Casablanca Journal - Day 3

Three colleagues and I were sent to Casablanca for business three weeks ago. The trip lasted four days, so I kept a daily journal.This is the third day.

During a break in the meeting, we took in the view from atop our client's building.

Eating to Excess

The hotel’s breakfast is a rich buffet. There is an omelette chef, a lady who makes pancakes, and a spread of Moroccan dates, almonds, merguez sausages, and other local deliciousness. For Westerners, there are cupcakes and a love-handle load of sugary pastries on a table. Yes, there are also fried potatoes and broiled tomatoes. There are cheeses, olives and, yes, a small pork section for those who don’t do halal.

So we sit down here, eat too much, and feel truly North American in our needless excesses. Pass the cupcakes!

To the Meeting!

We catch a cab and begin the battle with traffic. Casablanca traffic is a study in the chaos theory. It seems disorderly, with bicycles, motorcycles and mopeds diving between cars, pedestrians ignoring crosswalks and crossing wherever they please. The lines painted on the road are really just abstract theories, cars jump out into opposing traffic to pass cars, they make wild left turns from the far right lane at intersections. They jockey for pole position at stoplights, which are the only traffic law obeyed here.

But! The traffic moves and it seems to fit the flow of the city. As a client put it yesterday, you can’t get angry about traffic here, it won’t do any good.

Casablanca traffic. An orderly snarl.

This is an Office? 

The client’s office is in a walled compound with trees, flowers and other lush surroundings. Walking to the main office building was like walking through a garden. The office building is built around an atrium with gilded wood arches and a beautifully tiled floor and mosaic on the ceiling. It’s a beautiful office to visit and a welcome change from the beige-grey offices I’m accustomed to.

Trial by Taxi

After the meeting, the client called for cabs. The office is in a nice neighbourhood and doesn’t see too many cabs. We waited a half hour before the first one came. Then Arnold and I waited another half hour.

Growing impatient we hailed a Petit Taxi, which are shared cabs, so with two out of three spaces filled our cabbie was pulling over for fares on the way to the hotel.

No one was going in that direction and the cabbie made quick work of the trip – scooting down side streets at break-neck speeds and sliding between garbage trucks and oncoming traffic. It was a cheap fare to boot.

Friends of Friends in Strange Places

A colleague from deepblue Budapest has a friend in Morocco, who we met her for coffee. Naturally, traffic came up. She finds moves too slowly and is accustomed to the lax traffic enforcement of Mexico, apparently the land of the loco speed demons. Here there’s a speed limit that’s obeyed, so she gets pulled over often and has to talk her way out of it.

She moved to Casablanca after marrying a Moroccan man. I give her credit, she moved here without any friends and she’s thriving – a very brave lady.

I Hate Haggling

Once again we took a taxi, the same one we took us there.The cab driver demanded more because he had to return to the cafe to pick us up, I got grumpy and said that’s not happening, he’s already getting a tourist-whitey fare. He didn’t object. I’m getting sick of the haggling here, but I might be getting the hang of it.

Rick’s Cafe

Katie made reservations for dinner at Rick’s Cafe tonight. The movie Casablanca wasn’t filmed in Casablanca, but an enterprising individual opened a Rick’s anyway. It’ll be pricey, but I’m looking forward to it, I’m a fan of the movie and I think I’ll finally do the lamb...

Rick's Cafe... and Arnold in mid-bite.

Casablanca Journal - Day 2

Three colleagues and I were sent to Casablanca for business three weeks ago. The trip lasted four days, so I kept a daily journal.This is the second day.  

The neighbourhood around our hotel.

Breakfast of Champions

Good breakfast this morning. I was the first downstairs and met our omelette/pancake cook, Ami. Friendly guy. He laughed at my jokes, even the lame ones. He whipped up some Moroccan-style pancakes, which are made with ground-up couscous, and topped with honey and an almond spread that’s made from pulverized almonds and argan oil. I like Moroccan breakfasts.

Luggage Update

According to the airline people, Katie and Malika’s luggage didn’t even make it onto the plane in Rome, so it might arrive later that night on the midnight flight.

With no luggage, Katie and Malika went out shopping, while Arnold and I went for a quick Discovery Walk around the block. Nothing to report, Katie bought a dress, Malika bought a top, but neither could find appropriate hair product. Meanwhile Arnold and I learned to play frogger through Casablanca’s free-for-all traffic.

Time to Work

We began the process of understanding the market, so we toured the cigarette vendors of Casablanca. There are plenty of smokers and we’re allowed to advertise in-store, but they’re all so small and crowded.

The big thing that everyone talks about is everybody buys their cigarettes individually, especially at bars where waiters and bartenders sell their own smokes to patrons. It’s not legal, but it’s not enforced either.

This reminds me of a conversation with a friend when I used to be the guy who only smoked while he was drinking. We agreed that if we could just buy one smoke when we wanted it at the bar, we wouldn’t come home with half a pack that tempted us the next day.

Morocco understands the smoker I used to be. 

One of the crazy crowded kiosks. I can't even find the smokes.

Seeing Casablanca from the Backseat

Casablanca is Morocco’s biggest city and people from all over the country flock here for work and other opportunities. It’s a big country. There’s a huge rural population and plenty of cities strung along its coast, so there are a lot of different people from different backgrounds.

The easiest way to recognize them is how they dress. Some men wear the long kaftan, while others wear jeans and t-shirts – although almost nobody wears shorts.

For the women, there are a few burqas, but not many. Most wear brilliantly-coloured, ankle-length dresses with vibrant head scarves. Many other women wear trousers and modest tops but, like the men, few bare legs.

Over lunch one of our clients mentioned that Moroccan society, despite appearing modern, is actually very traditional, with a focus on family and religion. He described it as traditional with a modern coating over top.

HoReCa Tour!

After a break to change and refresh, which is difficult for luggage-less Malika and Katie – who are craving their favourite shampoos and other product in this heat – we will be visiting a few bars with the client to investigate tobacco advertising opportunities, get a feel for the target in their natural habitat, and, of course, have a drink (we're in advertising, after all).

Casablanca Journal - Day 1

Three colleagues and I were sent to Casablanca for business three weeks ago. The trip lasted four days, so I kept a daily journal. This is the first day. 

We arrived at the Hassan Mosque before evening prayers
and it was a hub of activity.

So Long Luggage

We have arrived in Casablanca, although without some luggage. Katie and Malika both checked their baggage in Budapest and, probably because we only had an hour to change flights in Rome, their baggage is lost.

Their hair product and business outfits are in those cases, which is not a good situation to be in when you’re looking at two days of client meetings and retail outlet tours.

Tissue Vendors

At stoplights, vendors walk between cars selling boxes of tissues. In one case, a guy in the backseat of a BMW bought a box of tissues from a vendor while the light was changing. As the vendor was fumbling for change, the car began lurching forward, so the passenger just took two boxes instead of the change and sped off.

Medina Discovery Walk

We checked into the hotel and went for a Discovery Walk to the Medina, which is Casablanca’s old market. We quickly got lost in the maze of old buildings, narrow streets, and stalls.

Along the way we met Omar, who latched onto Arnold right away. Omar told us he would guide us through the market and took us to a shop, where he was clearly had the job of steering tourists in. Another guide brought in a couple of Dutch sailors.

We purchased a few things and Omar took us for a walk through the market, slowly guiding us to our destination: the Hassan Mosque. Along the way, he talked about fighting in the war, living in the mountains, traveling with Berber nomads in the desert, a dead wife, and all manner of hard luck stories. It all could have been true, or simply tall tales, because when we reached the mosque, we felt obliged to give him a couple of Euros, enough if he didn’t expect payment for his tour guide services.

Eating like Moroccans

For dinner we went out for some traditional Moroccan grub: Tagine. I got the Chicken Tagine with vegetables and couscous. Delicious stuff, but Malika wisely ordered the lamb with stewed prunes. She’s a light eater, so I helped out and quickly realized I should have ordered the lamb.