“Bonjour monsieur”, is a familiar greeting you get used to in Morocco, but this time it had a slightly different feeling.
Why?
Well because I happened to be in the old French colonial quarter of Casablanca, with French style buildings and old Renault cars. It actually felt like you could be in a part of Paris.
“Bonjour” I replied back.
I was in a cafe called the Petit Poucet that used to be frequented by some well known French people in the past.
Who?
Well I could give you a bunch of names but you would probably be as non-plussed as I was. Besides, by that point I was in dire need of an espresso and didn’t question the barman on the details.
“Blah blah blah blah”?
“Quoi”?
Yes my French is extremely limited to say the least. In fact I was surprised I knew any. I guess watching all those classic French new wave movies of the 60’s with subtitles helped me retain a little of the language. I’m a bit of a movie buff if you didn’t know.
Anyway back to the ‘conversation’ at hand.
The barman had asked me a question in French which basically sounded like ‘blah blah blah blah’ to my ears. I knew the French for ‘what’ (quoi), and replied in kind.
“Parlevous Englai”? I asked. (Do you speak English).
“No monsieur”, the barman replied. A riveting conversation it was not.
Eager to get the espresso it was time to just, well, get it!
“Un espresso bitte”.
I realised I had said please in German (bitte), and quickly corrected myself.
The barman smiled and started preparing my drink.
You see my language skills are basically a little of a lot. In other words I can speak brief, basic sentences in many languages. Sometimes I accidentally combine different ones. Monty Python would be proud. The French teacher would be horrified. Come to think of it, so would the German one.
I should clarify that in Morocco French is the second language, and most people speak it.
Looking around the bar it was like being taken back in time. Old furnishings that looked like they hadn’t been upgraded since it had opened. What seemed like an ancient relic was a cash register, with the numbers revolving like on a slot machine.
Even some of the clientele seemed stuck in the past. Older chaps slumped by their newspaper having a beer or coffee, seeming to just watch the world pass them by.
This was when I wish I could have spoken more of their language. To be chatting away and learning stories of the neighbourhood, especially from the friendly older barman, would have made the day.
But alas they couldn’t understand me properly, and me them.
The espresso arrived.
I had been needing this caffeine hit to help keep me going due to the lack of sleep the night before, and an afternoon strolling the streets of Casablanca can really tire you out.
After watching life slowly pass by on the streets outside Petit Poucet, and with new found energy from the coffee, it was time to move on.
The French quarter of Casablanca is in need of serious repair. Some buildings have been beautifully restored, while others are crumbling wrecks laying derelict.
It was, for lack of a better word, fascinating. Not exciting at all, but fascinating.
Seeing the old facades and the feeling you get in the area makes you feel rather French. Whatever that may be. I guess it’s just what you would imagine living in Paris may be like, but a very dilapidated version.
I had walked a lot in other parts of Casablanca, and to be honest it’s a pretty crap city. But even crap places have their part in the world. There was a strong breeze blowing and the central square was basically a dust bowl, while trash littered the streets, and everyone was in a hurry to go about their business.
It is the charming French area that makes the place worthwhile.
If you happen to be passing through Casablanca then you should stop for a few hours to have a coffee and a pastry, and take things slow.
Especially at the Petit Poucet.
Trust me there’s no rush.
The place is still stuck back in time.
And that’s not a bad thing.
I recommend using SafetyWing Travel Insurance for your trip, just in case, it’s best to be prepared.
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I really enjoyed the narrative flow of this article.
It’s just unfortunate I couldn’t have more narrative flow with the barman 😉
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