May 8, Chefchaouen to Casablanca, Morocco.
We left the riad as early as 6am and got all the way down to the square to get a taxi to the bus station. The journey was about 6 hours and was hilly again. Motion sickness attacked Cherie and she vomited several times. Her stomach was empty and she could not eat anything. She just got really weak.
As we arrived at the hotel near Hassan II Mosque in Casablanca, I went out to look for medicine, energy drink and postcard as Cherie took her time for a good rest. I tried to figure out myself by walking around the district, but in vain. Then I consulted the reception on where I could get these stuff, and one of their staff who could not speak any English escorted me to a supermarket. There were nonetheless nothing I wanted. As we passed by a store, I got my energy drink. Then we were back to the hotel, and I went to a pharmacy nearby to get medicine.
After getting hot chocolate from the hotel and bringing stuff back to the room, I made another journey to the city center in hopes of finding chocolate for Cherie, food for me and postcard for us. I finally got chocolate and food, but not the postcard.
Cherie was still vomiting. As the hotel manager suggested, we headed for the hospital for consultation and treatment. It was a short walk from the hotel. People there do not speak much English, but at least we were able to tell them about how Cherie felt. They had her on injection and it took about 30 min. Cherie felt a bit better but pretty sleepy. So after paying for the treatment (just 150 Dh), we headed straight to the hotel.
As Cherie took her rest in the room, I walked quite a long way again to the city center. When I was half way there, I entered a supermarket to look for the things I wanted, but in vain again. I tried to ask the staff in the store, who are teenagers. They do not speak English at all so I relied on my Google Translate and try to communicate with them in French. They figured out I wanted to get postcard and thought of a place nearby. At first the young guy looked like he wanted to send me there. Then there was that older man who was at the checkout counter, who was kind enough to bring me there (so that the staff could do their job in the store). We got there, in vain again. I said goodbye to the older man and headed back to the store, wishing to let the staff know that despite that I could not get what I wanted, I was really grateful they tried hard to help me. They were also happy I returned and let them know the news.
People in Casablanca were most welcoming and hospitable people I met in Morocco. I guess that’s because most people consider Casablanca as merely a transit city from the plane. Therefore, locals in Casablanca do not really rely a lot on tourism, and hence more friendly to tourists. I feel the most comfortable walking on the street of Casablanca, as I did not need to worry about being tricked by those who live on tourists in a bad way.
That’s pretty much how we spent our last day in Morocco. It came a bit out of our expectation, but we had a valuable experience one could not easily get a taste of.
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