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Rabat: the Good and the Not-so-good Rabat: the Good and the Not-so-good
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Photo by Hendi Kaf, in Cambodia

I haven't been everywhere...
but it's on my list!


Photo by Hendi Kaf,
in Cambodia



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Old 24 May 2011
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Join Date: Feb 2011
Location: Johannesburg, South Africa
Posts: 72
Rabat: the Good and the Not-so-good
Rabat. It’s like no other place in Morocco. It’s the most exciting city I’ve been to since Cairo but not nearly as chaotic. Tourists and locals are treated equally. You won’t get hassled by shopkeepers and faux guides and you can enjoy the city without getting all defensive and paranoid every time you’re approached by a local. In short, if you like cities, and you like Morocco, you’ll love Rabat.
I’ve become quite good at finding the ‘perfect’ hotel room. Rabat was a little more tricky than usual because I wanted to be within walking distance from the medina, but it was a high density area and none of the hotels had parking for my motorcycle. It was suggested a few times that I park in the nearby underground garage but when I checked it out I discovered a huge nest of German cars parked on floors clean enough to eat from. Concerned that my little Japanese motorcycle might send property values tumbling, combined with the fact that the parking would cost more than my room I decided to pass. I love my bike but really…… By the time I was on my fourth hotel and about to give up, the friendly hotel clerk matter-of-factly told me to park next door at the garage that only charges twenty Dirhams a day. Because I must have looked like an idiot trying to follow his directions in French, he promptly summoned the car-guard to walk me over and the whole parking matter was settled in the next few minutes. Now why didn’t the other clerks think of that?
Back at the hotel I followed my usual routine….inspect the room, make sure it has a balcony, haggle for a better price, confirm that once again there isn’t Wi-Fi, and try to impress the clerk by thanking him in Arabic. I’m very proud of my seven Arabic words and “Shukran’ happens to be my favorite one. The next step is to drag my (too much) luggage up to my room while cursing those nineteenth century architects for not knowing that elevators were coming.
That afternoon, while sitting at a street-side café, sipping yet another orange juice and watching the world go by, I heard the clapping of hands and the chanting about a block away. In my two months in Morocco I’ve seen many small demonstrations. They’re always peaceful resulting only in brief traffic disruptions. I didn’t pay much attention until all of a sudden there were police in riot gear with plastic shields everywhere. Surprised I started paying attention now, noticing the people around me doing the same. At first I looked around for an escape route should things heat up, but the situation soon became the best comedy show in Rabat. Young people were openly taunting the police. Instead of forming a disciplined line, police officers in full riot gear would clumsily chase after the more athletic students while the crowds were howling with laughter. It all ended in good humour shortly afterwards and life went back to normal as if nothing happened.
It’s my second day in Rabat and I’m getting ready to go out when I hear the clapping of hands and the chanting again. It’s a small group of students protesting in front of some government building. Within minutes they’re outnumbered by police in riot gear (no plastic shields this time). It must have been the same guys from yesterday because they look pissed, but apparently also didn’t learn a thing from yesterday’s fiasco except to get rid of the plastic shields. I couldn’t believe it when they again started chasing the nimbler students around. It was like the high school chess club challenging the all-star rugby team. To make matters worse, when they did manage once to corner a few students they simply yelled at them and shook their batons in the air. Thank goodness it wasn’t a full scale riot. They would’ve gotten their butts kicked!
When it ended about thirty minutes later I decided to take a stroll through the medina. I spotted an ice-cream stand earlier in the day and without hesitation I headed there now. Seeing the extremely hot afternoon out with one of those colorful frozen yogurts seemed just the way to go. It was while strolling through the medina, licking my cone that I saw a bicycle clip a pedestrian. The two guys got into a heated argument which ended when the cyclist received a slap in the face from the pedestrian before they were pulled apart by onlookers. It seems that Rabat has its fair share of weirdo’s. In just two days I’ve witnessed several aggressive incidents, ranging from shoving matches to drug addicts punching walls and teenagers breaking bottles on sidewalks, and always the passersby take it in their stride, carrying on with their business as if nothing was happening. Life in a big city!
Shocked by the slapping incident, I decided to head for the more peaceful surroundings of the square just outside the medina. This was the place to be and also the right time to be there. There were hundreds of children chasing balloons, balls and one another (all well behaved); parents sitting around watching them; young couples strolling across the square; bigger kids inline skating like pro’s; and a balloon vendor making a fortune. Anywhere else in Morocco, as a foreigner, you would stick out like a sore thumb in a place like this. Not in Rabat. It felt great to be inconspicuous and I could actually sit there and mind my own business for once.
As if synchronized my stomach started complaining for food just when the street lights came on and I ventured back into the medina to feed myself. It had come to life. What was earlier a fairly calm marketplace had transformed into a frenzy. There were people everywhere; shopping, strolling, eating, or just hanging around. Not a single one of the colourful steel doors were now shut. Every store was brightly lit and on full alert, displaying its merchandize in the most alluring way possible. The alleyways were also now cluttered with everything imaginable for sale. Sidewalk vendors were competing with stores, and stores were retaliating by displaying their merchandise outside in the alleyways.
Being on a quest for food I decided to stroll along until I spot the appropriate stand, make sure other people were also eating there, and then buy my food. I always seemed to end up at the smokiest stand but the food was good. I decided to step out and go for a five course street-meal today. For a starter I had barbequed corn-on-the-cob presented on a leaf by a smiling teenager. Strolling further I stopped for a main course of pita bread stuffed with fried sausages and onions served by another smiling guy with a shaved head, long beard and who was smartly dressed in a robe, while a munching customer was giving him tips on how to construct the perfect sandwich…..as if he wouldn’t know. For dessert I lined up at a pastry counter with a million teenage girls for what I think was some kind of apple strudel. When the busy little man behind the counter told me the price I knew why all the teenagers were there….the cheapest apple strudel I’ve ever had. I rounded it off by buying a peach from a little boy who couldn’t have been older than ten but was manning a whole cart of fruits and looking very proud of himself. I ended dinner with a coffee at one of those sidewalk cafes where just men hang out before heading back to my ‘perfect’ little hotel room in my ‘less-than-perfect’ neighbourhood.
And so I ended another day in the greatest Moroccan city I’ve visited, looking forward to further exploring it tomorrow while reminding myself that I’m here to get my Mauritania and Mali visas, and hope that I can stay focused.
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Jo’burg to Cairo (And a bit further): KLR 650
Southern Africa (And still going strong): XT660Z Yamaha
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