Photos of Central Market in Casablanca, Morocco

Smoking paraphernalia at Central Market in Casablanca, Morocco

The first thing I wondered about was whether these merchants at the Central Market in Casablanca have to put away all of their products at night and set them up again the following day. It looks like so much work, and each small area is crammed next to the others. Fortunately, thoughts like that quickly slipped out of my head as we were pounced upon by opportunists.

Upon entrance to the market, I spied sparkly slippers with turned-up toes and immediately craved a pair. But we were shoved further into the market by annoying hawkers. Clutching my wristlet and camera, I did my best not to get pick-pocketed. After we got rid of the guys following us, we went back to the spot we entered from, and the turned-up toe slippers were nowhere to be seen, which made me think it was just a figment of my imagination. I expected to see shoes like that, so I caught that vision out of the corner of my eye.

Handmade goods at Central Market in Casablanca, Morocco

Oh, the first guy said he was just a teacher named Paul, and it was his life’s vocation to educate us on the marketplace. Why, he suggested we get out of this particular area because it’s all “junk made in China” and go with him to the rooftop where we could enjoy marvelous views of the city. He would not leave us alone, and let’s just say I’m very good at ignoring people. We didn’t buy anything at Marche Central, even though I had every intention of picking up a few goods.

Elizabeth Weintraub at residence in Central Market in Casablanca, Morocco

Scooting through the narrow passageways, it got hotter and hotter due to little air circulation, small spaces and tons of people. Not to mention, the humidity was high. My scarf kept slipping around my shoulders until I finally resolved that situation by tying it. I ducked into the doorway of a residence — people lived in the Central Market in Casablanca, who knew — and Adam shot a photo.

Fresh bread at Central Market in Casablanca, Morocco

A bit too thick for ordinary pita bread, this freshly baked bread is made on the premises. The other part of the Central Market in Casablanca is devoted to food, meat and produce. I was beginning to feel like we had wandered so far into the maze we would never find our way back out. People jam-packed the area, and apart from the cart-pushing guys, we had to step out of the way for guys on motorcycles, of all things.

Hanging meat, intestines and guts at Central Market in Casablanca, Morocco.

But I eventually stopped worrying about escaping this nightmare of narrow passageways with twists and turns, being forever lost, when we came upon several booths selling stomach linings and other assorted types of animal guts. Very interesting. Like me, you may study that humongous size of liver on the bottom ledge and wonder what kind of animal it came from, and I am hoping it’s not a camel.

A transaction carried on over cleaning of fish at Central Market in Casablanca, Morocco

Perhaps taking these kinds of photographs is what caused a guy sitting on the curb to suddenly scream at my husband. He called him a motherfucker. We weren’t doing anything but walking by. I’m not bothered by such language but it seemed so out of place and uncalled for. Yup, that’s what we are to some Moroccans. We are motherfucker Americanos. I half expected Jack Bauer to jump out of the shadows.

Blend of black and brown olives for sale at Central Market in Casablanca, Morocco

A bit timid to pop an olive in my mouth for fear they would all tumble, plus, then we would have to buy a bag full and we had only large Euros, didn’t mean I could not admire the produce. The currency used is Moroccan Dirhams. Although, our cab driver eagerly accepted Euros. We discussed grabbing a bite to eat, but it was too hot and sticky.

Feral kittens at Central Market in Casablanca, Morocco, fend for themselves.

The saddest part was the feral kittens. One of these little guys was sitting in the road, barely moving, very sick, and you just knew that some uncaring individual would eventually step on and squash him. At first glance you might think a person tossed raw food at the kittens, but I’m guessing this calico kitten snatched a bag from the garbage and dragged it here. Looks like survival of the fittest in motion.

My main regret about Casablanca is we did not have enough time in the city to see more, nor go to any restaurants or museums. At least we didn’t have a tour group to contend with. After this brief stop, we pushed off, headed to the Rock of Gibraltar, which meant one extra day at sea and a perfect time for a facial.