Morocco: Rabat - Casablanca

I arrived at the Rabat Sale airport today around 3:30pm. The first thing I noticed was the heat, I’m unsure what the temperature was, but I frequently wiped the sweat from the forehead, and some women fanned themselves, especially on the muggy trains. Rabat is the capital of Morocco, and supposedly the most modern centre in the country. Unfortunately, because I am only spending a week here, I decided to skip Rabat and go straight to Casablanca. The Rabat airport was very small, easily the smallest airport I’ve been to. 

The airport

No one at the airport spoke English, but my slaughtered Franclais managed to get my currency exchanged to Moroccan dirhams  (dh) and get a taxi to the train station. I really enjoyed the drive through the city.  Though I was worried when the right hand side passenger and back door of the cab swung open before even getting out of the parking lot. The good slam and we were good for the rest of the way.  I’ve discovered that drivers in both Rabat and Casablanca are much more liberal with driving rules than in Canada. Horns are used more frequently, and cars do not follow lanes. The traffic has been busy, sometimes bumper-to-bumper. Seatbelts are also not mandatory here. I noticed drivers in fancier cars have them, but the beat-up cabs lack seatbelts. Both taxis I took today had a colourful CD hanging from the rear-view mirror, with small Arabic printing on it.  I’m going to try to remember to ask the next taxi driver I have what those are. Motorcycles here are popular, but much smaller than the ones I’m used to seeing. Often a man drives, and a woman sits on the back. I also noticed that a cop stands on the side of the road every kilometre or so. They look rather relaxed, and see, to just watch traffic. My favourite thing was all the palm trees and rose bushes in the boulevards. Once I got to the train station, I had about 45 minutes to waste, so I found myself watching people and clothing styles. Men dress almost identically to men in Canada, though they do not seem to wear shorts as often.  In the city, there are some men who wear long white dresses. Only about half the women wore head scarves, and of those half, half wear the long gown, and half wear a scarf with more modern clothing. Women who dress this way generally wear long pants, high heels or fancy flats, and blouses with a longer shirt underneath. Some women have beautiful henna on the hands and feet.  Most of the women who wear the long gown are very colourful and glittery. They are stunning, and despite the popular images in media, were commonly working, laughing, and chatting with both men, women, and non-Islam women. There doesn’t seem to be any segregation. Purples and pinks are especially common, green and blue are also prevalent in the gowns. I’ve only noticed a few women in all black or all white, and they were mostly in the countryside, which I think may be more conservative. The women who don’t wear headscarves dress very similarly to women in Canada, though none wear mini-skirts or shorts. Almost every non-scarved woman I have seen has been wearing long pants, often tight and stylish, only a couple wore knee-length or longer skirts, or Capri pants. The train station was quite confusing. There were hardly any signs in Arabic or French, not to mention English. Only a couple of people seemed to speak English, but everyone was very friendly and helped me out using sign-language or some sort of communication in Franclais. I have said “merci” about a thousand times today.  Other than style, I am finding plant life absolutely spectacular, in both the city and the country. There are also a lot of little white butterflies. There are trees with bright purple flowers, these long hanging yellow flowers, orange trees,  grasses, cactuses, and palm trees.  

Palm trees

On the train I got to see a lot of countryside and small towns between Rabat and Casablanca. Everyone has a clothesline, and the architecture is generally white, pink, or yellow square houses and buildings with plenty of shutters. The countryside seemed to have a lower quality of living than the cities, houses were more rundown, and apart from the train, it appeared that there was only dirt roads. However, it was stunning. With maybe a mile between the train and the Atlantic, I could see the water across the field and orchards, and watch farmers pick food and women and children walking on the dirt roads. There were few cars in the countryside, but many donkeys and rickshaws. I would have liked to take photos, but I was unable to get a window seat close to my luggage. It worked out for the best because the women I sat with, despite not knowing English helped a great deal in telling me where to get off and explaining our location to me. The laughed at me a few times, I think my expressions at some of the beautiful areas were funny to them. Not far from Casablanca, we passed what appeared to be a nuclear power plant, which was rather unpleasant smelling, and had these tall thin towers with fire coming out the top. I’ve never seen anything like it. The outskirts of Casablanca were largely industrial, and where I found the biggest surprise today. Perhaps I am naïve, but I was shocked to see in the narrow strip between the city and the train tracks were literally hundreds of marijuana plants. They seemed unpicked, mostly, some were the size of bushes, and some the size of trees.  I think they were natural, though I don’t really understand. Marijuana use is illegal in Morocco, tough common. They were the most dominant amongst the other flora, but after several minutes, I got used to it and they sort of mixed in with the cactuses and grasses as though they were nothing unusual. I arrived at the Casablanca Port train station, which is right on the water. I then cabbed to my hotel. My hotel is so beautiful. Common to the other buildings here, it is colourful, full of mosaics, and full of vibrant abstract art. The owner is very sweet and helpful. I have my own room with a balcony overlooking the medina square and garden, and I can see the water as well. It also has a TV, a bathroom (the type where the toilet and shower aren’t separated), and a queen sized bed, and it has a beautiful tile floor. The hotel also has a gorgeous entrance and eating space and a lovely roof where you can eat or hangout that looks over the other rooftops and water. 

My room

The entrance way

View from the roof

Once I emailed my parents and settled in, I went to a restaurant the owner suggested. The outside of it was castle-themed, and the inside wasn’t really inside as just gardens, fountains, and trees that provided shade.  It was absolutely stunning, and the waiters were kind and allowed me to take photos. The tables were also mosaic, and instead of free bread, you get free olives. All of the waiters were men under 25 wearing tight t-shirts, and there was one waiter for every few tables, so the service was excellent. I ordered the “exotique” juice, and “the traditional Moroccan,” despite not knowing what any of the ingredients were. What I got was thick honey crepes, a strawberry jam filled doughnut like thing covered in sugar, and deep-fried dough sticks covered in sugar. I am not complaining! It was delicious, though maybe not nutritious. It is one of the fanciest restaurants in the Old Medina (the neighbourhood I’m staying in), and the whole meal, including the tip cost 80dh, which is $10! 

My first Moroccan meal

I then wandered around the neighbourhood a bit, which was both delightful and embarrassing. The people on the streets are male by a large majority. There don’t seem to be many tourists, the ones I have met are of similar skin tone of Moroccans, so they blend in. I stick out like a sore thumb. Most people stare at me, but aren’t necessarily disrespectful. The owner of my hotel said people are likely to be curious about my freckles, since that is so uncommon in this part of the world. This all said, many people smile, nod, say Bonjour!, and are encouraging as well. One little girl was quite blatantly staring at me as I walked by, and her mother pinched her and scolded her in French, before smiling at me. There are many street dogs and cats too. The was a park with a bunch of young boys playing soccer, and the dogs joined in, while their Dads watched from the fence. I only explored through the streets and parks of the old medina for about 30 minutes, as I wanted to get back to the hotel before dark, and get to bed early.  Because I am overlooking the square, it is a bit noisy, but there are people singing, both secular and religious songs, and having fun, and it’s nice to watch from my balcony. I get one English channel on my TV, “Dubai One,” from the UAE, which when I turned it on was playing…

Grease with Arabic subtitles! So pleased! Some commercials are in Arabic, some French, and some English with subtitles.

Time for bed! Tomorrow I plan on going to some temples and markets.