Morocco, day seventeen: Casablanca

This is the start of my homeward journey, alas, but it was a sublime day to start a sunset.

The day started with some minor panic because I didn't know that during the night the clocks went back an hour for Ramadan, so after breakfast, when I entered the shower based on the time on my phone it was around 10am and when I emerged, what I thought only a few minutes later, my watch told me it was about 11:30am, which meant I had no chance of getting the 11:50 to Casablanca. This put me into a bit of a confused panic until I realised what was going on.

Once on the correct time I had sufficient to get to the train station on the bus, which was as joyful an experience as the ones that preceded it, although I'd have had less of a walk at the other end had I not taken the number one. But that's not a problem, as my Sunday earlyish-morning walk was altogether lovely in the sun, experiencing the world go about its business fragrantly and noisily.

The first class coaches were at the back of the train, closest to the station building, which meant I had plenty of opportunity throughout the whole two-and-a-something hours of goodness to stand at the back licking the window like the excited spaniel I am. On Friday I'd been upset that it was difficult to get views of the Atlas mountains proper as we'd been going into Marrakech so I'd made a decision, whether my seat had been at the back of this train or not, to watch them for a while as we slowly wended our way north through an ever-decreasingly golden landscape that slowly became green (or at least less golden) again the further we pressed on.

The scenery was spectacular, as was to be expected, but a little bit of haze and cloudy weather over and behind Marrakech meant that sightings of the mountains were challenging, although once seen it was difficult to unsee them. I think a journey on the same train in a cooler period, when there's less pollution and fewer clouds – if such utopian weather conditions exist – would make for a glorious view. As I failed to spy the Unriwalled Showabove – I fear it is not there any more – or buy a bag or a pair of yellow babouches, I think I shall have to visit again.

I think more than in Europe it's possible to observe life happening outside the train as it chugs through the landscape. My favourite sighting from this train was a few minutes north of Skhour Rehamna, where a bridge allows people to cross the train lines easily without fear of being squished. As we passed underneath it, a farmer was driving his camels over the bridge to the other side in perfect safety while children preferred the more direct route over the tracks. In fields, people in hefty djellabas were doing their business, harvesting and moving livestock around or doing whatever is normal to them, under the pounding sun.

On arrival in Casablanca Oasis a taxi rocketed me, with some alarming slaloming through speed bumps and round potholes, to Chez Student where a party for my last night had been organised. Whether this was expressly for my last night or simply a routine Sunday-night occurrence, I shall never know, but feeling very important after my jaunt of cultural discovery and horizon-broadening experiences, I felt it was probably for my benefit that eight students and I were found trying to understand each other's disparate understanding of Monopoly, while a little worse for wear from some local produce that one of them had procured for everyone's benefit which made it difficult to, well, function.

After some distinctly not-non-meaty tea – I've come to the conclusion that it's like haram, in that if you don't know it's not vegetarian, it's vegetarian – we launched into the most complicated game of Monopoly ever, not helped by the plumes of horizon-broadening local produce coming forth and a sneaky gin and tonic someone had smuggled in for me. This might have been considered a short and simple game in the Maghreb, but ten minutes in we were apparently still heatedly negotiating over the first throw of the dice and this set a precedent for the next couple of hours where Monopoly appeared more or less to follow the same observance of other rules I've witness in Morocco, that is to say, it was something of a free-for-all, and whose turn it was didn't follow any kind of logical pattern.

I'd been dealt – I don't remember being dealt cards in Monopoly when I've played it in Europe – Boulevard Saint-Michel, Rue de Paradis, Rue Lecourbe, and the unironically mis-printed Gare du Nobd. Immediately negotiations commenced in Arabic for my properties among the others who were all incredibly interested by what I was going to do and spent a lot of time pointing at my cards and then looking at each other's and then looking at me comelily while waving cards and money.

As I had the Gare du Nobd, and was in a train-station mood, I decided I'd work on getting railway stations and utilities, rather than immediately start building houses and hotels everywhere which is what seemed to be happening without any regard for planning permission on the other side of the board. Companion-cum-opponent to the right declared that he liked me, and that therefore he was prepared to do special price on railway station and possibly the Rue de Vaurigard on the condition I divest Rue Lecourbe to his advantage. I suggested I'd buy his railway station from him, but he wasn't having any of that, and so I eventually acceded to his terms and found myself holding the Gare de Montparnasse and another card that wasn't Rue de Vaurigard which was useless, while in the same transaction suddenly hotels appeared from nowhere on Rue Lecourbe and Boulevard de Belleville and then someone landed on one of my stations and I Like You remarked that I now make money because he do me good deal.

Then there appeared to be a lot more negotiation over my cards from some new property consortia that hadn't existed earlier in the game before I realised I'd not had a go for a while, so I insisted I did and landed on one of I Like You's hotels, at which point my partner to the left suggested I'd like to swap something for a station before I went bankrupt while I Like You welcomed me to his hotel and asked if I needed a massage and offered to protect me from Over There. Left proceeded to tell me that it didn't matter that he didn't actually have a station to give me because no worry if you want station I get you station no worry, and then Over There insistently tried to convince me to part with Rue de Paradis in exchange for Avenue de la République and Rue de Courcelles – and Rue de Vaugirard, which wasn't his to give. Nonetheless, he assured me I Like You would cede Rue de Vaugirard to me on the basis He Liked Me.

There was no such undertaking forthcoming from I Like You who thought I should give him Rue de Paradis and waved some money at me and then reminded me I'd just landed on his hotel, so I declined both kind offers which was a shame because I'd have got a railway station out of it. In the end, I exchanged Rue de Paradis for the Gare de Lyon and La Compagnie de Distribution d'Electricité with Beanie Hat Joint-Maker, who I think had taken it from I've Not Played This Before, much to the consternation of Over There and I Like You, who didn't like me any more. All the time, on the other side of the board, people were just building houses at will with little regard for the rules of Monopoly as I know them and Student was offering all sorts of favours – massages, tour guides – to get his hands on Boulevard Saint-Michel which I held onto just to spite him.

It was all in good fun, and I Like You had previously in the evening asked me what it is I like about travelling – food, culture, etc – and I ventured that it's the journey and the stories that are important, rather than actually where you go or what you see. At the time, I thought this very profound, and then I needed some crisps.

A price was announced for my hotel visit. I asked to see the card. It was suddenly discounted.