Morocco, Day 4: Casablanca

Was awoken early on Day 4 in Morocco by the obnoxious ringing of the ship’s room-to-room telephone.

“Hello…?” I mumbled.

“Hi, Marek!” came the chipper voice of rich boy.

“Whattttt…?” I half-whined, half-groaned. Who had given him my number?

“Whatcha doing in Casablanca today?”

“I don’t know…? Going to the bazaar with my fr--“

“Oh, cool! I’m coming with you!”

Gaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah. At what point in the etiquette-obsessed high society did it become proper to continually invite oneself into my personal life? Like seriously. I was raised to believe that when you’re going to sit at a table with someone, you start by asking “can I sit here?” When you want to go somewhere with someone, you ask “can I come with you?” You don’t just barge in and assume everybody is graced by your presence. But rich boy does both those things to me, and on a regular basis. Honestly, I wouldn’t dislike him nearly as much if he’d just STOP. DOING. THAT. But the message doesn’t appear to be getting through. Maybe I should stop bitching about it on my blog and start doing it to his face.

That aside, I managed to break away from rich boy eventually and proceeded to explore Casablanca. I didn’t have much planned for the day. All I knew was that I needed to be back on the ship by 6:00pm, and I HAD to buy my little brother a fez. It was the one thing he had asked for before I left, it was my last day in Morocco, and God help them if anyone stood in my way. It was time to put my haggling skills to the test one last time. Yet again, I’d rate myself as thoroughly average throughout most of the day. Here are my results:

A Moroccan tunic top: Was originally 220 dirham, got him down to 120 by trying the shirt on, looking happy, taking it off, looking unhappy and apologetic, and starting to leave.

A fez for my brother: Went to two shops. One was selling them for 100 dirham and wouldn’t barter at all. One was selling them for 50 and was willing to go to 30 dirham. I felt good about that until my friend Jake haggled the same guy down to 25. A difference of about 75 cents when converted back to US money, but still…

A keychain: I got it for free by making friends with the shop owner. He even had tea with me. I think I won that battle fair and square.
Pants for a girl on SAS: I’m proud of this one. After having annoyed the people who gave me my tunic top until they sold me my shirt for 120 dirham, I proceeded to come in and out of the store for hours on end with a friend of mine as she constantly demanded pants for under 120 dirham. The original price was yet again 220. They said no, no, and no again. Finally, as the day was ending, I took the shopkeeper aside, used my “give-me-sympathy” face and said, “Look…my friend REALLY wants those pants. But she honestly only has that 80 dirham on her right now. I just want her to be happy…” I pulled out some US cash and gave an ultra shy, effeminate look. “If I give you this, which is all I have in my wallet, will you please consider letting her have the pants? Pleaaase?” My lips trembled.

She got those pants for 100dirham. BAM.

As my reward for helping her get the pants, my friend (her name is Linda) and her boyfriend showed me a great spot to eat. It was the fisherman’s wharf of Casablanca, and incredibly cheap. Apparently, we got to eat the last two tagines they had, because they had been specially prepared for Linda and her boyfriend who had eaten there earlier and promised to come back. I was graced with some of the freshest fish of my life, and I mean REAL fish. You know: skin on, bones in. It was awesome. Surrounded by a sea of hungry Moroccan fishermen eating either my same fish tagine, whole sardines, or shrimp scrambled with eggs (yum), I chowed down and spit out spinal cords like a champ. I’d never felt more “Moroccan” in my life.

I got back to the ship at 4:00, did some homework, and enjoyed listening to my friends’ stories about their experiences in Morocco. It sounds like that for all the eye-rolling I did about it, the camel trekking trips were actually out-of-this-world good. Their pictures made me slightly regret not having gone with them. Maybe next time, Morocco. Maybe next time.

I left Morocco with both very good and very bad memories. The country may not have been as awesome as I was hoping for, but I definitely learned a lot, both about the country, the people, and myself. I feel that I’m coming out of my first port a better person: smarter, cleverer, more confident, and most of all more aware of the realities of the non-suburban world.

Then I got seasick and threw up again.