Day 2: Casablanca

     My first full day in this country, and I am already speaking French! I would mark this day as a success--mostly. 

    From the moment I first joined the check-in line at Dulles International Airport in DC, I have been struck by the way many Moroccan women dress. The ones that capture my attention tie their long, dark hair up into a knot and wrap it in headscarves of every color, pattern, and fabric imaginable. They pair these headscarves with long, flowing, colorful dresses and djellabas, a loose-fitting hooded garment that is particular to North Africa. They are beautiful. I haven't had an opportunity to speak to one yet, though, especially as it is generally Arabic that emerges from their lips. I had read before getting here that while French remains in common use, Arabic has taken over as the dominant language of the country as its colonialist days fade further and further away. My limited experience so far aligns with what I have read.

    That being said, I was pleasantly surprised that the opportunities to practice my French have already started flowing like water poured from a jug, even as early as my first full day in the country. My initial interactions with my driver from the airport, the women behind the front desk at my hotel, and the waiter I ordered my first Moroccan coffee from in the hotel lobby were all in English, either because they already knew I was American and thus English-speaking or, in the case of the waiter, because he heard my accent straightaway when I tried to order in French. I soothed myself by reminding myself that I am an intermediate-level speaker and that, after all, it's only my first day in Morocco. It always helps to set realistic expectations.

    In terms of finding opportunities to speak French, though, I have the upper hand in this country because it is the first language in which anybody speaks to me. It appears that in Morocco, the initial impulse when one needs to communicate with a Caucasian person is to address them in French, rather than English. This stands in stark contrast to my experience in Belgium and sometimes in France, where French is the primary language spoken. There, it was the norm of hotel workers and shop attendants in touristy areas to default to English. So French as the default language for use with tourists rather than English is a new experience for me. And the even better part is, to make sure I am working toward my goal, all I have to do is have the courage to respond to their openings in French.

    It's a perfect system. In that moment, they will readily discern that I am not fluent, and they can decide whether to stay in French with me or not. I am not imposing myself and my goal on anybody. I am happy to report, though, that in spite of my lack of fluency I have had interactions in French today with a person at my hotel's front desk, the waiter who served me dinner, and a guy who stopped by my room mistakenly with a bucket full of beers somebody had ordered--all because they addressed me in French, and I responded in turn rather than switching to English. Turns out people here seem uncomfortable enough in English that generally they are willing to work with me in French--and that's what I was counting on!

    On the negative side, I tried to take myself on a walking tour of Casablanca's notable architecture today and discovered a pressing issue about this city that I hope is not true of the whole country: there are no public toilets. I had previously accidentally ordered a gigantic bottle of water at dinner because, in French, I wasn't quite sure what I was doing. I also thought I ordered roast chicken and ended up with a deli meat chicken triangle sandwich, so suffice it to say my comprehension needs some work. Anyway, in an effort to convince the waiters, who I am sure could have cared less, that I meant to order such a large bottle of water, I drank almost the whole thing. 

    Then, I started on my walk.

    I was still feeling pretty good when I reached the first stop on my self-guided tour according to my guidebook, a post office: 

    By the second stop, I was sensing that I needed a toilet but still kind of in denial about it. I tried to ignore it, as though bodily needs can take second fiddle just because I want to explore a new city. If only!

    By the time I got to Cinema Rialto, an art deco structure that still plays the film Casablanca from time to time, my bodily needs had successfully convinced my higher-order thinking that they controlled my actions, not the other way around, and I was pounding on the door of the cinema to be let in. I was plotting to pay to see a film, any film, just so that I could use their restroom. Alas, the cinema was closed:

    Naturally, cabs were difficult to come by in the narrow streets in which I was walking. And doing some quick mental math in my head, I figured that with the effort it would take to walk around looking for one to hail, clarify the address of my hotel through a combination of my broken French, my room card, and wild gesticulation, and sit in Casablanca's equally wild traffic, it would probably be faster to walk the thirty or so minutes back to my hostel, my teeth chattering the entire time. Suffice it to say, it was not a pleasant experience.

    So, lessons learned from today:

1.) Casablanca, and perhaps all of Morocco, barely has any public toilets. I should know--I peered into every single establishment I passed on my walk back to the hotel, and was sometimes met in return with the curious stare of locals in the dark interiors of these places who were surely wondering what I wanted.

2.) Consequently, I should not drink water before leaving on a long excursion. That sucks, I know, but it seems to be the only way forward for me.

3.) I cannot attempt to speak or think in a foreign language when I have basic bodily needs that have not been fulfilled. Maslow's hierarchy of needs, everybody.

    Looking forward to a second, and final, day in Casablanca tomorrow.