'Of course, Casablanca is not Moroccan," said Estrella, my petite host at the Dar Itrit, as we lounged on their leafy terrace, discussing the city's industrial history. Her husband Jean-Pierre nodded sagely. But the ancient market opposite their white villa begged to differ: chicken claws and fish guts lined its rickety wooden floors, storks guarded mini-mountains of scraps, and the screech of caged hens jarred with tinny Arabic music. Wasn't this city - at least in parts - as "Moroccan" as the medina of Fez?
And therein lies the conundrum. Casablanca, a largely French colonial creation, is Morocco's economic capital, a grid of wide boulevards and stucco municipal buildings mostly built less than a century ago. Locals and guidebooks alike argue that it's a westernised city, warranting just a brief inspection, before you flee to the more "real" Moroccan pleasures of Fez or Marrakech. Yet even though I visit the country regularly, what struck me - at least initially - was just how Moroccan Casa (as everyone calls it) actually is.
Yes, there are the tower blocks, and the five-star hotels, and the businessmen swarming around Place Des Nations-Unies, but the old medina, which dates only from the 19th century (although its ochre walls are older) spirals with timeless neighbourhood life. Slip past stalls flogging teapots, watches and jewellery, all blinding in the glare of the sun, and you will discover pencil-thin alleys and tiny squares, where bleached towels cling to window sills and old men inch past in white djellabas, the shuffle of their slippers syncopating the sizzle of squid in oil. And the medina - like Casablanca as a whole - doesn't court tourism. In fact, the faux guides of the imperial cities are nowhere to be seen. Casablancans are way too proud to throw themselves at you. Lost, my friend? Too bad!
The elegant "new medina", called Quartier Habous, a layout of Provençal-style squares and arches built by the French as a place for Muslims to live and trade, is a clean and inviting souk selling anything from oil paintings to art deco statuettes. But even here, the "real Morocco" is nearer than you might imagine - just over the railway bridge is Rue Taroudant, from the dusty stalls of which dangle dried chameleons, hedgehogs, and live baby tortoises. "No photos!" the bearded sellers cried in unison as I whipped my camera out; these are ancient charms, after all, with their own magical powers.
Rather than zip around in the swarm of (admittedly very cheap) taxis, I decided to walk the sprawling city, home to an official four (but rumoured eight) million people, to soak up its juxtapositions: Moorish mansions, crumbling art deco villas and gleaming office blocks lie side by side with the notorious bidonvilles, or "tin can cities" (the name originated here), their roofs half-collapsed under rusty satellite dishes. While every large city is a jumble of rich and poor, nowhere seems to embody this tension - and it can feel tense - quite so much as Casablanca.
"Authentic is the word," says Kathy Kriger, a former US Embassy staffer and confessed eccentric who moved here in 1998. Sitting opposite me at Rick's Cafe, the mythical saloon from the Bogart film that she has brought to life in a beautifully restored riad, she continued: "When I arrived in Casa I was overwhelmed by its authenticity. It's such a complex city, and very anonymous because of its economic power. But it's the real deal, like Marrakech was more than 10 years ago."
Surprised that no one had apparently ever tried to recreate the bar, she left her government role to raise funds, and painstakingly launched Rick's, designed by Marrakech-based American architect Bill Willis, in 2004. It wasn't an immediate hit - "most Casablancans haven't seen the movie so it was just another opening to them" - but now, with the right menu, and a nightly music schedule, the place is packed out.
This "go-getting" air has long typified the city, from its original Wild West feel in the early 1900s to its ever-expanding business district, complete with 28-storey Twin Centre and urban playground La Corniche, whose beach clubs bask in names such as Tropicana, Tahiti, and Miami Plage. The spirit of enterprise is most visible, however, in the $800m Hassan II Mosque, completed in 1993 on a stony outcrop. Its 210m minaret is the highest in the world, and its interior can gulp down 25,000 worshippers. Approaching on a sizzling Sunday afternoon proved, as with so many things in Casa, a pleasing contrast of sensory stimulations: a mild sea breeze swept over its vast concourse, under whose arches hundreds sheltered from the sun, while a sickly sweet odour of popcorn and corn on the cob wafted over from the seaside promenade.
Does Casa's roving eye to the future negate its past? Its art deco and neo-Moorish heritage certainly isn't as valued as you might expect: the Hotel Lincoln, opposite the Marché Central, collapsed earlier this year, and there don't appear to be any plans to salvage it. Other buildings on and around Boulevard Mohammed V (which boasts some of the most dazzling period architecture) languish unloved, as does the Parc de la Ligue Arabe. But perhaps there's something honest about such disregard - should Casablancans have to bow to their colonial past? And anyway, isn't Morocco's "real" past more than represented, as I discovered, in the medinas and back streets?
"It's hard to explain the spirit of Casa, as it's home to so many displaced people," said Kathy, as I left Rick's Café, "and civic pride is not a thing demanded of them."
I whiled away my final evening at Café Ayman in the medina, the mouth-watering smells of chargrilled sardines and fish stew hanging in the hot air, as piled-high carts rattled along, and sellers greeted each other with kisses and a firm shake of the hand. Night descended slowly on to these narrow streets, as if challenged by the intensity of life itself, men shouted down alleyways or from the outside of cafes to their smoke-belching interiors, while two mothers, nose to nose in the square, shrieked at each other, arguing faster and faster. Casablanca may not shimmer like Fez or Marrakech, but its grubby, glorious present is where history is being made now, and surely illuminates the path where Morocco is heading.
"I came here in 1964," Breton-born Jean-Pierre explained, scratching his beard on the terrace at Dar Itrit. "And after I'd travelled all over Morocco for work, I realised one thing: I can't live in another town."
How to make the most of Casa's charms
Where to stay
Hugely acclaimed on Tripadvisor, Dar Itrit (9 Rue Restinga; 00 212 522 360258; daritrit.ma) is a 40s villa furnished with Moroccan and French objets d'art, and owners Jean-Pierre and Estrella will greet you like an old friend. Breakfasts include Berber breads and pancakes, as well as cakes, omelettes, and fruit platters. Evening meals cooked by Estrella (€23 for three courses) might include duck pie, Moroccan salads or lamb and pear tagine. Jean-Pierre gives informal tours of their artworks (mostly by Moroccan-born or based artists). Doubles from €89 including breakfast.
The culture
Villa des Arts on Boulevard Brahim Roudani, opposite the shady Parc de la Ligue Arabe, is a stunning contemporary art gallery featuring diverse city-born or dwelling artists (open Tuesday-Sunday; fondationona.com). Nearby, on Boulevard Moulay Rachid, is the commercial Venise Cadre gallery; afterwards, enjoy coffee down the road on the elegant terrace of Villa Zevaco, a 1949 modernist masterpiece. Other architectural highlights include the Moorish Cathédrale du Sacré Coeur and the PTT (main post office) on Boulevard de Paris.
Eating cheaply ...
The best budget places are in and around the Marché Central: the Snack Amine cafe offers bargain plates of fried fish and salad; if you dare, grab a Spéciale beer afterwards for about £1 at one of the rowdy bars on Rue Abdellah (best is La Peau de Vache).
... and splashing out
Enjoy sensational fish at Ostréa (00 212 522 441390) on the port, or at La Taverne du Dauphin (00 212 522 221200; taverne-du-dauphin.ma) but sit inside to avoid the tourists. Eat top French food at La Table du Rétro (00 212 522 940555) or La Maison du Gourmet (00 212 522 484846; lamaisondugourmet.ma), or try international fusion cuisine at Rick's Café (00 212 522 274207; rickscafe.ma). Drink local beer or Moroccan Guerrouane or President wine.
Getting there
Air Arabia has just launched a budget service from Stansted to Casablanca, four times a week. Fares start at £77 one way, including taxes. For reservations contact 0844 482 2320; airarabia.com.
