"Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world she walks into mine."

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Casablanca
January 8, 2007

Monday

Even accounting for our late start (we were very reluctant to give up our comfortable, WARM Rabat hotel and the reliable Restaurant Mixed Grill) we made it to Casablanca shortly after 1pm. Casablanca, the largest city in Morocco, is a huge shipping hub and not too much more. Most of the locals we met when we arrived in Morocco advised that we not spend much or any time here, but the magic conjured up by the city’s name, an exotic face conjured mostly by the film, and the relative ease of stopping off the train as we made our way south to the more popular spots, placed it squarely on our itinerary.

Entering Casablanca from the rails we were impressed with the sprawl of the city. As we’d been warned, the city was ringed with shanties and squatters seeking work in the big city. Litter, waste, rusted metal sheeting, and other trappings of poverty stretched as far as we could see from the train window.

The Casablanca Port train station lets you out wedged on the edge of the city with the harbor and naval installations behind you. We headed for the most welcoming intersection, lined with restaurants and a median loaded with palm trees, and made our way into the medina heading toward the youth hostel, which was on our map, in an effort to find our hotel, which was not. The streets of the medina were a bit seedy and less polished than in some of the more touristy areas in more touristy towns. Hotel Central, which was charming and staffed by delightful people, was located on a rough little square that smelled a bit like urine and featured a couple of guys who seemed to enjoy speaking loudly to themselves.

Casablanca is barely 100 years old and was started by the French as a shipping hub and administrative center, essentially because they could not do business in the other suitable coastal areas (Tangiers was taken, Rabat’s river and harbor prohibitively shallow). As you look at the various sites and museums this relative immaturity is obvious. After our time in Turkey, where everything is thousands of years old and many spots have Biblical significance, to come upon such a thing was stunning. The city boasts a single museum five kilometers out of the center, some unique architecture, and the world’s second largest mosque (commissioned by the king to be built in Casablanca expressly because the city had nothing else remotely monumental).

After checking into our room we headed into the center of the city aiming for a Jewish restaurant that was discussed in our guidebook. Casablanca is home to about half of Morocco’s small Jewish population (the aforementioned museum is a Jewish museum, the only one of its kind in the Muslim world) and we thought the food might be a welcome change. We wandered through the noisy, bustling, dirty, city center, unable to find the restaurant and settling on a Lebanese spot. Over lunch we planned our walk through town to view some of the famous Casablanca architecture before heading to St. John’s Church, and on to the medina and the mosque.

Casablanca’s famed architecture, a French combination of art-deco and traditional Moroccan styles, is indeed unique. Unfortunately most of the prime examples we were able to spot on our walk were faded, peeling, crumbling, soot-covered, or undergoing massive renovation (facades preserved in front of mounds of demolished interiors). The city is also composed of a patchwork of buildings in various stages of repair - classic facades next to condemned buildings next to bright and shiny new clubs. This patchwork denies the city any particular feel other than hectic, cruddy intensity.

Our walk took us down a pedestrian street more notable for the children out hustling for money and the odd men stumbling around muttering to themselves (one of whom followed us for a good few minutes before we realized we must have ambled on to his regular course - he paid us no more mind than anyone else). Amongst the beggars and the nuts were smartly dressed business people and women so fashionably decked out that they could well be dazzling Manhattanites or Milanese shoppers. We were quickly concluding Casablanca was a schizophrenic mess of terrible poverty, dilapidated beauty, and bustling commerce.

Architectural tour behind us we crossed to St. John’s, a church whose first congregation included George Patton. The church was apparently constructed in a large and open setting. To our chagrin it is today invisible behind a large wall in the middle of the traffic and development of the city. Instead of seeing the church where General Patton prayed for righteous military victory we peeked through the mail slot at the grounds that hold the church where General Patton prayed for righteous military victory. (Note: we do not know if General Patton did indeed pray for righteous military victory.)

Standing nearby is the massive Hyatt Hotel, along Place des Nations Unies and just outside the old city walls. The Hyatt was until recently home to the Casablanca Bar, a joint themed on the eponymous movie. The bar is currently undergoing a renovation and redesign that we suspect will divorce it from the movie theme. Unable to see the bar we did stop in the cigar shop to pick out a Cuban cigar for later in the evening before heading into the medina and on towards the massive mosque.

We walked along the city wall and through a vibrant marketplace. With the orange-sand colored wall on one side and a string of small shops on the other, the street bustled with women shopping, fruit and vegetable stands, sausage stands, fresh fish vendors, and the wide variety of random items for sale from blankets spread neatly along the sidewalk. There were no soccer jerseys or snow globes and this was clearly not a market for tourists. As we moved towards the north end of the market the street widened and the small shops gave way to stacked apartment buildings and rotted looking business fronts. Across the rooftops and from virtually every available surface laundry was hanging dry, some even hanging from the ubiquitous satellite dishes fastened to every balcony or landing.

We turned north away from the medina to walk the kilometer or so to the mosque. It would be closed for tours but we had already determined that this would be our single night in Casablanca and that it would be enough to see the mosque from the outside. This stretch of walk took us past more industrial businesses, most housed in ramshackle sheds lining both sides of the street. All manner of automobile repair, metallurgy, carpentry and light industry was being carried out and the neighborhood has that distinctive feel of daily life that makes you feel ever the more out of place in a poor country.

The minaret of the mosque guided us through blocks of new construction once we left the industrial street behind us. There appeared to be numerous new apartment buildings springing up near the mosque as well as a massive library that we understand is being built adjacent to the mosque. The mosque itself is a relatively new icon in Casablanca dating back to the 1980s. According to our book this massive place of worship is so large that it could hold St. Peter’s inside of it, a statistic we found almost impossible to fathom. As the buildings parted and we saw the mosque, sitting on a large, flat, sprawling piece of land on the shore, we knew it was true.

The mosque is not a particularly elegant design. The minaret is square and incredibly tall and the great hall simply a huge rectangle with a green tile roof. As you approach you can see the intricate ornamentation on the surface of the hall and some beautiful tile work on the minaret. We walked across the plaza between the mosque and the incomplete library to take a peek out at the shore and to snap some photos before heading back towards the north end of the medina.

The last remaining item on our itinerary was to have a drink at the new theme bar called Rick’s Café. Everything about the café is lifted from the vibe of the movie Casablanca. The building is a beautiful stark white with a few palms in front and the interior looks warm from the outside. The place was started after the events of September 11, 2001 by an American, presumably a fan of the film, living in Morocco.

We were greeted out front by a security guard who explained that the bar was closed between lunch and 6:30pm, leaving us 45 minutes to kill. We used the time to return to our hotel to grab our coats, the evening breeze from the water was a bit too much for us, and to watch the end of Serendipity on one of two English stations available at Hotel Central. We returned to the bar at 7pm and were told that the bar was already full and that we would not be allowed in but that there were tables if we would be having dinner. The guard outside called in from a door-side telephone and unlocked the door allowing us to enter. We studied the menu which included a plain but welcoming selection of dishes at high prices (for $100USD you could have a one and a half pound lobster tail).

The bar was indeed full with a total of about eight people seated and drinking. The rest of the place, two stories with multiple dining rooms and perhaps hundreds of tables, was stone silent. The maitre’d fussed and fussed but was not interested in letting us in unless we would stay for dinner, oblivious to our argument that sitting at a table buying drinks was better than nothing for the restaurant’s bottom line. It would occur to us later that much of his hemming and hawing may have been about securing a cash incentive to seat us, but with an empty restaurant and senseless policy between us and a Rick’s Casablanca experience we were more angry than compelled to slip the chap a fiver.

We were finally seated at a table on the second floor overlooking the main floor dining area and the hopping bar. The restaurant was beautifully appointed and looked brand spanking new with glossy tiles of black and white, high open ceilings, beautiful iron lanterns and lights, palms, and snazzy white tables and chairs. Everything really looked grand. Near our table was a separate room with lavish curtains and a large television that we believe was intended to run Casablanca on a continuous basis (on this night it wasn’t).

Roger enjoyed his Cuban cigar and we sipped some excellent but overpriced drinks, enjoying what would be a pleasant place just about anywhere. The fine setting and shoddy treatment we received did nothing to inspire romantic imaginings of the classic film shamelessly co-opted to put this place on the map.

Turned off by the experience Amy sent an email detailing our experience to the American ex-pat owner and we received a thoughtful and sincere response. We don’t discourage anyone from visiting Rick’s if they have the unfortunate occasion to find themselves in Casablanca, but we’d caution you this: if you arrive in Casablanca and think that Rick’s alone will make the stay worthwhile, just get right back on the train.

Certainly the mistake is partially ours, falling into the trap of allowing Hollywood illusion to conjure up some meaning in the real world. And while we recognize the ability of expectation to sour reality, the largest city in Morocco should be able to stand on its own two feet.

There is no magic here. There is no Casablanca that evokes the early 20th century adventure and intrigue made famous by the film. The examples of unique, art-deco fusion architecture are remnants of unspectacular, unpreserved construction at best. There is no great world city offering culture and color. In more than a year abroad there is no second on the list of places least enjoyed and least likely to revisit.

We stayed in Casablanca for not quite twenty-four hours, and, all due respect to the fine mojito at Rick’s, it was more than enough.

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Photos

Hassan II Mosque
The size of the mosque is staggering. We struggled to capture the whole structure in our camera viewfinder and still do it justice.

Doors at the Mosque
For scale, try to find the woman standing near the door on the left.

Casablanca's Great Mosque
This is the only photo we have that manages to take in the whole building. It's not from the most attractive angle and some of the immensity is lost in this perspective.

Rick's Cafe
The lovely first floor dining area and bar.