Why wasn’t anyone scrambling to take my bag from me, or offering to get me a taxi, in the hope of making a few extra Dirhams. I staggered along and boarded a very clean modern train, which took me to the centre of town very comfortably in twenty minutes. Indeed if it hadn’t been for the filth everywhere, the smell, and the dust, let alone the humidity and heat, I might not even have realized that I was in Casablanca at all!
I propped myself up on a bench and dug out my Lonely Planet Guide in a vain attempt to establish where in the city I was, and where the local hotels were situated.
My three Moroccan friends were frisked on the spot, their identity cards taken, and they were marched off physically to an awaiting unmarked police car!
When I tried to intercede in the matter, one of the lads said, “Better you say nothing.
Chefchaouen was to be my home base for the next couple of weeks.