Outbound this morning on the 7:25 Air France flight from Paris and arrived right on time at 9:45 local time.
Woke up near the end of the flight, looked out the window and thought, "I must have taken the wrong flight. This looks like Ireland."
Passed the controls, found a cab and headed into town. It had rained the day before and everything was green and lush and stunningly beautiful. And a good 7 degrees warmer than Paris.
Shared these observations with the cab driver and we started chatting away. I liked his French (elegant) and I liked him (an older courtly gentleman).
Just before we arrived at the hotel the cabbie gently gave me some fatherly advice: no walking around after dark by yourself in this neighborhood, keep your cell phone and computer out of sight and so on. Then he laughed, looked at me slyly in the rear-view mirror and said, "Nothing against you, Madame, and nothing against foreigners in particular. It's just the way things are."
For the advice, the obvious concern and the great conversation I was more than happy to pay the slightly (only slightly) elevated fare when we arrived at the hotel.
I know a number of Moroccan expatriates through school and work in France and my overall impression has been that these folks are the salt of the earth: hard-working, hospitable and generous. My first day in Morocco has certainly confirmed that.
Tomorrow: Why the Flophouse pulled up stakes and headed south for the week.