People-watching in Casablanca

We boarded the Atlas Express once more and returned halfway down the line to Casablanca. This was a very different kind of place from the ancient cities we had visited thus far - gone were the winding alleyways lined with market stalls and tourist restaurants, to be replaced by wide boulevards clogged with traffic and all the trappings of a major city. Arabic had also largely disappeared from the public sphere, with most billboards and shops using French instead. Casablanca was also unmistakably Mediterranean, with its shabby modernist apartment buildings and bougainvillea hedges that looked just like Tel Aviv and broad commercial avenues that were the spitting image of Izmir.

Checking into a hotel, the receptionist showed me how to cheat the Booking.com algorithm and told me he wanted to move to LA to pursue a career in acting. I must have looked surprised, because he immediately explained that he had an American girlfriend whom he had met on the boardwalk in town and she would arrange the visa for him.

In keeping with our established pattern, we sought out houses of worship. First was the Bethel synagogue, barely conspicuous behind an unmarked wall and metal gate with tall hedges. We rang the doorbell, the custodian asked us whether we were Jewish, and let us in. Built in 1949 shortly before the mass exodus of Moroccan Jews, the synagogue is still the center of Jewish life in the relatively robust community in Casablanca. It was a beautiful place and there wasn't a speck of dust to be found anywhere.

Casablanca is also home to Morocco's Jewish museum, located in a quiet neighborhood with big walled houses that would not be out of place in Florida. The museum was interesting, even if its intended audience was clearly non-Jewish Moroccans. Walking in, we were greeted by a letter from the king highlighting the preamble to the Moroccan constitution, which specifically includes Jews in the nation's heritage. Specifically, it defines Morocco as "a sovereign Muslim state" whose "unity" is "enriched by its African, Andalusian, Hebraic, and Mediterranean constituents."

Casablanca's main landmark is the Hassan II mosque, completed exactly 30 years ago. Costing several hundred million dollars to construct, the mosque has a long list of superlatives (largest in Africa, 7th-largest in the world, 2nd-tallest minaret, etc.) and can hold over 100,000 worshippers with a retractable roof. When we visited, however, it apparently could not hold anybody, and even the grounds were off-limits.

Our disappointment was quickly forgotten when it turned out to be a top-tier people watching spot. I had expected the surrounding area to be a bustling city center, but it was actually one of the quietest parts of Casablanca, with empty lots and streets so calm they were used by half a dozen driving schools. The mosque itself occupied a small bluff on the Atlantic coast, and lots of shirtless boys were using its seawall to sunbathe and play soccer. Following a rocky slope to the tidal pools below, women in hijabs, dresses, and the occasional pair of heels were wading in the water with their children or sunbathing with no skin exposed as their husbands watched from the promenade above.

We walked along the seawall until we found an actual beach, which was much quieter and mostly consisted of umbrellas and chairs perched 10-15 feet above the water. There were almost no women in sight, and I wondered how in the world our receptionist had met his girlfriend in these surroundings. This beach was another mystifying case of urban land use, hemmed in by an undeveloped gravel lot and stone and concrete ruins. Instead of a beautiful promenade, it was full of motorcycles and young couples trying to escape the many eyes of the mosque beach. It was far from remote, however - a short walk past the ruins brought us to a group of seaside restaurants with suited valets parking luxury cars.

Walking inland, we found ourselves in the Anfa neighborhood, likely the most expensive real estate in the kingdom. It looked exactly like Beverly Hills - big stuccoed houses, German cars, wide streets lined with palm trees. We had dinner at a lovely Italian restaurant, serving haram products for a change. It was almost strange to see alcohol back on the menu after 10 days, and the local beer turned out to be perfectly adequate. As the largest and wealthiest city, Casablanca was also the only place in Morocco I saw liquor and lingerie stores, although the former facade was quite incognito due to a prohibition on alcohol advertising.

Italian restaurants were not the only opportunity to take a break from lemon chicken tagines and couscous with vegetables. The city's central market had over a dozen identical fish restaurants bunched up together, with waiters running back and forth between stalls and shops to fetch ingredients. One would run to the bakery for more bread, and another would show up carrying a giant crab. We stuck to the deliciously fresh fish on the menu, but locals were clearly showing up with their own catches.

Casablanca has made a number of attempts to create green public spaces, with mixed results. The center of town has a series of oversized plazas with no shade whatsoever that became little more than urban scars. More successful is the Arab League Park, occupying several blocks in the city's geographic center. The park was explicitly designed by the French architect Albert Laprade in the 1910s to serve as a "parc à la française" - a sort of Jardins de Luxembourg with local flora. Here, too, the designers could have been more generous with the shade, but the park is an island of meticulous order in an otherwise hectic city. Residents stroll along promenades lined with palms spaced with military precision, and guards in high-visibility vests and whistles discipline children and adults who get too close to the flowers or water elements. It made for an excellent flaneur experience.