So, as our journey winds on with our tour to nowhere, except another place to buy something, we find ourselves sitting in an apothecary - Moroccan “drugstore”. We sit down as our guide tells us that Morocco is famous for healing medicines and herbs of all kinds. We meet a pharmacist - well, a man in a white coat anyhow - and he goes into his pitch about all the wonderful spices you can get for food, healing herbs, aphrodisiacs, and sundry potions that can perform miracles on a broken body.
It’s amazing what aches and pains can make you buy. I am feeling pretty well, so none of it is appealing to me as I am looking out the window at a silver shop that I want to be in rather than here. However, I remain dutifully in my seat, listening to his lecture, as John and Tim begin to find healing balm for their health problems. John’s sciatic nerve is bothering him. He was stopping to rest along the way a lot on our walks, so he buys some lotion that, we are told, is very effective. John moves to the back of the room, drops his pants, and begins getting a massage on his leg. I am rather agnostic in these matters, but it is interesting to watch this experiment in healing, or lack thereof, which it turns out to be. Weeks later, after having arrived home, I inquire about the herbal medicines he had purchased. He writes this back to me: What I bought in that shop of herbal - - - -, I tossed. The massage didn't work. The "nose" spice didn't work and was dried out and the defoliant for skin is just yarn; it soon will be tossed as well. May you have better luck with your purchases. Tim is not so enamored either with his migraine headache lotion that you rub on your forehead to make your headache disappear within minutes. He does like the spices he bought, though.
Our time in Marrakech is over all too quickly, and we are on the train to Casablanca, that exotic place that is in the minds of all Americans from that great movie. This time on the train, we sit in a compartment with a new set of people. I am exhausted and fall off to sleep almost immediately, but before my eyes close I notice the eyes of the woman sitting directly across from me. She was characterized by my friends as a young Moroccan beauty. I eventually wake up, wondering whether I was snoring, or how wide my mouth was open while I was sleeping in front of her. So, there appears to be little conversation in the compartment; maybe we are just all tired. I decide to say “hello” to this woman. She responds with a smile and seems willing to talk to a stranger. Her name is Katia. She is dressed basically Western, wearing blue jeans. I tell we are going to Casablanca and ask her whether she can give us any pointers. It turns out she lives in Casablance and is more than willing to help us out. She wants to write things down for me, and takes the book I am reading to write a list of restaurants on the inside, recommending places where you can get French, Italian, Thai, Spanish food. Also, she tells us where great shopping is, the best beach, and the best place to find gelato. We are amazed at how friendly and helpful she is because we have heard that Moroccan women are not only shy, but discouraged from talking to men.
We finally arrive at our hotel which looks like something out of an Agatha Christie novel. It has a wonderful foyer and a beautiful atrium under which to have dinner. Once we are settled, we decide to have dinner at Rick’s Cafe Americana.
One of my all-time favorite films is Casablanca. I have enjoyed if for years and, of course, many of the lines in the film I have committed to memory. The actors, the story and script along with the theme song are top notch. It is a love story and an adventure story that is placed in Paris and, needless to say, in Casablanca. While Bogart and Ingrid Bergman are perfect for their parts, I particularly like Claude Rains who plays the so-called “neutral” Captain Renault. He is more than outstanding and fascinating in his portrayal. In the following dialogue Rick is asked why he came to Casablanca:
Renault: "I have often speculated on why you don't return to America. Did you abscond with the church funds? Did you run off with a senator's wife? I like to think you killed a man. It's the romantic in me."
Rick still looking in the direction of the airport: "It was a combination of all three."
Renault: "And what in heaven's name brought you to Casablanca?"
Rick: "My health. I came to Casablanca for the waters."
Renault: "Waters? What waters? We're in the desert."
Rick: "I was misinformed."
I did not go to Casablanca for the waters either. I have always wanted to see Morocco and North Africa. It is clear that Casablanca was put on the map in the mind of millions from the movie. It was through the movie that I first learned of such a place. It was, however, not even filmed on location but on a Hollywood back lot in the 1940s.
Today the “town” is big and booming with life. It is really a city with a lot of industrial activity, traffic, and commerce happening. It is the third-largest city in Africa and is quite expansive. We stayed by the harbor, which is not the most beautiful part of this city, in a great hotel—that reminds one of the setting for an Agatha Christie novel. However, not far from us is a restaurant called Rick’s. It is not that old—in fact, of recent vintage. You think there must have been a Rick’s Café American that inspired the movie, but that is not the case. It is built from an old house that was converted into a place that resembles the set of Casablanca. As I come through the entrance, I feel like I am entering into the movie. It is really fun and enjoyable and adds to our nightlife.
We meet the owner, known as “Madame Rick”, who is originally from Portland. She had a dream of creating a place where “each day myth becomes reality and the dream comes true.” She is welcoming and enjoyable to converse with and is extremely proud of her establishment. The food is mediocre—but we are not really there for that. She also runs the film Casablanca continuously upstairs without sound. People are sitting around watching it and enjoying it without hearing the wonderful dialogue. Who needs sound? - if you are a fan, you know the story and the words. The place is just a monument to the magic that was created back in the 1940s by Bogart and Bergman. It is amazing where you can find your inspiration.
So there we sit with the piano player playing on a baby grand and not an upright. He tells me he plays “As time goes by” five or six times during the course of the evening. That’s OK, just “play it again, Sam” for us. We can imagine ourselves as freedom fighters in North Africa under the threat of German occupation, mixing with the occupied French, those trying to escape the hands of the Nazis, and mingling with interesting but unsavory types that have come to Casablanca and all that that means.
“Here’s looking at you… Casablanca”.
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