Morocco Part IV: Rabat and Casablanca

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...continued from Morocco Part III: In and Around Fes

 

The next morning I took the 6:30 am train to Rabat. I slept a bit, worked on the blog and enjoyed the green hills, reaching Rabat at 10 am. Alongside Fes and Marrakech, Rabat too was an ancient capital, though of lesser importance. Another UNESCO World Heritage site, it is the capital of the Kingdom of Morocco today, and combines the ancient and modern elements: the old Medina, the colonial French buildings and modern trams.  A short walk from the train station took me past the gates of Rabat's small medina and to the guesthouse, Riad Dar Soufa. It was one of the top two places to stay in the city, and the decor lived up to my expectations. My room was oblong shaped with the bed at one end, a sitting area in the middle and an open bathroom at the other end, with an option to draw a curtain for privacy.

The host Benoit was a cheerful young Frenchman and he gave me a map and a few pointers. I strolled about the medina for a bit - many shops were closed as it was a Friday. There were one too many pizzerias along the main thoroughfare for my taste, but perhaps there was a demand for them here. Only a sloping strip of land separated the medina from the Atlantic Ocean. In any other city, this strip of land would be infested with hotels and restaurants, but here it was one cemetery after another. I guess that's one way of honoring the dead: give them a prime plot of land after they're gone.

 

 

 

A short walk from the cemetery took me to Kasbah de Oudiais, an old settlement at the estuary of the small river separating Rabat from it's major suburb Salle. The upper and lower halves of the walls here were painted white and blue respectively, giving the neighborhood a distinct flavour.

 

 

 

Thereafter I walked along the river to reach the Mausoleum of Mohammed V, Morocco's King during the latter half of the 20th century. Besides the saints, his name seemed to be the most used to name monuments. I couldn't walk up the steps of the Mausoleum as they were about to shut it for the Friday afternoon Namaaz. On the other end of the plaza was the well regarded Hassan Tower, but it was undergoing restoration and thereby closed to visitors.

I had pizza for lunch at a restaurant named Zumba, and then took the tram to the Rabat train station to visit the Museum of Morocco a block away. It had one floor dedicated to Morocco's history between 9th and 14th centuries, a time when the cities of Fes, Marrakech and Rabat were found under the rule of the Idrisses, Almoravids, Almohads and Merinids. 

The descriptions of displayed objects were only in Arabic and French, but there was English commentary for the major events. The other two floors exhibited work of Modern Moroccan artists. One interesting exhibit was one where the audience had to pass through a room filled with plastic bottles hanging from the ceiling into another room littered with waste and finally into another room where a human figure was made with plastic bottles.

A 15 minute walk away was the complex of Chellah, the necropolis of the Merinid dynasty. It was also one of the venues for a music festival - different from the one in Fes - starting that day. Hoping to get some information about the fest from two gentlemen who were discussing it, I started with a polite enquiry and ended up having a 45 minute conversation with them. One of them was a Frenchman from Marseille who had disposed his father's ashes in Varanasi and hoped someone did the same for him when his time was up. Within a week now, I had met two Frenchmen who spoke about Varanasi the way Indians speak about New York or London, and I had never visited India's holiest city. The other one was a black man who grew up in Edison, New Jersey, and thus knew a fair bit about Indian culture. We talked about what brought me to Morocco, how travel invigorates the soul, the distorted way in which the west views the east, the growing North African population in Marseille, and the otherworldliness of Tokyo. 

On the way back to the guesthouse I ran into a theatre that was one of the venues of the music festival. An Iraqi band was playing and I bought a ticket for the show due to start an hour later. I dropped my camera at the room, had a quick dinner and reached the venue twenty minutes before show time to get good seats. Ironically I was the first one to arrive and there were just 25-odd people who showed up all evening, 24 of whom were seemed to be either Iraqis or journalists. The vocalist was accompanied by two percussionists, a keyboard player and one who played a santoor like instrument, though using both sets of fingers to play it. The vocalist was quite good, though the music got repetitive after a while and I was too tired to concentrate. The old gentleman seated next to me however was enjoying the concert like it was Jagjit Singh and Ghulam Ali singing together.  There were a few open air concerts as well around the rest of Rabat, including one by Jennifer Lopez which had no entry fee. But I was too exhausted to enjoy any music while standing, even if JLo was performing, and headed back to the guesthouse.

For breakfast the next morning, I applied a mixture of cream cheese and black olive spread over the crepes, which worked out quite well. There was the usual mint tea, OJ, yogurt and fruit to go with that. I then checked out and took a train to Casablanca. This stretch of the railway was the busiest in the country, with the side of the tracks overflowing with litter and some slums all equipped with satellite receivers dotting the landscape. 

When I had started planning my trip, I had the impression, thanks to the movie, that Casablanca would be one hell of a place. On further research I realized that the movie was shot in a studio in Los Angeles, and Casa was just a big bustling commercial city with 6 million people. There was a Rick's Cafe, but a fake one that opened post the movie's success. There was such a dearth of attractions in Casa Blanca that King Hassan II, who ruled towards the end of the twentieth century, decreed the building of a impressive mosque, to be named after him. It is the third largest in the world, second only to the ones at Mecca and Medina. My only agenda for the day was to visit it before heading to the airport for the return flight home.

From the Casa Port station in Casa Blanca, I hailed a cab to the nearby bus terminal which, as per the net, was the only place where one could store luggage. Apparently the storage facility was closed down 6 years ago, but the ticket clerk found me a cargo porter who would take care of the luggage for a small tip. 

I had missed the morning's guided tours at the Mosque - they were the only way a non-Muslim could go inside - so had a couple of hours in hand before the 3 pm tour. I took the tram to L'Oasis station to visit the Museum of Moroccan Judaism. Most people in the neighborhood had no clue where it was, but a local shopkeeper managed to explain to me, using hand signals, that I had to make the first left, fourth right and second left. He was spot on. I however missed a trick - the museum was closed for the day, presumably because of Sabbath. So I hiked back to the tram station, and took one to Place Mohammad V  to visit a private museum run by some Glaoui Foundation. It's major attraction was posters made by French masters in the 19th century to advertise travel to North Africa and Constantinople. Glassware, china and jewelry from the Orient made the balance of the display in this residence-turned-museum. 

A short cab ride brought me to the Hassan II Mosque. It was huge for sure, and had a tall minaret, but I wasn't overawed. It had a rectangular structure and a flat roof as opposed to a dome that I think of when I think of great Muslim architecture such as the Taj or Sultanehmat Mosque. Rather than a mastery of engineering, it seemed more a display of wealth, with all citizens having to chip in for it's construction cost of 800 million dollars. The interiors of the mosque were magnificent though, with it's wide corridors, huge arches and intricate cedar wood panels.

 

 

I skipped the guided tour midway to get back to the bus station at 4 pm, the deadline my luggage keeper had given me as his shift ended then. The cab I took was vacated by an Indian family living in West Africa, the only Indians I came across during my entire trip. I reached the airport, named after who else but King Mohammad V, four hours before the flight time. It was a badly designed and confusing airport even given it's small size. A look at the Air Morocco destination chart showed that Casablanca was a major hub for flights between Europe and North and West Africa. The departure screen was both a tongue twister and a lesson in geography, with destinations like Nouakchott, Douala via Yaounde, and Ouadougou. As much fun as I had during the past week, I couldn't wait to get onto the flight in anticipation of seeing family after a week.

 

The trip worked out to be much cheaper than I had imagined. There is only so much one can spend here. Finding a place that serves alcohol is a task. Even the best Riads go for 5-6k a night. Taxis are cheap, and so is the food.. 

Given the good time I had, I was surprised that very few non-French tourists come here. Maybe the locals' lack of fluency in English is a factor. The lack of English displays at museums and monuments is also a minor irritant. I also asked myself, is it a must visit place ? The mosques aren't as grand as in Istanbul, the palaces not as impressive as in India, the Atlas Mountains ain't the Himalayas or the Andes, and once one gets bored of Tagines and Couscous, there is only pizza and sandwiches to fall back upon. The need for women to dress modestly compared to the West or South East Asia is also a factor to consider. While it can be considered quite exotic, the traditional markets are withering away. It's one thing to be approached by someone who offers to show you around, but when a regular local young man turns into a guide the moment you ask a question, one feels irritated and years for some authenticity. Nevertheless, I had a great time overall and would wholeheartedly recommend Morocco to friends.