City II City

I don't have a sweet little story for you, just tidbits of windy towns and winding roads. We left Marrakech for Essaouira, Essaouira for Casablanca, and Casablanca for Fes. Essaouira is a beautiful seaside town, all crashing waves and rocks and ramparts.  The fish market was in full swing every morning, as troupes of boys hauled the big blue fishing boats in and out of the water and the fishermen displayed their catch at little tables.

We spent the (theoretically) 6 hour bus-ride from Essaouira to Casablanca chatting with an Australian couple, our new favourite people.  The view out the windows was often pretty spectacular as well, as the landscape varied from desert to lush fields.

Our new friends Robin and Michael tipped us off to the existence of a giant mosque in Casablanca that non-Muslims are allowed into.  Casablanca is otherwise a sprawling industrial city, an economic engine baring little resemblance to Hollywood movies of yore.

The Mosque was as impressive as promised.  It was built just recently in a direct effort to give Casablanca a jewel - something to anchor the city on the tourist circuit.  It was unbelievably enormous and ornate, with plush rugs covering the floors and exquisite tiling and carving at every turn.

We spent just one night in Casablanca and then hopped on a train for Fes. My mom adores trains so I think that maybe made up for the lack of alcohol in this country? (I doubt it - girl likes her wine.)

Fes is nice, so far.  My mom and I have agreed that it's definitely her feminine charms attracting the 20 or so propositions directed our way every day. "Hey, where you from? Holland? You're beautiful. Ca va? You speak English?"  It would be flattering if their intentions weren't written all over their faces. As it stands, mostly creepy.  I've taken to telling them (on my mom's behalf, obviously) that I'm from Kazakhstan and I don't speak a word of French (the common tourist language here.) Sadly I also don't speak English. Or Kazakh.