Casablanca

A pretty sunrise view from Royal Air Maroc.

In my mind Casablanca was a movie--my mother's favorite--before it became a place. Unlike the locals, the Lonely Planet guidebook insists not a frame was shot in the city.

The medina, a short walk from the hotel,  enclosed us in an ancient culture on a lively Saturday morning.

The produce looked irresistibly fresh.  Morocco was the Roman Empire's breadbasket.

Pomegranates are a dessert staple.

Haircut, anyone?

Some vendors were friendlier than others.  All were male.

Mickey put in an appearance, too.

Neither Thom nor I could figure out what this galleon was doing on a roof.

A five-point stars appears on the national flag and in many other places, including trucks.

The king peers out from EVERYWHERE, including bank notes.  This one is worth $20.

Muslim women don't like to have their photos taken.  I waited until this one turned her back.

Surprisingly, Casablanca has few tourist attractions, so the Hassan II Mosque, the 3rd largest in the world, is a must-see even though it opened in 1993.  The Atlantic Ocean borders the north side.

Thom worshipped the early afternoon son.

I took a selfie against a bronze door.

Six thousand Moroccans worked five years to produce the incredible decorative intricacy that links the country's past with the present.  

Islam prohibits the imagery of living things other than flowers.

The streets of Casablanca also boast a lot of French colonial architecture.  France ruled Morocco for nearly half the 20th century.

We picked up some goodies at Patisserie Bennis Habous before heading to a cafe for some mint tea. A very refreshing respite!

New Tradition?

Magda, Joe, Dagny and Moofy hosted their first Thanksgiving at their new town house in South Boston.

The master bedroom occupies the entire fourth floor.

Some view, huh?

Tom said the stairs made him feel like Jimmy Stewart in Vertigo.

Fortunately, Dagny has a "climb every mountain" attitude!

Audrey and I took her for a morning stroll in the lovely park across the street.

Like Audy B, like granddaughter--they loves them some leopard print.

Joe and I drank some java on the stoop for a bit.  We loves us some plaid.

And everybody loves a parade

. . . or a funky dance party.

I'm pretty sure Magda coordinated the living room decor with the platinum edition Scrabble set I gave her a long time ago.  She beat me, too, in a nail biter!

Ezzy and Julia stopped by for dinner with baby Charlie, who slept blissfully throughout the lively and delicious meal.  Kudos to Joe, who did most of the cooking without breaking a sweat!

Who doesn't like being in the middle of a love sandwich?

Isn't It Ironic (Redux)?

Not bad.  It made me re-think my annual Christmas card.  And "You Oughta Know," sung surprisingly as a lesbian cri de coeur, is a real show stopper.  Alanis, be proud!

Brooklyn Bridge @ Sunset

A German-language adaptation of a French novel by a gay author about sexual assault and racism propelled me to Brooklyn for a Saturday matinee.  History of Violence isn't for the faint of heart.

I hadn't walked across the Brooklyn Bridge since before retirement, when the City's Health Department relocated to Long Island City, nearly a decade ago.  Since then Instagram has put DUMBO on the map.

New York's beauty differs from that you find out West, but I'd be hard pressed to rank them in a contest, especially at sunset.

The reflective surfaces of the buildings at Hudson Yards glow almost radioactively in the distance.  I noticed the same effect on the high rises that have mushroomed in Long Island City when I took the Airtrain in from JFK Airport at dawn last week.

California and Arizona weren't as crowded with tourists, that's for sure.  I saw a woman knocked down by the crush of bicyclists and pedestrians on the bridge.  NOBODY pays attention to the designated lanes and directions.

I detoured past City Hall, too.  Hard to believe I used to go there for weekly meetings in the wanting days of the Bloomberg Administration.