Finding a café or bar serving beer was never difficult in central Casablanca, but could be a problem out in the sticks. One evening, after a long day's drive towards the south of the country, old Cliffie asked where he could get a beer. Two jellaba-clad locals indulged in a rapid exchange of Arabic, shrugged their shoulders and pointed to a windowless bunker-like building at the edge of the village. Ever the intrepid traveller - and with a real thirst on him - old Cliffie entered the darkness to find a scene from Hieronymus Bosch. One client fell comatose from his barstool, another relieved himself in the middle of the floor, while two others drew knives and circled each other warily. Old Cliffie has never been one to leave a bar willingly - but that day was an exception.
Casablanca by night
Old Cliffie was walking home late one night when a Moroccan friend stopped his car and made an offer he couldn't refuse: fancy a beer? They whizzed through the streets to a dark suburb of the city, where a tiny light above a doorway was the only indication of a hangar-like drinking establishment where Casablanca's harbour and factory workers spent their wages. Up on the stage, the only women present crooned interminable Arab love songs in a hopeless imitation of the inimitable Fairouz. Down on the drinking floor, the occasional bottle flew across the room.
How about an evening dinner...
How about an evening dinner with show? Some of the touristy places offer a combination evening package, dinner and Berber folk dancing.