in crime.
ReplyDelete