Vol 61 Day 13 Casablanca

**** My hit counter at the bottom of this page is going up by about 30 hits every day so I know you guys are reading this blog. I write it so you can still feel connected to me even though I am halfway around the world. The thing is, I only feel connected to you if you write me emails or leave comments. I'm down to about 4 people leaving comments. And maybe all 30 hits a day are from those 4 people but I don't think so. Where did my people go? ****

My first thought upon waking was "my camera was stolen". My photos/my memories. My rechargeable batteries. My 1 gig memory card. Luckily my camera bag was in my purse so I didn't lose my second set of batteries and my 2 gig card.

I left the house early with Erwan as he went off to work a half day. He suggested I walk over to the Twin Centres, a shopping complex. But they were all closed when I got there. Ramadam. Nothing was open in the whole neighborhood. Pretty much the whole city. And I had to poop. (Didn't know I was going there, did you?)

Where to poop? Seriously! Where to poop? I caught a taxi and asked him to take me to the Kenzi Basma Hotel. Lobby bathroom. Ahhhhhhhh. And hey! They had a breakfast buffet for their tourist guests. Food! During daylight! Since nothing was open anyway, I sampled the buffet and then drank tea and read my Morocco guidebook for a few hours on a comfy sofa.

I wandered over to the Air Emirates office to see about finding a ticket back to Oman. They were way too expensive so I wandered into a travel agent where I purchased a return ticket on Qatar Airways. It was cheaper to buy a return ticket than a one way. So stupid. The ticket was expensive. It was cheap to get from Oman to Turkey and reasonably cheap from Turkey to Morocco but Morocco to Oman was scary. This is what happens when your travel plans all go to hell.

I met Erwan back at his place for lunch, then his Moroccan friend came over and guided us to a very special souk, before returning to work. No tourists. Just Moroccans. All men. And most of the items for sale were "used". It was all winding, narrow alleys with a cement trough down the center to channel water when it rains. There were booths on either side with dudes selling watches, cell phones, cameras, and other small electronic equipment. In the open areas there were dudes at card tables with a dozen cell phones. Or dudes with a dozen pairs of Levis. The whole thing was shifty looking. I was wishing I had a camera big-time. We wandered through the alleys looking at the cameras, hoping mine had made it's way there already. No such luck. But after about an hour of looking we found a "used" Canon A710. Mine was an A720, the model that replaced the A710. I left the negotiating to the more experienced Erwan.

He asked for the price and we were told 3500 dirham; about $457US. Yikes! "No way", I said. We looked briefly at a similar Nikon in a booth right across from the one selling the Canon. 3000 dirhams. Firm. Then we wandered away to look some more. Found nothing, went back to the dude selling the Canon. I wanted it. The dude had a laptop and was online so Erwan asked to use it then had me go to a website that reviews cameras. I only read out loud the negative comments for the Canon. Outdated. No face finding feature. Digitec II processor as opposed to the Digitech III on the A720. Erwan talked the dude down to 2500 dirham. "No way", I said, "1500 dirhams". "Nope", said dude, and we left again.

We came back after 20 minutes or so and looked at the Nikon across the way. We even asked to see the box (it was new). We pulled out all of the accessories and oohed and awed over them. Then we made to leave, saying "no thanks, goodbye" to the Nikon guy, loud enough for the Canon dude to hear. "Wait" he called out as we walked away.

This is the moment you know you have won the haggle. "Don't you want the Canon?" "Nope," said Erwan, "she won't pay more than 1500 dhm for it." and we kept walking. "Ok," he called after us. Sweet! Erwan is an awesome haggler. A haggler extraordinaire. $196US.

It came with nothing. No memory card. No batteries. No bag. No wrist strap. I felt funny about buying it. By buying a stolen camera after mine had been stolen wasn't I perpetuating the chain of supply and demand? But what else to do? No way I could afford a new one and no way I could go back to a cheap camera. The nice thing about buying a similar model was I didn't have to learn how to use it. Wonder how much someone paid for my camera when it reached that souk?

We hightaled it out of shifty-land and as soon as we were back to Erwan's car I popped in my batteries and memory card. And Voila!

Back in business. I actually teared up a little. I was soooooo relieved to have "my" camera back. I had not realized how far from my comfort zone I had been until I was back in it. This year I have seen such amazing sights and without a photo record I would not remember any of it. I'm hoping that by describing the olive market and the drapery feeding frenzy in the last blog that it may help me to remember them.

We stopped at a pottery seller so I could buy a small tajine (Moroccon casserole dish) and Erwan could buy charcoal for his BBQ.

Inside the shop was a pile of charcoal that is sold by the bag. It's not prefab briquettes like at home. It's pieces of wood that have been burnt to the charcoal stage.

That's Erwan off on the right. My hero.

On the way back to his house we drove past the stupid Cathedral de Sacre Couer where my camera had been stolen. So I quickly snapped this photo out the car window.

I really wanted to thank Erwan for hosting me, and especially for helping me find a camera, so I offered to treat him to dinner and told him to pick his favorite nice restaurant. We went to Indian Palace. Oh my God. So good. Ridiculously good. Crazy good. We had what I think was the best appetizer I've ever had. And I have no idea how they made it, which is odd for me. It was sort of paneer cheese, breaded, fried, skewered and then cooked in a tandoori oven and served with a crazy good sauce. We pigged out on the classics. Aloo Gobi, Veg Kofta, Dal, Cumin Rice, Garlic Naan and for dessert Kajer Halwa. If you have never tried Kajer Halwa at an Indian restaurant you must. It has become an addiction with me since moving here. Creamy grated carrot pudding with cardamom and saffron.

It was a fantastic evening. Great conversation. Great atmosphere. Great food. We were the last to leave and as I took this photo of the wall decor I recalled the silly, funny-face photos Ferhan, my couchSurfing host in Istanbul, and I had taken. Which led to this......

Morocco was getting better every day.