Casablanca casts a cloud

Casablanca casts a cloud on our second visit after 12 years.

The worry

Our second visit feels charged with a new sense of excitement. We have arrived on the Muslim New Year, a public holiday, and I can't help but wonder: will the shops and businesses be open, or will the city be unusually quiet today?

The Hurry

The morning begins with a small rush of urgency. At 7:30 a.m., I receive word from our friends: they will try to secure a taxi for our tour, and we are to meet them at the complex exit at 8:00 a.m. That gives us barely half an hour.

My leisurely shipboard routine is instantly abandoned. There is no time to linger over breakfast or enjoy a slow start to the day. I cut my morning preparations short, gulp down a bowl of cereal, gather my things, and hurry ashore. The adventure, it seems, has already begun.

The fuzzy

To our surprise, we can no longer walk into town from the port. The sprawling complex is impressive and beautifully designed. At the exit, a lone officer checks our passports—no stamps, no delays, no fuss.

The Flurry

Since we are not allowed to walk around the port, and taxis are not permitted inside. Instead, shuttle buses have been arranged to take passengers to UN Square, where the bus terminal and taxi stands are located.

Unable to find our friends at the port, we board one of the shuttle buses. The 15-minute ride takes us through parts of the city that seem familiar, yet we do not recognise the square where we arrive.

What we do recognise, however, are our friends waiting for us. Standing among the crowd and scanning the passengers as they alight from the bus, they are eagerly anticipating our arrival so that the tour can begin.

The dizzy

They have booked a cab through a man called Sayed for a six-hour tour of Rabat and Casablanca for US$160, which is thought to be a bargain. It's a comfortable Toyota sedan. Our friend confirms the itinerary and agreed rate with him, and he enthusiastically agrees.

The general understanding is that we would drive to Rabat first and explore Casablanca on the way back. The fellow vehemently disagrees. This is an important day, he insists, and we must visit the floating mosque first. Surely he knows best? So off we go to the mosque.

He does not encourage us to go inside. Our friends are not keen on walking the considerable distance within the compound anyway. After taking a few photographs, we pile back into the car.

Now he tells us that the lighthouse is just nearby and that we should see it before leaving for Rabat. It is difficult to argue with that.

The switch 

The driver stops beside a grey Mercedes-Benz, from which a good-looking man clad in traditional attire alights. It takes a few minutes before we realise that we are to transfer to this sleek, air-conditioned car. We are told to pay him the agreed fee in USD.

At one point, the new driver mentions Euros. We remind him that we will pay only in USD. Although we remain sceptical, we are grudgingly convinced to continue. Something feels fishy, but Sayed keeps trying very hard to persuade us that we have secured a good bargain: his taxi carries only a Casablanca licence, whereas Rashid, the new driver, is authorised to take us to Rabat. Besides, he speaks much better English. 

The fragile trust.

Despite our reservations, Rashid's demeanour slowly wins us over, though not entirely. He takes us close to the lighthouse, a landmark that highlights Casablanca's significance as Morocco's principal port. From there, we are treated to a splendid view of the corniche.

We then drive towards Rabat, surprised to find ourselves travelling through the longest tunnel in Morocco, part of which runs beneath the bay. Casablanca is so sprawling that it takes nearly 20 minutes just to pass through the city.

We enter the toll highway to Rabat, a journey of approximately one hour. Starting from the stadium and continuing to the corniche, while taking in the other major sights along the way, takes about four hours. We then rejoin the highway via a different route for the one-hour drive back to Casablanca.

The Fret Begins

By the time we reach Rabat, it is already 2:30 p.m. Our friend checks to make sure that our driver-cum-guide will be taking us to all the tourist sites in Casablanca that were not covered in the morning.

He assures us, though with some irritation, that he will be done by 4 p.m. Our friend reminds him that we have booked him until 6 p.m. Our local guide is clearly unhappy.

"There is little to see beyond that," he claims, and I silently agree, having been here before. But our friends have not.

It is a Muslim holiday, and he is not supposed to be working today. His boss had pleaded with him to take the assignment. Still, we remind him that a deal is a deal.

Presumably, he calls his boss and they have a serious discussion. He then calms down and completes his task without much fuss.

The sting 

When we get off, we pay him. However, he claims that we should be paying him in euros. He turns a deaf ear to our explanation that the previous driver had agreed to the amount. He then returns the USD 100 note, insisting that it is counterfeit, and demands payment in smaller denominations. None of us has enough small change to cover the fare. To make matters worse, he also demands additional payment.

Outnumbered? Environment? Situation?

Our friend somehow managed to pay him. I have yet to find out how he appeased him. The queue for the shuttle bus was already long, and the passengers returning to the ship were concerned that we were being ripped off.

Fortunately for us, Rashid did not follow us to the line. Did he sense the mood shifting? Was he trying to save face? We can only surmise.