Impressionists are from France
Before I pack up my stuff into my tiny little bag and set off for the day, let me share a few impressions of Morocco as seen in Casablanca these last few days. Randomly. Of course. Have you met me? I only do random.
Lillies are not a good choice for the lobby of a hotel. Ever. The things STINK and when you have been on a plane for 325 hours they do not make a stomach feel settled.
Cats and dogs run everywhere. I have noticed that the dogs, being strays, are all bred down to such a mutt let that they all look alike. I saw one dog that looked like Daisy but it was rolling in the dirt outside a motor shop and its fur was dirty like dreadlocks after a wind storm. Donkey carts are everywhere in the suburbs. Not so much in town but not unheard of. They are cute, but sometimes when you stand there with a dumb look on your face and a cart strapped to your back, you can’t help but look like an ass.
Honking. There is a horn on every car. It is used to communicate. It communicates turns, stops displeasure with other peoples stops. It communicates potential collisions, possible pedestrian knock downs, motor bikes in the way, left turns from the right and lane across another car. It communicates feelings of joy, marital trouble and possibly constipation. The horn is the only part of the car that has any real control. And yet, despite the complete disregard for human life and traffic laws….not one accident. Everyone looks out for everyone else. So calming. Unless you want to sleep.
Muslim women are really really lovely and so friendly. I wish they would talk more and be more outgoing. But…well. ‘nough said. There is a TON of non verbal communication. Eyes, empathy, smiles, grins. Non verbal but communication certainly. Unfortunately, we are working on French and Dirija for now. We will work on women speak later. Wise old souls it seems. And we love them.
The men are really friendly too and mostly not in a creepy way. Apparently Quebec French was created by a group of French people from a fortress in Perche, Brittany in the 1800’s. These people wanted to be left alone and therefore moved their selves to Canada and settled in Quebec. (so the whole separatist thing comes naturally to these outcast settlers). SO, what does this have to do with the price of cheese? Having been raised in English speaking Canada and being force fed French lessons in school as a result of Bill 101, our French pronunciation is so OLD, over, done, and NOT French at all that we are laughed at affectionately. Like children who say silly things. Hence the man at the airport that laughed in Laura’s face. So now you know.
Bugs. Get used to crawly bugs. Just …..get used to it.
The people are rather fashionable. The women are in full cover burka from eye slit to toe, and then there is the next lady that could have just been walking down Robson Street. So fashionable and sometimes not so conservative. And the same goes for the men too. Interesting. The people so far are really great.
Oh, and the last impression. These people have no damn idea how hot it is. Our room is like an old shoe box and the high fan barely works. I sweat just thinking about getting into the shower. Our restaurant last night was also not ventilated, air conditioned, windowed. Nothing. Do you need a number for the ceiling fan distribution company???? Ooooooh , niche market. Something to think about as you pass through a hot flash.
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