Tales from Casablance, Morocco

I'm in the airport leaving for Senegal in half an hour enjoying a Heineken and Gauloises (french cigarettes). So I'll scratch this out on a piece of paper and recount the last twelve hours. I had an amazing time here. Waiting a couple of hours for my luggage, which had already been sent to Dakar, I spoke with a Moroccan woman who lives in New York that had sat next to me on the plane. She told me what I needed to see here- visit the mosque and go to the beach. Cool. I leave the baggage claim area and get vulched on (I use this term to refer to predatory commerce although the allusion suggests I am a dead piece of meat- well I might as well be in a country in which I know nothing) by a taxi driver, Muhammad. Muhammad speaks no French, and pretends not to understand a word of it, which may have been the case since mine is so poor. We negotiate a price through a translator to visit the mosque and beach, and then return to the airport. There's no way to know whether I'm getting ripped off, but I accept this from the beginning (as it turns out I did quite well). Now I know what you all are thinking- he's going to miss his flight. But let me assure you, there is plenty of time, and after all, as I'm told 'time runs slow in Morocco'- especially at the beach.
Muhammad is a nice man, but it took him a while to gain my trust. We had an excellent meal, but it seemed a bit overpriced, and he acted as mediator between the vendor and I. Of course his cabby friends told me that the price was reasonable, and eventually I accepted it as so- it seemed better to do so than hold a grudge. He weaves through pedestrians and traffic with great ease such that I'm not even nervous. We got to the mosque, Hassan II its called- a lot happened in between but I'd left my camera with my other luggage, now headed for Senegal- oh my God it was intense, massive. I would really test Muhammad's trust by leaving my laptop in the trunk of his car- I know 'that's crazy' but, well it all worked out.
It didn't look like I could get in at first., but a robed religious figure, an 'imam' I think they are called gave me an unofficial tour for about $12, which I'm absolutely certain went straight to the mosque... It was intense, ornate, and completely empty. I've never seen anything like it. Here are some pics I got off the web.

So that's pretty much what I would have snapped too, thank god for the web. I'll get some video of Casablanca when I pass back through in December.

After that I went to the beach. I entered at a private swimming pool, and walked down. There must have been thousands of people. Women in bikinis- in an Islamic state. I couldn't relax entirely because Muhammad and my lap top were in the back of my mind, but I returned to find him sipping on cafe.

Now I wanted to take a minute to do a cross-cultural comparison of another cab driver I know from the states- Jason! This is good...

Demeanor- (both) aggressively peruse clientèle.
Appearance- (both) unbathed and/or unkept
Driving- (both) erratic
Use of tobacco products- J- chew and ciggies, M- snuff (powdered tobacco that is sniffed)
Relations with other cabbies- J-poor to hostile , M-generally made fun of but is recommended and spoken about with terms of endearment.
Teeth- J-poor, M-a few left
X factor- J-unpredictable altercations, M- pretends not to understand a word of French