D-Dog’s Blog

Since leaving Marrakesh, much has happened. Our whirlwind visit to Essaouira turned out to be as pleasant as it was brief, our journey to Casablanca turned out to be as unpleasant as it was long and Casablanca itself has turned out to be just as thoroughly unpleasant as we were told it would be.

 Essaouira is a charming gem of a town, surrounded by high sandstone walls, the cosy medina has a satisfyingly complete feel, its shops are relatively hassle free and walking about you feel safe and at home. The vast walls are dotted with a series of ramparts, which, while being medieval in look, are only a few hundred years old, built by the European colonisers who left behind hundreds of cannon, which decorate every gate and sea wall in town. Of these ramparts, the most impressive is the northern one, which faces out toward the Atlantic Ocean, from it you can sit mesmerised, watching huge Atlantic swells throw themselves over the little islands being battered half a horizon away. Once you have drawn yourself away from the views, you can explore the craft markets, which seem to be the most authentic I have seen in any town in this country. You may also indulge in some fantastically creamy Italian ice-cream before embarking on a walk across the vast windswept beach, which reaches out from the medina like a giant tick, flanked by hotels, bars and windsurfing shacks. If you are not too afraid of food poisoning (my lacklustre companions are), you can sample some fresh sardines fried over beds of dried wood which burst with oil and flavour.

Leaving Essaouira was something I did not want to do, but in order to keep to the tight schedule set by my fellow travellers leaving me, I had to. This involved a hot and cramped six hours in a coach.

We have been in Casablanca for half a day, the place has the feel of a European capital, only run down and filthy. Covered in sleazy bars, drunk people make the atmosphere jarringly unfriendly and for the first time in this country, I was mugged. It was about half past twelve in the afternoon and the sun was not too hot, so I decided to make the journey along the main road to the Hassan II Mosque. I was lazily making my way along the pavement, cursing the fact that they had built a six-lane road, destroying my view of the Atlantic, when I passed two kids doing the usual puppy-dog-eye begging routine, pointing at their mouths and appearing as destitute as they could. Looking at them and shaking my head, it occurred to me quite how odd it was to beg holding kitchen knives. As soon as this thought had completed its mental breath, one of them put a knife to my face, and the other a hand in my pocket. Stealing 400 Dirhams, they ran off laughing. The only person who does seem to have enjoyed this place is Pascoe. Using his pretty-boy looks, he attracted the attention of a Moroccan student on the coach.