preparations

SFO -> JFK

JFK -> BCN

Barcelona

marketplace

Casablanca

Gran Canaria

While at the mosque we found out that Moroccans love children. Everyone wanted to kiss Isaac, or hold his hand. I flipped open my Arabic phrase book and tried to convery "He is ill", but either my choice of words for "sick" or my pronounciation failed me, or they didn't care. Despite our mild protestations, Isaac got close to the locals. We were worried about them as well as Isaac. (And we were right to be worried.)

The sheer size of the mosque is hard to express; it's bigger than I expected but yet somehow smaller too. Sadly, we didn't get to go inside. The last morning tour had just started, and we didn't want to have Isaac throw up while inside. We decided to enjoy the grounds, and the ocean behind, and perhaps return for a tour at a better time.

This picture means a lot to me. Just after our return from this trip I swapped the hard drive in my PowerBook for a much larger model, and I thought that our Casablanca photos had been lost. I really, really wanted to have the photo I took of Isaac and Rose on the grounds of the Mohammed V mosque on his first birthday. But I couldn't find them anywhere. I sadly informed Rose that they were lost, and forged on. Only today, Wednesday 9 August 2000, did I find them and restored them to this page. Sorry for the aside; back to our trip.

We left the mosque and headed in the general direction of the center of town. I didn't have any clear plan in mind, but I was getting hungry and I was worried about Isaac. Not terribly worried, but worried. We picked up a six-pack of strawberry and bananna yoghurt at a tiny corner store and ate while we strolled. (Rude now that I think of it, but it slipped our minds that day. We were focussed on other things. Sorry.) Then Isaac threw up again; copious vomiting, bright colors. He clearly wasn't keeping down the milk he was getting from Rose. I worried more, and began to walk faster.

As luck would have it, we happened to pass by the American Consulate. We rang the doorbell, expecting to be let in to speak with an attache about finding a doctor for Isaac. The speakerphone informed me that nobody was actually allowed onto the consulate grounds, that we should find a pay telephone and give them a call. I politely explained that I had a sick child and a worried wife and that since I was already there I didn't see the point in going away only to call the same person back.

Next, we're whisked away to part of Casablanca that's not in my tourist guide.