Once, long ago, while hanging out in southern Spain with buddies Mark and Gary, we decided to drive to Casablanca, of Ingrid Bergman and Humphrey Bogart fame, for a long weekend. 

First stop, of course, was mysterious Tangier, across the Strait of Gibraltar, via ferry. 

Now, border towns are generally bad, but Tangier took the cake.  Mix up the Black Hole of Calcutta, with the worst parts of Jakarta, stir in some mangy camels and donkeys, and leaven with a few Arabs in dirty white burnooses, and you have a vague idea of what it’s like. The sights, sounds, and particularly the smells, are unbelievable. 

Eventually though, we found our way out of this cesspool and were on the road to Casablanca. 

For those of you who have not had the experience, highways in the third world are something to behold; camel and donkey carts abound, along with monster trucks, bicycles, stray livestock, and wandering pedestrians. 

Everybody drives with their horn, and they pass on the left, right, blind corners, hills and so forth.  In Moslem countries particularly, everyone puts their faith in Allah, leans on the horn, and rams the pedal to the metal. 

So we are motoring along, miles from nowhere, when Mark spies an Arab with a camel, and insists that we stop.   

Well, one thing led to another and Mark ended up with a camel ride which, according to Mark, was kinda like a cross between riding a stubborn mule and a bicycle with two square wheels.  

Later, though, we did notice a strange odor emanating from Mark, which finally proved to be camel dung stuck in his sneaker soles. 

Eventually arriving in Casablanca, we didn’t have a clue where our hotel was, or how to get there. 

So while Gary drove, dodging animals, pedestrians, and camel carts, I questioned the traffic cops, and tried to make sense of their French language directions. But eventually, mostly by accident, I think, we found the place, and settled in. 

By this time it was late, but Mark was adamant about finding Rick’s.  You know, Rick’s Americana Café, from the movie Casablanca.  Not to bore you with details, but after about two hours of more misadventures blundering around Casablanca in the dark, we finally found the place, or maybe a reasonable facsimile thereof. Who knows? 

Next morning, we decided to explore the Arab Market, an

enormous place, full of dark alleys, dead ends, interesting restaurants, and strange characters, along with hundreds of small shops, selling everything imaginable. 

We had one bit of excitement there, when an Arab shopkeeper took offence to a pic Mark was taking, and chased him down the street, brandishing a wicked looking butcher knife. 

Anyway, after many shops, and considerable negotiating, we were all loaded down with miscellaneous useless goods, and it was time to hit the road for Tangier, and back to Spain. 

All in all, it was a good weekend, even with the camel smells and language problems. 

However, if you are thin of wallet, or not up to Third World adventures, you might want to take a pass on this one.