D-Dog’s Blog

We seem to have been rushing along at quite a speed recently. I think it’s because of the relaxed pace of life in this country, three nights never seems enough. That’s what I thought until I went to Casablanca, anyway, where three nights is at least two too many. The place is dull and unattractive, covered in big puddles of piss, there’s nothing to do, the children attempt to knife my friends, and it’s full of drunks, all of which amounts to a taste of home that’s too much to bear at present. As Frank said while we were conversing over coffee at one point, “It’s like Paris would be if you took the people out of Detroit, put them in Paris and left it for twenty years.” It is a hole. We did hope, however, that we would find some shred of charisma in the form of the tallest building in Morocco, the Hassan II mosque. Under construction since 1980, the building is the jewel in the crown of Casablanca. But, sadly, it’s shit. For one thing, it’s not very tall, and, although it’s an imposing sight, surrounded as it is by a huge, flat plaza, and the tiling looks great from a distance, up close, it looks like my dad did the grouting. Except he might have done it more neatly. The whole thing is disappointing, the paving is bumpy and chipped, the flowerbeds have no flowers in them, only weeds, there’s grass growing in all the corners of the cloisters which border the square, and there are large piles of rubbish and construction detritus gathering pools of stagnant green seawater, plain for all to see if you look over the sea wall at the square’s edge.

We left Casablanca endowed with a sense of jubilation, to be honest. It did nothing to dampen the mood when the bus journey here (to Meknes, that is), despite taking a good four hours, seemed to fly by. Plus the petit taxi driver* drove us straight to the hotel’s very door, and didn’t even charge us over the odds, which you normally expect when wearing rucksacks. Our new room is clean and ant-free, and has separate beds, too! Dimly lit, though, which for a hack like me is slightly bad news. Anyways, first impressions of Meknes were gained with a stroll around the souks, and through the meat-market, which was pretty bloody disturbing (bloody being the operative word – I swear I saw a rhino head minus horn), which was all good, despite the stalls being rather more practical than I’m used to. By this I mean that in Marrakesh, for example, you can’t move for swords and hookahs, whereas here it’s all phone chargers and “FAT PHARM”(sic) clothing. Anyway, the place looks okay, despite the fact that the bloke next to me in the internet cafe as I write is playing Akon and nodding! Oy vey… At least this place is cheap. Am I right or am I right? Sorry. And sorry for this post’s atrocious title. It’s supposed to be a play on “Mike and the Mechanics” but I don’t think I pulled it off. Once I thought of it, I had to use it. Anyway, the next post could be from here or Fes, we just don’t know yet. Keep tuning in, and keep tuning in to The Hashmark at www.thehashmark.com. Yes, that’s right, we’re a dotcom now!

Keep watching the skies,

Pascoe

*= The taxi’s petit, not the driver. He may have been, but that’s not what I meant.