Casablanca, Morocco. 

Exotic. Romantic. Enchanting. Ancient. Humphrey Bogart. Ingrid Bergman. Rick’s Cafe.

Only, Casablanca is none of those things. It’s a city that’s been rebuilt in the 20th century, has little of architectural significance, and is, well, a little dirty. 

Where is Old Town?

There’s no old town to speak of.

We were dropped off by the shuttle in United Nations Square next to what was supposed to be the old town. But we couldn’t find it. That’s because its been rebuilt in modern times, which makes it not “old,” right?

It’s not new enough though to have stop lights where pedestrians could cross the street—at least not where we were. You just walk out into a four lane road and the cars are supposed to stop. That’s asking for a lot of faith in people I’ve never met. 

The hard sell

And then there’s the solicitation. We didn’t get two steps off the bus until someone wanted to show us the way to wherever we were going. We had been warned on the ship—they will want money at the end of the trip. So, I kept saying “No, thanks,” but they swarmed around us like flies. 

One guy told us he was connected with the cruise line and would show us to the best shops. I didn’t believe him, but The Wife was interested, and I knew he couldn’t ask us for money after telling us he was with the cruise line. He led us down the street to an antique shop where the proprietor gave us the hard sell on some Moroccan rugs.

One was 1,900 Euros, until we balked, and then he offered to throw in another and both were only 1,200 Euros combined. The prices were up, then down, and then sideways. It was sport to him; I was just trying find a way out of the stadium

As we walked out—empty handed, thank God—I realized what had happened. Our Moroccan friend “from the cruise line” had a piece of the action.

So, I told The Wife, “If we see him on the way back let’s tell him his friend sold us 3,000 Euros worth of rugs. That should test their friendship.”

The cheap Americans

As it turned out, we never saw him. But on the way back we stopped at a shop so The Wife could buy a Christmas ornament. She found one she liked and asked the price.

The proprietor, an old man who spoke little English, said “Thirty” something, which we heard as “Euros.” We had been told merchants in Morocco expect to haggle, so The Wife said, “Twenty.”  The old man just waved us off and walked back in his shop.

After we left, we realized he was saying “Thirty dirham,”—their local currency, which is the equivalent of three dollars. We had offered him two dollars. He probably thought we were the cheapest Americans he had ever seen.

The city

On our way back to the square, we came across the more modern part of Casablanca as evidenced by the McDonalds and KFC. But there was dirt everywhere—in the streets, on the buildings, sidewalks, and floors, and on the products in the shops.

I would have understood sand. Sand belongs here. This wasn’t sand.

To cap off the day, after passing the McDonalds, and turning the corner, we saw a cafe—the “ISIS Cafe.” In the Middle East they field terrorists. Here they apparently own coffee shops. 

When I posted a picture of the cafe on Facebook, an Egyptian friend of mine reminded me that Isis was an ancient Egyptian pagan goddess. I replied, “We’ll that’s two strikes against it.”

Casablanca was not what we had hoped for. Honestly, it was a disappointment. But if we hadn’t hoped we wouldn’t have come, and I’m still glad we came. I can deal with the disappointment. 

What I won’t do is deal with it by ceasing to hope. That’s what the Stoics did—lower the expectation, avoid the pain.

The Bible takes a different path:

And not only this, but we also exult in our tribulations, knowing that tribulation brings about perseverance; and perseverance, proven character; and proven character, hope; and hope does not disappoint, because the love of God has been poured out within our hearts . . .” —Romans 5:3-5.

Not less hope but better hope.

The kind that survives disappointment.

The kind that is refined by it.

The kind that doesn’t depend on Casablanca—or anything else—being what we expected. 

Until tomorrow. GS