Nearly every week, the blogging girl took the train to that fabled place, Casablanca. Truth be told, it wasn't one of her favorite cities -- its beauty had been lost in the hodgepodge of architecture, in the whirring of cars, and in the smog that clung to her like a second skin. But Casablanca had its slivers of light, too, particularly along its corniche, or coastline. It was there that one of the girl's favorite lunchtime restaurants could be found, the Sqala.
The Sqala's doors were the perfect sort of blue.
And within those doors lay an unexpected oasis.
There were small stools here and there on which to perch.
The plantings were lush, and flowers climbed with few boundaries.
The blogging girl sat with a French-Moroccan friend. They shared tiny salads in tiny bowls. So charming.
They weren't the only ones enjoying themselves in this tiled wonderland. Why every table was taken.
One last cup of mint tea from a shiny Moroccan teapot, and it was time to go.
Another meeting, another train.... Sigh. But there was always next week....Same time, same place....at the Sqala.
The Sqala Avenue des Almohades - Casablanca (When you see the flags, you'll know you're there.)
