Jones

The weather overnight was awful. Pouring rain and wind rocking the van. It’s set to stay like this for a few days – some forecasts are predicting that the offshore storms in the Atlantic will land right on our parking spot. We were planning to drive inland to a Kasbah (Kasbah Boulauoane to be exact) but because of the weather vs. the touristic offers of the Kashbah (eating outside, looking at a river, looking at the Kashah itself) we decided for the more rain friendly pleasures of Casablanca and it’s highly recommended guardian parking right next to the Hassan II Mosque.

The H2M is the only mosque in all Morocco which allows us infidels in. It also claims to have the highest minaret the in the world although Wikipedia say that of the Djamaa el Djazaïr in Algiers is 55m taller.  Whatever, it’s certainly a big impressive building. The marble floored hall can hold 25,000 people for prayer. 

We were given little bags to carry our shoes in. Unfortunately the shoe-taking-off section had a wet floor so I left little damp footprints on the polished marble floor.

Our tour felt a little large and a little superficial. I imagine it’s because the English tour hoovers up everyone who doesn’t have a   tour in their own language. That also meant all the explanations we were accompanied by not quite whispered translations to Czech and American.

As we came out of the mosque the rain had stopped and the sun had come out.

Fully touristed out – probably for the week but certainly the day, we went back to the van to rescue Flynn and have a cuppa. After our second cup, the sun was still out so we want for a walk round Casablanca old town. It’s not a lovely city – it’s definitely aimed at local trade, it’s grubby and there’s lots of rubbish though. We talked about what Casablanca was like in the 40s when Mr Rick had to make his big “sexy lady or do the right thing” decision. Answer :  fewer scooters, more nazis, similar number of cats. That’s the Answer to Casablanca in the 40s, not Rick’s dilemma.

The old town was filled with street art:

We spent some time trying to use Google Translate to understand what it was all about before Jane discovered evidence it might be random.

Jane popped in to confirm our dinner reservation and Flynn tried to improve his political standing by befriending three sets of small children then destroy it by menacing a cockerel that happened to be wandering by. Morocco definitely seems to be getting more tolerant of dogs, I wish we could say the same about Professor Flynn and poultry.

Dinner was going to be a drink at Rick’s Bar followed by a slap up nosh at Dar Dada. Rick’s Bar isn’t the real Rick’s Bar (because it was all just a made up story). Rick’s Bar does have an enthusiastically enforced dress code which would be over the top in Mayfair never mind Morocco. We certainly can’t meet it from Jones. Still, the video on that page – Hannibal Lecter’s underachieving cousin interviewing startled Americans about mini skirts and “sports shoes” – put me off anyway. Maybe it was supposed to.

So, just Dar Dada then. Here we are about to start on the pud:

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The whole meal was very good: seven different types of filo stuffed with different kinds of meat, fish and cheese in various stated of being sweetened, dried or stuffed with mushrooms to start then, dorado tagine for Jane and shin beef with almonds, rose and dates for me. Those puds are a sweet pastilla for me (is there any other kind?) and a soumsoum for jane. The soumsoum is a little like a bowl of very light fool with a caramel bottom and sprinkles of fruit, nuts and other stuff.

All in all very good and washed down with a Negroni to start (take that Rick’s bar) and a bottle of Tour Roslane which is one of those Moroccan wines that was “lucky” enough to receive an AOC and even a Grand Cru designation.