7. Morocco: Rabat

El Rabat, Friday, October 22, 1982

(DAN) “Le Mystaire de la Ambassade du Mauretanie”     

Chapter 1. “Ou est la Ambassade du Mauretanie?” was the question of the day. Yesterday we were told that we could get a fairly cheap flight from Casablanca to Nouakchott, Mauritania, and we decided that would be a good way to get around the war zone of the old Spanish Sahara, but, a visa is needed. Well, the tourist agency was not sure but thought that the embassy was no longer at the address that all their literature claimed; instead Mauritanian interests were being handled by Tunisia. Well, next we were at the French consulate looking into Haute Volta visas, and their literature (1979) said that it was at Place de Boubogne, but they were not sure--so we should go to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. Meantime we took the Haute Volta forms home to fill out (four copies) because the right officer was not there.

Well, this morning we walked an hour to the Ministry, got to the receptionist who insisted on consulting a newer book, concluding that the Mauritanian embassy was at the above Place, about 1 1/4 hours' walk in another direction. The French consulate was on the way, so we stopped in to see about the Upper Volta visa. This morning we were informed that we can only get an Upper Volta visas at the French consulate in Chicago. We walked on out to the ‘Mauritanian Embassy’. A rather blond man answered the bell; (much amusement) the Mauritanian Embassy has been closed for three years, and he has lived there that long. After waiting 2.5 hours for the rain to pass we walked all the way back to the Foreign Ministry. This time the same guard dug a little further and found that, "Pardon,” but Mauritanian interests were being handled at the Tunisian Embassy after all. Well, we walked there and it was closed, 1550 hours!

Dan, looking for the Mauritanian Embassy

On our way over we had passed a star spangled guard booth, so we decided that the U. S. Embassy was not far away. They were gracious enough to receive us even though consular affairs are only in the morning.  The woman who helped us was nice -- but, “of course there is a Mauritanian Embassy; it is way on the other side of town.” “We can help you, but you'll have to come back Monday morning.” "Well, what about Algeria?" It turns out that to get into Algeria we have to convert US$250 into local currency (cannot change it back) and that all major purchases such as transportation must be made with foreign currency, i.e. you must be willing to spend $250 just on food, lodging, and purchases, i.e. We are not going to Algeria. As “icing on today’s cake” on our way out we realized that we had been one day behind all week.  We thought it was Thursday (it is Friday) and were counting on the extra day for business. As further decoration on the icing on our way back home we inquired at the airline office again and found that on closer look there are no direct flights to Mauritania; one has to fly to Senegal and then fly back north, i.e. We never could have gone to Mauritania anyway!!! It was actually more complicated than that; they had a price to quote for a direct flight but no schedule. It appears that Mauritania is sort of at war with Morocco. (They will start fighting as soon as they find their embassy.)

For a little background, in 1975 Spain left Spanish Sahara with the assumption that it would be divided between Morocco and Mauritania. The "locals" did not like it and formed the Polisario Guerilla front, and started fighting both countries with help from Algeria, Libya, Cuba, etc. The war almost ruined Mauritania’s economy so they backed out. Morocco promptly moved into the southern half, thereby getting Mauritania mad at Morocco. Morocco apparently skirmishes with both Algeria and Mauritania and the guerrillas. That is why we could not take the western route across the Sahara, and partially why it is difficult to get into Algeria and Mauritania from Morocco.

Rabat as a place to visit is infinitely better than Tangier. We have yet to be hassled; the people are genuinely friendly and eager to help. The sole exception are the people in the hotels, but we heard from our traveling acquaintances that many shoestring travelers try to cheat as often as they can, so the employees might have a reason to be reserved.  On the train we were much more of a curiosity than a nuisance or a bread source.

The city itself is beautiful, and interesting. There are cliffs along the water front except where the Bou Regreg River empties and forms some beaches. The river divides the city into two, Rabat and Sale. Sale is older, completely walled off, and consists mostly of a medina or market. Rabat has three completely walled off areas--the medina (where we are staying), the main business district and the grounds of the Royal Palace, barracks, and many public buildings. In addition there is a large new part of town and an old fortress, the Chellah, which dates back to Roman times. All of the streets outside the medina are tree-lined, green and flowering (perhaps typical of French Colonial Capital Cities). You don't go very far in any direction without going through a lofty arch in the walls. The city and the people more than made up for our problems and disappointments.  Tonight we had tagine, another vegetable stew, excellently seasoned, with potatoes instead of bulgur.

Old Rabat walls and new traffic

                                                                                            Rabat, Saturday, October 23, 1982

(HELENA)  Dan and I just had a good rousing session of laughter over the way he was preparing and fortifying himself to make a trip to the bathroom.  Anybody who knows us, knows that we don't tend toward that sort of jokes, but the rather interesting examples of said rooms that we have been in lately call for a bit of hilarity and fortitude. (Here in Morocco, they have all been the hole in the ground type, with a slippery concrete footprint for each foot.^[1])

First thing this morning was to find the Senegal embassy. We had the address (which the woman at the USA embassy gave Dan), but no one knew where it was. After asking the hotel clerk, a couple of taxi drivers, the police, and another taxi driver who agreed to take us for an outrageous price, we finally got a taxi that knew right where it was. That was when we learned that the taxis have meters, only we had already agreed on a higher price. (Here there are petit taxis and grand taxis, the latter being oldish Mercedes Benzes).

How pleasant to walk in and be told "No problem."  Was I mad when I realized that just this morning I very efficiently took our passport pictures out of the camera bag and put them into Dan's pack.  Sooo.... while I filled out the forms, Dan rushed back to the hotel (a long way) to get the pictures. Unless something untoward happens, we should have our Senegal visas on Monday, no charge. We don't mind the running around much because it's a good way to see the city.

Chellah: ruins with parts dating back to Roman times

We then walked to see the walled section (the Roman Chellah) that Dan mentioned. We walked through the immense gardens and started into the Arab-type ruins. There we were met by a man who claimed to be a guard for the place. He insisted on showing us around, but we eventually were able to leave him behind. I'd say that the only thing left of the Romans is parts of the outer wall and walls that look excavated. The most remarkable ruin is a small minaret topped with huge birds' nests.  We went on around the edge of town, by the huge tomb in honor of Mohammed V, the current king's father. In Spain we marveled at the old Moorish; here they continue to build beautiful things. We found a park bench with a view of the river, the city on the other side (Sale), and the ocean. We really enjoyed it because it's been our first sunny day in Rabat.

The big courtyard beside tomb is apparently being made into the biggest mosque in the world, rather strange looking with stubby columns sticking up everywhere. At the end of that is the uncompleted minaret.  There were 4 guards at the gates, two on black and two on gray horses. I don't know how they could stand so long!

Our walk continued on around the town, past a place where you can see people making tiles, shoes, painting pottery (naturally we were a little shy about barging in). Then we came to a really neat walled in section with a narrow gate. It had narrow whitewashed streets, but was different somehow, from Spain or Tangier. We found a neat look-out point from which we watched the waves criss-cross (right at the mouth of the river).  We even watched surfing! We stocked up on fruit and returned to the "Hotel France". Supper tonight was again right down the street.  That couscous is mighty tasty!.

Mohammed V tomb

Mohammed V tomb with permanent horse guards

Rabat, Sunday, 24 October, 1982

(DAN) Today, our second sunny day, was very leisurely.  We were wakened early by the preparations for market day on the street outside our window but did not hit the streets until 10:00. We walked across the bridge to Sale and walked around the city just inside the city walls.  One phenomenon we noticed is that they did not build the wall right on the water front but at a distance (100 meters?) back. In the space between they have their cemeteries, which are composed of tombs. The graves are outlined (modern ones at least) with concrete curbing, and at the head is a large marker (concrete) with very beautiful tile designs. We had just remarked on this when we saw a funeral party coming toward us. The procession was completely composed of men who followed a small pick-up with the body and a few passengers. They were all chanting in rhythmic unison.  We knew it to be a funeral before it arrived because a young man beside us declared, "Est mort!" Just across the street from that was a group of young men playing a game similar to "ch’utis[2]" except they were using steel balls instead of marbles.

We went on through the town and out the far gate and had our lunch out on the rocks by the sea. We were so close that maybe one out of five waves would spray us with salt water. We can understand why they never had a real port here as whenever we saw the waves, they were l0-l5 feet high. Quite a sight against the rocks.

We wrote letters in the park and came on back for we had more important plans. Since we have been in Morocco, our rooms have had sinks, and there are no showers in the hotel. We happened onto a public bath on one of our forays and decided that Sunday night was bath night.

Rabat shore with Saleh in the distance

The entire process took over two hours not counting the 15 minute walk over and another back. We only had one set of bathing tools.  so first I sat in line and took my bath, and then Helena sat in line for 1/2 hour before she got hers. It cost $0.50 for unlimited time. It was very clean and very hot, so hot that there was not enough cold water to cool it down.  But extremely satisfying was the Morokish bath.  Even the wait was worth it as I made the acquaintance of a man who after a good conversation invited us over to his house the next day. You have heard about our long line of "students wanting to show our foreign friends around the city," but he seemed different, so I accepted.

We were amazed to see how everything was shut down by 9 pm. All day there had been lots of movement in the Medina, especially along our street. There were stores that overflow onto sidewalks, sidewalk stalls that overflow into the street--very much like the good ole Black Market in La Paz. Something which they have here are a lot of small-time vendors standing around with 3 pairs of pants on their arms and shoulders, or 5 pairs of socks, etc.  Many of them had their goods spread on a plastic about 1 meter square. This did not mean anything until all of a sudden the young men would pick up their plastics by the corners and run down side streets.   It was amazing to see these people rushing along, and it would not be long before a soldier would walk down the street.  No sooner would he be out of sight than the streets would fill up and this minor activity would resume.

Finally, one difference we have found is that all of the merchants in big stores, small stores, street booths, etc., are all male. We have yet to be sold anything by a woman, not fruit or bread or other food. Pardon me, but it is like a "mercado" without "Cholas[3]!"

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[1] We have subsequently realized that this is one of France’s contributions to civilization.

[2] A marble game in Bolivia played preferably on uneven bare ground.

[3] An urban indigenous woman in Bolivia, with a characteristic dress including bowler hats.