August 26th - Rabat, the capital city

Rabat was to be our final major destination. We stayed in a hotel in the new part of town, but within easy distance of the old. Early in the morning we walked through the medina, reaching the ramparts overlooking the ocean. The view was lovely and the weather was lovely – the oppressive desert heat was definitely behind us. Looking back towards the city, we could see a river filled with little boats, and the distinctive unfinished tower of the Mausoleum Mohammed V we would be visiting later.

The beach filled but not crammed with vacationers beckoned. We made our way down to the water, took off our shoes and waded into the Atlantic for the first time this trip. We strolled for a bit, asking the recreational fishermen how their catch was, watching the spray splash over the lighthouse. Finally, we wandered back inland to find a taxi to the mausoleum.

It was midday, so the mausoleum buildings were closed for a few hours, although we were welcome to wander through the grounds. We decided that these interiors were getting to look fairly similar anyhow, and wandered through an alien landscape of half pillars set to the sound of chanting being broadcast from the incomplete Hassan Tower. Apparently, construction on the tower was stopped when the sultan who commissioned it passed away (1199), while the pillars had been toppled by the great Lisbon earthquake (1755), along with a mosque which had been at the site.

After hanging around enjoying the calm of the place for a bit, we meandered back into the medina, where we bargained for those last few items. Another pair of sandals. K decides he will go for the thuja coaster set. Leather bags. I can not pass those stores without thinking back to the tanneries now. It turns out that many stores close down midday Friday and will not reopen until evening, so some streets feel almost deserted.

We’re lured by a street stall to try some local fare from the sea – which means fried fresh fish. I eat flat bread, fried sardines, fried potatoes and fried eggplants and feel rather grossly greased. When we are done, the stall owner makes a list of numbers totaling to 42. He says to take that number and divide by two – 21Dh = $3 is the price for 3 people’s lunch and drinks. This is why I say that Rabat rivals Fes for my favourite city – the people here are so honest and so much less in your face. Before going on to our next destination, we made a stop at an internet café for an hour and a bookstore to pick up a very inexpensive French copy of Le Petit Prince (not available in Arabic unfortunately).

Our final destination is some Roman ruins of the port city – Chellah or Sala Colonia. The most famous ruins in Morocco are Volubilis, further north along the coast, which we did not have a chance to visit. Those in Rabat were very impressive nonetheless – my first Roman ruins. I’ve never been to Italy, but I’ve always imagined that most of the more crumbly tourist sites are cordoned off, somewhat maintained and viewed from a distance. Not so in this case. We were free to clamber around most of the structures, over which these brilliant purple-flowered vines ran rampant. There was one main thoroughfare, with half buildings set against an embankment. There was a temple, column bases, a half statue, tablets with Latin very clearly inscribed in them. On another side were Islamic buildings and some gardens– apparently the area had been converted to a royal burial ground.

We returned to the medina to take a look at the night markets. During the day, we had noted that the streets here were so much wider and less claustrophobic than those of the other cities. Now that it was night, vendors had spread their wares all along the center of the thoroughfare, leaving two narrow paths on either side for pedestrians. We were squeezed between folks shopping at the stores at the sides and from the stalls in between. A and K bargained for some tea sets, while I just took in the sites. The throngs of people that appeared now at nightfall were amazingly large – I’m quite certain that in the event of a fire, a stampede could easily be started.

After shopping, we took in dinner at the first Chinese restaurant we had seen in all Morocco. The hostess was an Asian lady who conversed with us in French. I wish I hadn’t been too shy to ask for her story, I was really curious to know how she came to be in Morocco. The only other people in the restaurant were a couple of Asian men at the table behind us. I ordered the almond chicken, which came with some formerly battered chicken which had turned rather mushy in the sauce. I ate the almonds and vegetables with the rice and was happy enough.

Next - Aug 27 - Train to Asilah