Off to Morocco!

In mid-February, after a wait of three-plus years due to the pandemic, I finally set out on a trip to Morocco, fulfilling a long-held dream.

I flew to Casablanca, the city on the Atlantic coast whose very name conjures up images of Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman (although the film of the same name was shot entirely in California). Since I arrived two days prior to the start of my OAT tour, I had a chance to explore on my own. Would it be safe for me to walk around alone? I wondered. So, on the drive from the airport to the hotel, I paid careful attention to the way people were dressed and to see if women were out walking unaccompanied. I was pleased to see many women walking alone although most of them were veiled and were wearing long robes that reached to the ankles. Many of the men were dressed in long hooded djellabas and were either bare-headed or had the pointy hoods of their djellabas covering their heads (resulting to an unfortunate resemblance to KKK attire). 

 

I was eager to get out and walk after spending so many hours in a cramped airplane seat. I soon discovered that there are many sides to this city on the Atlantic coast. My hotel, the Radisson Blu, was located in the French-built part of the city that dates back to the colonial period in the early 20^th century. Other areas of the city are more modern while the old medina (the walled city) is a reminder of Casablanca’s long history. 

 

From the hotel, it was just a 10-minute walk to the Marché Central. At midday, the small covered market was bustling and noisy. I wandered among vendors selling fish, fruit, and vegetables and used my French to converse with friendly merchants. 

I was tempted to eat at one of the open-air restaurants adjacent to the market but also fearful after hearing from so many people that they’d gotten sick from the food in Morocco. Eventually, hunger won out and I stopped into a small café near the hotel where I ordered a chicken shwarma sandwich. It was only after I’d taken a few bites (it was delicious!) that I realized that there was fresh lettuce and tomatoes tucked into the bread. Oh well, there was nothing I could do about it at that point. I would just have to hope for the best. 

 

I managed to get a good night’s sleep and was ravenous at the breakfast buffet, which included olives, both black and green, various breads and French pastries, fruit, yogurt, scrambled eggs, cooked vegetables, salads, and more. 

Before I left home, I had arranged for a private guide to show me sites of Jewish interest and I met my guide, Hicham Bennis, in the hotel lobby at 10am. For the next four hours, we crisscrossed the city by car and on foot. We started with the Moroccan Jewish Museum, located in a lovely upscale residential neighborhood. 

The Jewish community in Morocco had a long, long history. From Hicham and from my reading, I learned that Jews had lived in Morocco for around 2000 years. Some arrived around the time of the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem by the Romans in the first century CE. In addition, some of the Morocco’s indigenous people (the Amazigh, aka Berbers) had converted to Judaism. And of course, many Jews who fled from the Spain and Portugal during the 14^th and 15^th centuries (remember the Inquisition) settled in nearby Morocco. 

 

At one time, Morocco had a significant Jewish population who lived in harmony, for the most part, with their Muslim neighbors. However, after the creation of the state of Israel and the end of French control of Morocco, most of the Jewish community emigrated. It surprised me that Hicham, who is Muslim, was so familiar with this history. He even quoted from the Torah in perfect Hebrew! 

 

Our next stop was the Quartier Habous, a shopping district designed and built by the French during the years of the Protectorate to provide an alternative to the labyrinthine lanes of the souks in the medina (the old walled city). 

Hicham led me to the famous Patisserie Bennis Habous, which is known for its traditional Moroccan cookies. I was planning to buy just one or two but I walked out with a whole box. 

 

We then drove to the modern Beth El Temple, which was beautifully decorated and is still in use for services on a daily basis. 

 

In the old mellah (Jewish quarter of the medina), we saw the old Ettedgui Synagogue, a small and simple building that is no longer in use. 

Hicham also showed me another newer Jewish quarter and pointed out the “street of seven synagogues.” Nearby was the only remaining kosher bakery, where I sampled a rugelach – nearly identical to the ones I enjoy from Trader Joe’s or Costco. 

 

We then turned to the area near the harbor. The area is dominated by the Sqala, a fortress dating back to 1765. Today, it houses a popular restaurant. 

 

Near the Sqala, I enjoyed visiting a new museum devoted to the history of Casablanca. It was interesting to learn that the Phoenicians arrived at the location in the 6^th century BCE and started a trading post. The city, then known as Anfa, came under the control of a confederation of Amazigh (Berber) tribes in the 7^th century CE. It was a center for piracy beginning in the early 15^th century. This caused the Portuguese, whose ships were being attacked, to take control of the city in 1575. They set up fortifications and gave the port a new name, Casa Branca (White House). 

 

In 1755, an earthquake damaged or destroyed much of the city, leading the Portuguese to abandon it. The city lost much of its population over the course of the next hundred years. In the mid-1800s, Spanish merchants arrived, attracted by the fertile area in the northern part of the country. They renamed the city Casablanca, meaning “white house” in Spanish. The French were also interested in the resources offered by the region and they obtained permission to build an artificial harbor in Casablanca.

 

When tensions between the Europeans and the native Moroccans led to violence in 1907, the French sent troops to Casablanca. Five years later, the French established a protectorate that included the city. The protectorate lasted until 1956. Today, Casablanca is considered Morocco’s commercial center. With a population approaching 4 million people, it is the largest city in the country. 

 

Afterwards, I walked with Hicham through the city and down Boulevard Mohamed V, following the tram tracks to the hotel. Along the way, he pointed out the “Mauresque” architecture, with its combination of French and traditional Moroccan elements. The buildings are quite beautiful but in desperate need of a good scrub.

 

Hicham was a terrific guide and we covered so much in four hours. I was a bit tired (the final walk was 2 kilometers) but even more hungry. Now that I felt more comfortable in my surroundings, I walked from the hotel back to the Marché Central and decided to get something interesting to eat at one of the small restaurants. Fish tagine seemed like a safe bet (any vegetables would be well cooked). Regretfully, I declined to partake of the salad that came with the meal but the accompanying bread and olives (served with every meal, including breakfast) were quite satisfying. Even with the addition of a small bottle of mineral water, the bill only came to 70 Dirhams (about $7.00).

 

Back in the hotel room, I made a cup of tea and opened the box of cookies from Patisserie Bennis. I tried one of each variety. Some were flavored with rose water or orange blossom water. Some tasted of anise. Others were sweetened with honey, coated in sesame seeds, or filled with almond paste. All were delicious. 

 

Later in the afternoon, I met up with two other travelers from my group, Charlie and Louise, a couple from Austin, Texas. After chatting for a while, we walked together to La Bodega, a lovely Spanish restaurant not far from the hotel that had been recommended by our tour leader, Abdou. I had forgotten it was February 14, i.e. Valentine’s Day. The restaurant was decorated for the occasion and all the tables were soon occupied. My dinner of salmon and vegetables was excellent and the cost was quite reasonable ($20, including tip.)

 

Since we weren’t scheduled to meet with our OAT group until late the next afternoon, Charlie, Louise, and I made a plan to explore together the following day. The weather was overcast and even a little drizzly when we set out the next morning. We initially thought we would take a Petit Taxi to the first location (Eglise de Notre Dame de Lourdes) but we had no luck flagging down one of the little red cars. “Let’s walk,” Charlie suggested, and Louise and I readily agreed. After all, we weren’t on a schedule and there’s nothing wrong with getting lost in a new city. In fact, that’s one of the pleasures of traveling. 

 

Fortunately, our combined navigational skills brought us to the modern church without much difficulty. The main challenge was crossing the streets, especially at roundabouts, in the heavy traffic. 

After we admired the church’s stained glass windows, we set out confidently down a wide commercial boulevard towards our next destination, the Musée Slaoui, a private collection of decorative arts and travel posters. The small museum was delightful and as well as uncrowded. It also featured a temporary exhibit of works by a contemporary Moroccan-French artist. 

 

From there, I guided us to the Marché Central. We tried another of the open-air restaurants for lunch. After starters of olives and sautéed eggplant (the small Japanese kind), Louise and I dug into big plates of tiny shrimp – so messy (they weren’t shelled) but delicious and worth the trouble. Of course, we ended the meal with small glasses of Moroccan mint tea. 

We must have walked three or four miles by the time we got back to the hotel. Even though I had just eaten a big lunch, I couldn’t resist finishing off the cookies from Patisserie Bennis. Then I managed a much-needed rest before the official Welcome Briefing of our OAT tour. 

There's so much more to share with you about this 3-week long adventure. But I'll end for now with a note about language and pronunciation. 

Moroccans speak a version of Arabic called Darija. Darija includes many words from the languages spoken by the country’s indigenous inhabitants, the Amazigh people. I can’t read the Arabic alphabet but even the transliterations, written in the familiar Latin alphabet, were tricky to pronounce. It helped to realize that “ou” is pronounced like the letter “w” in English. For example, Slaoui is pronounced “Slawi” and Ouarzazate is pronounced “Warzazat.” This spelling is probably because many of the transliterations were introduced by the French during the protectorate, and the letter “w” is seldom used in French.