i got chased by a stray dog in aïn diab and started taking notes on casablanca's real vibe

okay, look. i’ve been tagging walls and dodging rent-a-cops from Maarif to Sidi Belyout for two years. my sketchbook’s half full, half stained with mint tea and rain. casablanca isn’t paris or berlin. it’s a concrete beast breathing diesel and dreams. you feel it the second you step off the tram-this humid, salty air that sticks to your skin like cheap glue. right now? it’s that weird april limbo where the atlantic fog rolls in at 4 pm and the whole city gets this grey, cinematic filter. perfect for photographing ugly-beautiful architecture, terrible for drying wheatpaste. we’re a short flight from ifrane’s freezing pine forests, but here it’s all sea and noise.

let’s talk neighborhoods like we’re gossiping over a 15-dirham espresso at this hole-in-the-wall near the old medina. no tourist brochures, just what my spray can and i have seen.

*gaultier (the fancy, french-named area near the cornichе) is where consultants in ill-fitting suits get their suits tailored. rent for a shoebox studio? 7,000+ dhs a month. feels like a mini-dubai with worse sidewalks. safe if you’re carrying a leather briefcase, sketchy if you’re carrying a skateboard. i heard a security guard at the moroccan mall tell me, “watch your bag, but don’t look scared. they smell fear like fish smell the sea.”

“aïn diab at night? don’t walk alone after the cafes close. not because of people-because the waves erode the promenade and you might just… vanish into the dark. happened to a friend of a friend. he was just staring at the lighthouse, thinking.” - overheard at la cigale, a bar that’s seen better decades

sidi belyout is where i live. chaotic, loud, family-run fondouks rubbing shoulders with internet cafes. rent’s “cheap” here-3,500 dhs for a place with a balcony that looks onto a brick wall. it’s the city’s sketchy, lovable stomach. you’ll see guys in djellabas arguing about football next to a neon-lit phone repair shop. i’ve beenarted here at 2 am and the old lady downstairs just offered me harira. “you’re hungry, idiot,” she said. safety? keep your head on a swivel near the big mosque after dusk, but daytime it’s just… life. raw.

maarif is the student/young professional scramble. crammed cafés, co-working spaces that smell of ambition and espresso. rent’s a gut punch-5,500 dhs for a room you share. it’s “safe” in that pickpocket sense, not in the “strange shadows follow you” sense. i got my camera almost lifted at the tram station there. watch the grand mosquée area on fridays-packed, beautiful, but a pickpocket’s paradise. my photographer friend (we’re a duo) swears by the café des nations for people-watching, but we always sit with our backs to the wall.

“the ‘safe’ zones are just the ones where the police have quotas to fill. if you’re white and lost in bourgogne, you’ll get ‘helped’ by three cops. in racine, you’re invisible until you’re not.” - drunk british expat at the warehouse club, take with a grain of salt

Ain diab (coastal) is a total mind game. daytime: wealthy Moroccans in bmw’s, beach boys trying to sell bracelets. rent is astronomical-think 12,000 dhs for a fabled sea view. but after the last café closes? the long, dark promenade becomes this eerie, isolated stretch. i went there to sketch the lighthouse at midnight and felt watched by the sea, not the people. it’s physically safe-ish, but emotionally… heavy. like the city’s sadness leaks out there.

the real wildcard? Derb Sultan . old industrial, now a mix of artists’ studios and half-finished buildings. rent is “what you can beg for.” i know a juggler who pays 1,800 dhs for a room above a car parts shop. it’s not on any “safe list”-some blocks feel abandoned-but there’s a raw, creative energy. the danger isn’t violent; it’s the building might collapse or the next street over could be a complete mystery. i love it. it’s casablanca’s dirty, beating heart.

“don’t trust the ‘top 10 safest neighborhoods’ lists on r/casablanca. they’re written by guys who drive to work and live in a compound. try sleeping in mohammedia if you want a break from the city’s pulse. it’s a sleepy fishing town, 20 minutes away, where the biggest threat is a crab pinching your toe.” - a local who grew up in belvedere

so where should you actually stay? depends on your drug of choice. want clean streets and a pool? gaultier or anfa. want to feel the real pulse, get robbed once and make friends the next? sidi belyout or derb sultan. want to pretend you’re in a bournemouth postcard? aïn diab by day, not by night. check recent posts on tripadvisor for hotel horror stories-realer than any guidebook. and for café spots that won’t rip you off, i use yelp, but filter by “locals.”

final note: casablanca’s safest neighborhood is the one where you’re not staring at your phone. its most dangerous? thinking you’ve got it figured out. i still get lost in quartier des hôpitaux* every other week. that’s the point. it’s a city that rewards paying attention, not following maps. now if you’ll excuse me, i have to go test a new wall before sunrise. the rain’s stopped.

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