Casablanca. Wow, where do I begin? So before we get started, just a warning, there is going to be a lot of typing in the beginning. I have so many thoughts rattling around in my head, so many notes taken on the road and while there... it feels like a whole novel worth of material for a two day stay in a relatively urban city gracing the coast of northwest Africa. Anyway, if that's not your cup of tea, skim down to the pictures.
But I think, as with most romantics and film buffs, Casablanca will always hold a special place in my heart. Perhaps even in the sub-cockle region. To me, Casablanca never really meant anything as a tangible destination for the longest time. Sure, I loved the film and considered the entire story, screenplay, cinematography, directing, and editing to be among (if not) the finest I'd ever seen, but it had no personal impact. That was, of course, until I met my my most recent ex-girlfriend.
Since many a reader of this blog (assuming there is more than one) may not know the story of us, allow me to provide a "brief" summary. I met my ex in China. Well, no that's not entirely true. I saw her several weeks before that. She was sitting in class wearing a totally nondescript brown hoodie. But I have to admit attire aside I was a bit smitten. I had signed up for the China trip (which gave us two classes worth of credit) when I was an intern with Deloitte in NY. It was only the second time I would have left the country (after Mexico) but I had always wanted to do a study abroad so I figured, screw it, if not now, then when?
So I ponied up, paid the amounts and flushed myself through the process of securing a passport to guarantee my trip to China. Without delving into too much detail (that probably deserves a book of its own), the two of us hit it off immediately in China. As noted, I had seen her in class but I had yet to talk to her- I was somewhat pensive/shy without the liberating effect of alcohol in these my early and formative years. Yet, despite my natural apprehension, the most dissuading element in pursuing this young woman was the glittering rock adorning her finger- one over from the pinky. That's right, she was married.
Not wanting to overtly do anything to break up a marriage, I tried not to make any deliberate moves. That said, by sheer chance and the rule of numbers we did ultimately get to talking, and as I said we hit it off. Despite our best efforts, and against our better judgement, a passionate and yet tragic romance ensued. I would be remiss if I didn't say I loved her immensely during our time together. And for many many years after I bore the guilt (deserved or not) of what happened with her marriage.
But right from the beginning our attraction suffered from an ill fate. I recognized the all-too-familiar arrangement immediately from the film I had seen ages ago. And so I recommended Casablanca to her. It instantly became our movie as we projected ourselves into the characters. She was Ilsa, imbedded in a relationship for which she had immense respect but wherein her heart did not truly lie. I was Rick, a man who was fortunate enough for a brief period with this person, happened to snare her heart; but the combination of the two simply wasn't meant to be. Ilsa was due to leave Casablanca to continue to inspire Victor Laszlo.
But in our lives, the truth didn't quite follow fiction. In this real life example, Ilsa ended up in New York, and the two of us began a new life. And I'd be a liar if I said that for a brief period it wasn't good. In fact, it was great. We talked about long-term life together and all the trappings that would entail. And she said that the one place she wanted to go for a honeymoon, if she ever did again, was Casablanca, Morocco. Ah-HA! So here you, lucky sleuths, have it- the purpose for this whole immense (non-picturey) drivel. I don't really like to tell this story- I'm not sure why, perhaps it makes me seem more human- a thought that I abhor. I prefer to exist enigmatic... but I guess I shouldn't have started this damn thing if I intended to keep up that facade. Que sera sera.
But anyway, as all great romances go, the fantasy always stands up heartier than the reality. And in this case the reality I came to discover was that after years of well intended yet misplaced affection, emotion, and trust, we were in fact not meant for each other. What was once a glorious fantasy had become a melancholy nightmare. And, as oft happens, our great romance turned into a wilted and somber tale. And we left New York separately but still confused as to what role either of us would play in the other's life. A confusion that you might notice in prior entries of this "blog" continues to present itself. I'd now say that our relationship borders on mildly adversarial at best and downright cutthroat at worst. Such, I suppose, is the way good romances go.
The simplistic irony of the story in itself is not lost upon me. Rick and Ilsa had conspired to leave Casablanca together but were unable achieve it. We departed on a life together but were never able to be together in Casablanca. Reading this "blog" some might come to the conclusion that I was leaving NY to run away from the relationship and that life. And while that thought process is certainly not without merit, in this case I can honestly say with certainty- that it was not the case. I was simply at a juncture in my life, a rut in all regards, and it was time to go forth and experience new things- see the world. That said, I'd be remiss if I didn't admit that without my experiences with her I wouldn't be the man I am today. So in that regard, even though things didn't work out and we've irrevocably gone our separate ways, I still owe her a great deal of recognition for my development as a person.
All of that sorted history put forth, not a single scrap of it diminishes in any portion the significance of me visiting Casablanca without her. From the second I stepped off the train my mind was on her to some extent. On what could have been. On what was wasted away. On what, if we were different people and the times were changed, could possibly have been. But at the end of all such ruminations, it was just me. Standing on a dusty scorched platform by myself, wondering exactly what to do now.
So, as anyone in my position would do, I pulled myself up by the bootstraps and pressed on. And what I came to realize, stunningly, was that the moments I would experience in Casablanca, which seemed so destined for us, were in fact moments that in our present stages of life neither of us could have enjoyed together. Certainly not to the extent that what we had hoped. I could have perhaps enjoyed them with others I have met in my years, but the greatest irony of our self-prescribed destinies in this place was simply that despite everything, those seminal moments were forever unattainable for us because of everything that has transpired since those early moments.
But... that old saga now told, dear reader (and thanks for hanging in there!), let's get to it! In appreciation of the past week of consistent sun, and with a tip of the cap to the ex, I decided it best to walk from the train station to the hotel. I had mapped it out and felt fairly confident about where I was going. But, before I get going into the whereabouts of the hotel I should note the following: this was the first time I had utilized Starwood points during my travels. Notwithstanding that I had around 100,000 points to throw away, I felt that the only way to truly experience the world and the cities I wanted to was to immerse myself in the local abodes and people. It's hard to do that hiding behind one's hundred-euro rooms, even if you can score them for free.
But... that old saga now told, dear reader (and thanks for hanging in there!), let's get to it! In appreciation of the past week of consistent sun, and with a tip of the cap to the ex, I decided it best to walk from the train station to the hotel. I had mapped it out and felt fairly confident about where I was going. But, before I get going into the whereabouts of the hotel I should note the following: this was the first time I had utilized Starwood points during my travels. Notwithstanding that I had around 100,000 points to throw away, I felt that the only way to truly experience the world and the cities I wanted to was to immerse myself in the local abodes and people. It's hard to do that hiding behind one's hundred-euro rooms, even if you can score them for free.
But, considering my only time there (and this will likely be my only time) was supposed to be a "honeymoon" of sorts, I decided to liquidate a small heap of Starwood points and book a room at the Sheraton Casablanca. I chose this particular property over the more lush Le Meridien specifically because the Sheraton has... my Allah, a pool. So once I had located this oasis, it pretty much dominated my time in Casablanca.
But before I begin describing my time in Casablanca, let me make a few notes. One, no one in Casablanca calls it that. It's simply Casa. Second, for those of you fans of the film and the exotic allure of Morocco: Casa is not your place. It's a proper modern city. I quite liked it, but most people on their way through Morocco find it distasteful because I suppose it doesn't feel very "Moroccan." That said, there are an immense amount of public works currently being undertaken which I imagine, when complete, will make Casa a "lovely place to holiday." Damn, my English is getting so British!
I think clearly the most touristic thing to see in Casa is the mosque. Supposedly one of the largest in Africa if not the world, it stands imposingly on a cliff facing the Atlantic. Unfortunately at the time I went it was not open for a tour, however, merely from walking around it I was tremendously impressed enough that an interior tour could have done very little to bolster my already lofty opinion. In fact, I'd say with the exception of maybe the Pink Mosque in Malaysia and the Blue Mosque in Istanbul, it was the singularly most impressive Muslim edifice I've had the pleasure of seeing.
After viewing the mosque, I roamed around eventually locating the prize of Casa in my mind, Rick's Cafe. Fans of the film will be thrilled by this place. Opened by an (obviously) American who was a (not so obviously) former diplomat, the Cafe attempts to conjure up the essence of the film and 1940's French Morocco. I think the sentimentalist in me wishes it was called Rick's Café Américain, but that didn't diminish the overall allure. I decided to save the experience for the next (my last) night in Casa.
Since my accommodations were relatively expensive compared to the rest of my time in Morocco, I decided to procure some groceries and eat cheaply the first night. Luckily there was a supermarket nearby that had not only cheap sandwich materials but also carried... booze! Whoo-hoo! So long dry Morocco! So, with a fistful of dirhams, I acquired what I consider the Casablanca survival kit:
The next morning I, for the first time since leaving the States, went to the gym! It was so good to put in a serious run and life some heavy things and set them down. My workday being complete, it was then time to proceed to the pool for an afternoon of sunning and enjoying Casablanca beers.
I took a dip in the pool after a bit only to discover it was freezing! So, being all sunned out, I retired to the shade of the bar for the remainder of the afternoon where I pounded out the Essaouira blog entry.
After soaking up rays and putting in some good time on the blog, etc., it was time for a shave. So, midway through the shave, my first in over a month, I stumbled upon a great idea. I shaved precisely one half of my face and left the other half bearded. Which Mike do you prefer?
After the shave (which took approximately 45 minutes), it was time to head to Rick's. I must say, I really wasn't prepared for how great Rick's was. The food was phenomenal, perhaps the best I've had since leaving NY, and the atmosphere was fantastic. There is, per requisite, live piano music, and appropriately every so often "As Time Goes By" rings out. I'd again be lying if I didn't say I felt a bit of a sting every time those infamous chords were struck.
But that part of my life is long behind me. And great food, wine, and atmosphere aside, I found myself at Rick's as a party of one. And as such, I enjoyed the sounds of Dooley Wilson as Rick once did, by himself, wistful yet immutably separated from the meaning behind the songs he once loved so much.
But before I begin describing my time in Casablanca, let me make a few notes. One, no one in Casablanca calls it that. It's simply Casa. Second, for those of you fans of the film and the exotic allure of Morocco: Casa is not your place. It's a proper modern city. I quite liked it, but most people on their way through Morocco find it distasteful because I suppose it doesn't feel very "Moroccan." That said, there are an immense amount of public works currently being undertaken which I imagine, when complete, will make Casa a "lovely place to holiday." Damn, my English is getting so British!
I think clearly the most touristic thing to see in Casa is the mosque. Supposedly one of the largest in Africa if not the world, it stands imposingly on a cliff facing the Atlantic. Unfortunately at the time I went it was not open for a tour, however, merely from walking around it I was tremendously impressed enough that an interior tour could have done very little to bolster my already lofty opinion. In fact, I'd say with the exception of maybe the Pink Mosque in Malaysia and the Blue Mosque in Istanbul, it was the singularly most impressive Muslim edifice I've had the pleasure of seeing.
After viewing the mosque, I roamed around eventually locating the prize of Casa in my mind, Rick's Cafe. Fans of the film will be thrilled by this place. Opened by an (obviously) American who was a (not so obviously) former diplomat, the Cafe attempts to conjure up the essence of the film and 1940's French Morocco. I think the sentimentalist in me wishes it was called Rick's Café Américain, but that didn't diminish the overall allure. I decided to save the experience for the next (my last) night in Casa.
Since my accommodations were relatively expensive compared to the rest of my time in Morocco, I decided to procure some groceries and eat cheaply the first night. Luckily there was a supermarket nearby that had not only cheap sandwich materials but also carried... booze! Whoo-hoo! So long dry Morocco! So, with a fistful of dirhams, I acquired what I consider the Casablanca survival kit:
The next morning I, for the first time since leaving the States, went to the gym! It was so good to put in a serious run and life some heavy things and set them down. My workday being complete, it was then time to proceed to the pool for an afternoon of sunning and enjoying Casablanca beers.
I took a dip in the pool after a bit only to discover it was freezing! So, being all sunned out, I retired to the shade of the bar for the remainder of the afternoon where I pounded out the Essaouira blog entry.
After soaking up rays and putting in some good time on the blog, etc., it was time for a shave. So, midway through the shave, my first in over a month, I stumbled upon a great idea. I shaved precisely one half of my face and left the other half bearded. Which Mike do you prefer?
After the shave (which took approximately 45 minutes), it was time to head to Rick's. I must say, I really wasn't prepared for how great Rick's was. The food was phenomenal, perhaps the best I've had since leaving NY, and the atmosphere was fantastic. There is, per requisite, live piano music, and appropriately every so often "As Time Goes By" rings out. I'd again be lying if I didn't say I felt a bit of a sting every time those infamous chords were struck.
But that part of my life is long behind me. And great food, wine, and atmosphere aside, I found myself at Rick's as a party of one. And as such, I enjoyed the sounds of Dooley Wilson as Rick once did, by himself, wistful yet immutably separated from the meaning behind the songs he once loved so much.
No comments:
Post a Comment