When Ernest Hemingway visited Rick's Cafe in Casablanca

I stepped into Rick's Cafe, the smoke-filled air clinging to my skin like a damp shroud. The sounds of clinking glasses and muted conversations enveloped me, transporting me to a bygone era. I took a seat at the bar, ordering a whiskey as I gazed around the room. The walls were adorned with memorabilia from the iconic film, and the staff moved with the precision of seasoned performers.

The bartender, a gruff but kind-eyed man, slid a glass in front of me. "Sour Jdid," he said, his voice low and gravelly. I took a sip, the tangy flavours mingling with the smoky atmosphere.

I spotted her then, a woman sitting alone at a table, her eyes fixed on some distant point. She was a vision in red, her hair dark and luxurious, her skin like alabaster. I watched her, mesmerized, as she sipped her drink, her eyes never leaving the spot.

The piano player began to play "As Time Goes By," and the woman's eyes flickered, her gaze meeting mine for a brief moment. I felt a jolt of electricity, and I knew I had to talk to her.

I took my drink and wandered over to her table, my footsteps quiet on the worn wooden floor. "May I join you?" I asked, my voice low and smooth.

She looked up, her eyes flashing with a hint of amusement. "I suppose it's okay," she said, her voice husky.

We talked, our words flowing like the whiskey, as the music swirled around us. We spoke of love and loss, of dreams and disillusionment. The cafe was a haven, a refuge from the turmoil outside.

As the night wore on, the crowd thinned, and the staff began to clean up. I glanced at my watch, surprised to find it was past midnight. The woman smiled, her eyes sparkling, and I knew I didn't want the night to end.

"Shall we?" I asked, standing up.

She nodded, her smile still playing on her lips. We stepped out into the cool night air, the stars twinkling above like diamonds. We walked, our footsteps echoing off the buildings, until we reached the edge of the medina.

"Here's looking at you, kid," I said, my voice low.

She smiled, her eyes shining, and I knew that this was a moment I'd never forget. We stood there, frozen in time, as the city pulsed around us.

Rick's Cafe was more than just a bar – it was a time machine, a refuge from the world's troubles. And in that moment, I knew I'd return, drawn by the allure of the past and the promise of new connections.

As I looked into her eyes, I knew that some memories would stay with me forever, like the taste of a fine whiskey or the sound of a timeless melody.

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You can visit a recreation of Rick's Cafe at Place du jardin public, 248 Bd Sour Jdid, Casablanca 20250, Morocco

Website: www.rickscafe.ma