Checked out and trudged down to the train station.
Really, Morocco is one of the worst countries for pedestrians. If they have a bit of a footpath, it will suddenly narrow, then you’ll have a tree, a post and a hole all vying for the little bit that’s left, then you’ll come to where they have ‘borrowed’ the bricks from the footpath for some reason, then you’ll get to a curb with no ramp. All in all you end up carrying your suitcase a fair bit of the way.
Green men displayed at traffic lights don’t actually mean its safe to cross. It just means that the cars are facing a red light. Alarmingly when the red men show, the cars have a green light – even if you are only half way across. Crossings without lights are always marked with zebra stripes, but just don’t expect cars to stop for you. It means that this is where the pedestrians can commit suicide with reasonable certainty. But we are used to it now, and eventually made it.
Marrakech is the start of the line, so we didn’t have anybody occupying our seats this time. However, just as it came time to depart, the sixth passenger arrived in our vestibule, with an exhausted porter in tow, with six (yep, six) suitcases and bags that she proceeded to put on the floor, in between other passengers legs, and in the corridor (but none in her way of course). Her cases were on wheels and kept wandering down the passageway as the train went around curves, and then she offered the coffee cart vendor a $50 note for a $2 coffee. At one stage she got her Louis Vitton mask out of her Louis Vitton handbag, but she was the only person not to wear it. I’m pretty sure her name would be Kim K.
The rest of the passengers were incredibly patient, and we arrived safely in Casa around lunchtime.
Had a lovely pizza for lunch while we killed time until check in, and walked down the road to our apartment through a huge construction zone for the new tram line. Did I mention that Morocco was not pedestrian friendly?
The cleaner was just starting to clean our apartment when we arrived 30 mins after check in time, and when she left we realised that there was no toilet paper or dishwashing liquid amongst a long list, so it was off to Carrefors to put some more money in the king’s coffers (yep, he owns the supermarkets too). Luckily its next door.
Thought I’d turn the TV on over dinner. Every apartment boasts one, so why not. Well, yes, they do have a TV as advertised and, no, they didn’t actually claim that they had any television cable subscriptions so you could watch some programs so I can’t really pick on them. Bad assumption on my part I guess.
4eme etage, 171 Boulevard de la Résistance, N°79, Casablanca, Casablanca-Settat 20250, Morocco