Nearer the end than the beginning, we have arrived in Casablanca, where North Africa turns its back on the Atlantic. We've been eating seafood platters and downing pints in the bar where, in the days of the French Protectorate, Antoine Saint-Expury whiled away the hours between mail flights over the Sahara (if you believe the guide books). Tomorrow we go to Rabat. Then Marrakech. From there, home.