moroccan bars

unlike many muslim nations, alcohol is legal in morocco, and relatively widely available. however, the bars are an exclusively male preserve (with one exception i will explain shortly)

i got to casablanca this morning, splurged on a decent hotel room (splurged means i spent 18 dollars a night instead of 12), and head off to see the Hassan II mosque. a towering creation built at the edge of this sea, it dominates the skyline from most angles of casa. interestingly, it is a modern construction, the brainchild of the prior king, and it was only completed in 1996. young, perhaps, but that makes it no less impressive. (i remember what a hungarian once told me when comparing prague to budapest - 'yes, prague's buildings are much older but all that really means is that they are coated in many more layers of dirt.') uniquely, it is one of the only two mosques in morocco that allow non-muslims inside (for a generous fee). after a look through the mosque, i walked back towards my hotel, finding a patisserie for some baked goods and sought out a place to enjoy a café noire with my pastries.

what i did not realize was that this cafeé was also a bar. after finishing my coffee on the outside patio, i was cajoled into having a beer with a couple of older moroccans - we will call the guy that invited me to drink with them Manny (he was wearing a pirated Red Sox cap but he had no idea what that meant). we will call the other guy i was sitting with M'hamed, because that was this burly, former soldier's actual name. after sitting down inside the very smoky bar, i quickly realized 1 - these guys were very drunk, 2 - it was not even 5 o'clock, 3 - these guys weren't just drunk but general degenerates as well. well i had a few laughs with them; so i agreed to buy a round of beers (i sort of knew i was being hussled but i was having a laugh and 4 beers isn't very expensive in morocco). why four? for my two friends and their lady friend, one of the guy's 'sisters,' a woman who was undoubtedly a prostitute.

well i am watching the africa cup and these guys cannot even remember if i am american or dutch or israeli. manny wants to drink wine, of course on me, but my genrosity extended to one round, thank you very much. fortunately, the waiter was tres honnete and was making distinct eye contact/affirmation en francais before adding any drinks to my tab. eventually manny disappears, as does his 'sister' although to be honest i am not totally sure they were related events. anyway, some of the guys from a neighboring table came over to visit, which m'hamid tired of quickly and sent them away _ in arabic but i knew he was not being nice, at all. 'let's go' he said to me in one of the 10 phrases of english he knew. i told him i needed to pay my tab (no surprises) and then he gave me a moraccan good bye embrace ('you are friend') and i walked out the front door.

i got outside, looked behind me, and i really was not sure whether m'hamid expected me to wait for him. like a character in a spy movie, i removed my distinctive colored cap, took off my bright blue fleece and jumped into a crowed, melting away from this degenerate gin joint and its related troubles...