Rocking the Casbah

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The lobby is impressive, with three story high ceilings, and intricately carved woodwork. An extremely polite bellhop took us to our room, which was decorated in lush tapestries and every amenity we could ask for.

It was early afternoon when we arrived, and we took advantage of the weather by lounging by the poolside under the intense African sun. A pool boy brought us towels, a server came and asked us what we wanted to drink. He left a dish of nuts, and a dish of gorgeous ripe olives for us to snack on. The pool was in a garden of lush greenery and beautiful flowers. We could barely hear the city’s noise outside the high concrete walls that surrounded the hotel.

There are three restaurants on site. One is an American bar and grill. One is a lounge with a piano bar. The other is a large, beautiful dining room. We had drinks in the lounge, and moved onto the dining room for dinner. Breakfast is included in the stay. It is served on the terrace, buffet style; or you can opt to order from the menu.

The concierge is accommodating. They called us a taxi the first night to take us on a tour of the city, and the following morning, they organized a guide to take us through the Casbah.

When we got to the night club, we laughed out loud. The Moroccan music was enchanting (a live band was on the stage). Drinks were expensive ($10 each, for our white selves). The atmosphere was hilarious. White upon white...plastic white couches with tacky white walls...it looked like a wannabe eighties experience. It was empty when we arrived at one a.m., and slowly starting to fill up when we met our cab at the door at three. I asked the doorman if this was a typical Moroccan night club. He laughed. He told me it was an after hours bar; people come here when the night clubs close. We realized we had perhaps asked the wrong person for a recommendation: if our waiter works nights, of course he would go to an after hours club after work. It’s the same way here.

If nothing else, our guide WAS quite informative. He took us through the marketplace, showed us the vista that had most inspired Matisse when he lived in Tanger, and took us for tea in a carpet shop that sold beautiful tapestries and rugs. Although the hustle to purchase never ended (shopkeepers, kiosk owners, random people on the street), we avoided dropping large sums of money for anything. At one point, a man rushed out of his shop and offered Keith ten camels for me. We laughed, and our irritating guide got quite angry with us for laughing at their "cultural ways." Who were we to know that camels are a valuable currency for white women?

Before leaving Spain, where we were staying for a week or so, I had asked my troublemaking boyfriend what kind of clothes were appropriate for an African country. I had heard that Morocco was a culture that frowned upon the women showing skin, but trusted Keith, who had been there five or six times, when he told me that the dress code had relaxed, and my tiny summer dresses would do just fine.

Ha! We had barely left the hotel when I knew this to be untrue. Men stared with ogling eyes and mouths agape; women stared in open hatred. We stayed on busy streets, and were not unsafe. And it was true that the dress code had "relaxed" to the point where the teenagers did not wear veils, and could show a bit of arm or leg, but no one was as bare as I was, with my sleeveless mini-sundress. If I return to Morocco, I will dress differently, if only to demonstrate respect for a culture in which I am a visitor.