First sights and sounds of Casablanca

Slowly sipping a Coca-Cola in a café next to a busy intersection. The clamor of dishes in the background. Cars roll by in the foreground with only a little honking. A covered, protected feeling from the dark, tall valance covering the tables. The evening sun bright and warm on the sides of white cement buildings crowded more closely and helter-skelter than that of Fes. Pedestrians walk by, mostly dressed modern, carrying big colorful shopping sacs. To my right a huddle of three dark heads tuck into a greasy, messy pile of frites and sandwiches washed down with Arabic printed glass Coca-Cola bottles. To my left a man pours a high stream of steaming mint tea from a silver kettle that lands in the small glass below in a waterfall-esque rush of yellow bubbles with a vigorous swirl of green flecks. Pour high. Dump back in kettle. Pour. Dump. Pour. Dump. It’s rhythmic. A few children run by, followed by their father who slaps the waiter on the shoulder and stops for a cheery hello. An older man stops in the doorway and yells something friendly in Arabic and touches his hand to his heart, laughs at the return greeting and walks away smiling. All the noises and rush of a hustling and bustling city, coupled with the Moroccan patience and hospitality has me observing with fascination and curiosity. Maybe a day and half alone won’t be the solitary confinement I was worried it would be. In fact, I might just really like it here.