After a bus journey to Marrakesh , it was time to split the company. David stayed in Marrakesh while Mirjam and I took the train for Casablanca. The almost 3 hours of discomfort in the second class was not my most favorite experience, and the train was packed with locals with no significant air conditioning so that by the end of the ride, I felt myself drained of all manifestations of life, like a deflated balloon!
But Casablanca was a significant stop on my trip. Many travelers would say that Casablanca is just a big jungle of concrete not interesting to visit. For me, big cities are homes for many smart and professional people, which is a big focus of mine in my trips.
***
On the first day in Casablanca, I had a local breakfast and then headed to meet Mirjam to visit the remarkable Hassan II Mosque. It is the largest functioning mosque in Africa, and its minaret ranks as the second tallest in the world. When we arrived, the 60-story minaret was almost disappearing in the fog that surrounded the mosque. It was nearly prayer time, making it clear that Mirjam wouldn’t be going inside. I decided to attend the Friday prayer, while Mirjam waited in a café, and we met again after the prayer.
The mosque is immense, and its decorations exude majesty. Intricate patterns in marble, wood, and other materials, the nature of which I couldn’t identify, contributed to a certain atmosphere of peace and serenity.
During the “Khutbah,” the imam’s sermon, the topic was the earthquake, highlighting how Moroccans were united in managing the aftermath. The absence of differences between Arabs and Berbers hinted at underlying sensitivities in the region. Throughout my trip, I encountered many Moroccans who took immense pride in their nation’s earthquake response, recounting stories of how they proudly declined assistance from France. France was not amused.
After visiting the mosque, I met Mirjam again, who had managed to make a random new friend, Faisal, a local young guy in his thirties. I also got to know Faisal while observing surfers ride the high ocean waves just outside the mosque. Faisal didn’t hide the fact that he was deported from Germany after living there for 5 years. He was then trying to build his startup, specializing in various crimes like stealing and selling drugs. He traveled around many European countries in the process of finding a new home. After his deportation, he decided to start a new life and switch to the side of the angels by visiting Mecca. He currently works as a taxi driver, and today was his day off. We all went to the “Medina” together, where we had a quiet, fancy lunch with even better food than usual. Afterwards, we joined a Couchsurfing meeting where many young Moroccans and travelers gathered for chatting and later for a party. At some point, I detached to visit a Latin party, only to find that it was canceled because of the prophet’s birthday (which is not as important for Muslims as Christmas is for Christians). I called it a night.
***
The next day I went again for a local breakfast and decided to have a Moroccan hammam experience. Who could imagine, that there is a big colossal hammam underneath the big Hassan II mosque?
I decided to go all-in, and took the deluxe package with all the features, which costed me around 60 euros.
First, I found myself in a jacuzzi filled with sea water, where I tortured my body with a hydraulic massage. After around 30 min, they took me to a steam room, where my hammam-man (?, I don’t name of this job, maybe hammamist?) soaped up my body, and I stayed there for eternity, I think to open the pores of the skin to receive the next mystery.
Then came the main event – the hammam table. The hammamist got to work, scrubbing away at my skin like it was his enemy. As I sat down, I noticed some dark thingies on the floor. With an embarrassment, I asked him if that was what he had just exfoliated from my skin. He grinned and confirmed it was indeed my “dead skin.” I thought I was Mr. Clean with my daily showers, but this was next-level cleanliness. I had to ask my hammamist how often he subjected himself to this ritual, and he proudly said that he did it once a month. From that moment on, I became a believer that Morocco must be the cleanest nation on Earth. Sorry, other “hammamistans” out there.
After the epic scrubbing session, he slapped on a mask made of coffee and chocolate, claiming it was a treat for my skin. I felt like a piece of fruit dipped in chocolate in a Christmas market. I didn’t have any erotic thoughts at all 😀
Then, he unleashed a full-body massage and some moves that looked like he was a chiropractor. Following the mask’s wash-off, I received another round of massage, this time with argan oil.
Leaving the hammam, I looked at my skin in disbelief. Somehow I didn’t recognise my own skin. I felt new and I promised myself that I shall offer my body this love regularly. I went straight to the beautiful Casablanca train station and took the train to Rabat, the capital.
