RABAT, MOROCCO

After I had my passport checked by the Spanish guy I was herded with the crowd out onto the pavement and toward the boat. The first thing I noticed upon boarding is that almost all of the girls who were taking tickets were tall, blond, and beautiful. It was particularly shocking being in that area and headed to Africa. There are pretty girls everywhere you go, some areas have many, others just a few, but I still find the Scandinavians to be consistently the best looking. I later asked one of them and she said it was a Norwegian boat, but with a half Estonian crew.

This ferry was just like all the others I’ve taken. Before I had taken any European ferries my main exposure to ferries was the famous one to Staten Island in New York. That is basically a utilitarian vessel designed to get a large group of people from one place to another quickly and with some degree of comfort. These ferries (and also the ones I took in Argentina) are much closer to The Love Boat than the Staten Island Ferry. The other thing I still can’t get over is they seem actually like are completely designed around the big Duty Free shop in the center. They then have one or two snack bars (depending on size) with food I can’t judge because I’ve never ordered anything from them. Then, where there is room they put in tables and chairs for people to sit in when they are not Duty Free shopping or ordering from the snack bar.

This was supposed to be just a 35-minute journey and I would have been just as happy standing up in a rowboat for that short of a time, but instead you have to stake out a place in the Duty Free Love Boat. I chose a spot near the middle and then actually bought a small bottle of Johnny Walker Red from the Duty Free shop. It was only €7.50 and I know alcohol is somewhat rare in Muslim countries. Those shops are always half filled with assorted chocolates. I know there can be a very high tax (or duty) on alcohol so it makes sense in a place like that, but how much tax is there on chocolate? Could it be that high that people have to stock up on chocolate only when they are crossing international borders? I also found out that virtually ever other person on the boat was part of one tour group or another. It’s a very popular one-day trip sold by travel agents in the area. For only a few Euros more than the roundtrip fare they give you a bus tour of the city and a lunch, but then take you to some carpet and other craft shops where they get 20% of everything you buy. Tangier is the large city just across from Spain and it has a terrible reputation for hustlers and high-pressure salespeople trying to take advantage of every single tourist who sets foot there. I had read that if you are staying for a few days to skip Tangier altogether and jump on the train for 4 hours to get to Rabat, the capitol.

The ship actually left about 15 minutes late and took about 45 minutes until we docked. I was hoping to make a 9:00 train to Rabat, but the train station is 10 minutes away by cab and it was already 9:00 (thanks to another time change). About halfway into the trip I kept hearing the unmistakable sound of a rubber stamp and I saw a group of 5 or 6 people standing in a line in one corner of the boat. I heard they do the Moroccan immigration routine on the boat itself so I went over to investigate. There were no announcements, but sure enough that was the passport guy. I guess since everyone else on board was part of a group with a guide they got instructions from the guide on what to do. I waited in the line for two minutes as it moved quickly, then when I got to the front the guy asked if I was part of a group and I said no. He then asked for my passport and the immigration card that just filled out in line and stamp, stamp, scribble, and off I went.

The boat pulled in late and I could never make that train so I figured I would take my time getting out of there. The disembarking procedure went very smoothly though, partially because everyone else was hanging back waiting for his or her group to reform I think. I was quickly out in the parking lot and ready to fend off the hustlers. There was no clear sign as where to exit on foot so I’m sure I looked a bit confused and right then a young guy came up to me and asked if I needed a cab. I said yes, since I did, then he told me he is not a “guide”, which seemed like a weird thing to say, but I guess since tourists are so often warned about the faux guides they try to stay one step ahead of that. The books say that people will lie to you about transportation options from Tangier in order to get you into the city and this guy lived up to that. He showed me where customs was for pedestrians, but it was just an open gate in a sidewalk with no one attending it so I just walked on through. I asked where the ATM was and he took me there. That seemed like a risky move for me, but daylight mugging doesn’t seem to be in the repertoire of the seedy people in Morocco, although pickpocketing evidently is according to the books.

While I was pulling out some local currency (8.5 Durhams to $1) my new friend said he would check the train schedule. That sounded helpful although I was skeptical of whatever info he might come back with. A minute later he reappeared and said I had missed the 8:30 a.m. train and the next wasn’t until 2:00 p.m. Since I had so much time maybe he could arrange a tour of Tangier for me for €20? I assumed he was lying and didn’t really want to see Tangier so I thanked him and said I would just go to the train station. He then handed me off to an older guy who seemed to be in charge dispatching taxis. I asked the older guy how much to the train station and he quickly said €5. That seemed like a lot in a place like this, especially considering the train station is only about 2 miles away. This didn’t feel like a time and place to argue over €2 so I just went along. The guy screamed over at one of his drivers who was instructed to take me to the train station. We got in his Mercedes and sped out of the parking lot. The normal cabs in Morocco are small cars called petit taxis and they have meters, but the Mercedes’ are called gran taxis and are used for large groups on long journeys. I guess the port taxi operation just uses the big ones.

Five minutes and five Euros later I was standing in front of the newly opened and very modern train station. It was virtually empty so I wondered about the 2 p.m. next train thing for a second, but went inside. As I was told in Tarifa, there was a 9 a.m. train that I was 30 minutes too late for, but there was also an 11:00 a.m. train before the 2:00 p.m. train. I still wasn’t sure what my destination would be even at that point. I must say that is part of the fun of a trip like this, especially in the off-season since every option is available. Plan A was to go to Rabat, but Plan B was Fez, and depending on the length of the train ride I could actually do Plan C and go all the way to Marrakech. The guy at the window gave me the complete Moroccan schedule brochure after I kept asking him individual city schedules. I would leave at 11 and I could be in Rabat a bit after 4, or also Fez at the same time. Part of the logic of going to Rabat in the first place was it was a place to stop on the way to Marrakech or Fez, but thanks to having to change trains along the way, the Fez train actually arrives 5 minutes before the Rabat one.

This was a Thursday and I had read that since Friday is a holy day in Islam, that the markets are closed or quiet on Friday. I decided I should go to Rabat today and spend half of tomorrow on the 4-hour train to Marrakech so I don’t waste a full day while the markets are closed. I bought my 2nd class ticket for Rabat for 98 Durhams (US$11) and waited alone in the empty train station. It’s a very beautiful station with extremely high ceilings, but very few seats. I thought more people from my boat would soon join me, but none did. That confirmed that if I wasn’t the only one not on a tour, I was the only one not staying in Tangier. As 11 a.m. approached the place began to fill up a bit, but when it was time to board the train that had been waiting out front the whole time I easily found an 8-person compartment of my own. The train left exactly on time, which surprised me a little.

As we pulled out of the station I noticed huge piles of plastic bottles and other garbage on the side of the tracks. I assumed we were going through a landfill, but it turns out that many spots along the way look like that. Morocco isn’t a terribly dirty country, but they do seem to have some garbage issues in the countryside. About 3 hours later we pulled into the town of Sidi Kasem where I had to get off the train and wait for my connection. The station is strangely small and modest for an important hub, but there is a snack bar and waiting room inside. I was hanging around outside and a Moroccan man approached me and asked where I was from. That is the first question anybody ever asks you while you are in a country where you don’t blend in. I told him the United States and he seemed pleased and then asked if I had ever heard of Rick Steves. I told him I was a big fan of Rick’s and he told me he has worked with him. I was suspicious at first of course, but we talked for a long time and I was confident that he was genuine. He gave me bits of advice about my Morocco trip, some of which I followed and others that I didn't. He told me when I got to Fez I should call him and I can come over for dinner. In the Lonely Planet guide it says that most people will be invited to someone’s home at some point, but I was sure I wouldn’t as I am usually very quiet, and certainly not in the first few hours.

When the Rabat-bound train pulled in we both got aboard, although he was in first class and I was in second. This time the train filled up quickly and pretty completely so as I kept walking down the cars looking for an opening in a compartment I saw groups of 5 or 6 already jammed in, or sometimes people rudely sprawled across a whole bench pretending to sleep. There were no good seats so I was just going to stand in the corridor for the 90-minute journey to Rabat, but Abdellatif (the man from earlier) saw me as he went to buy a water and pulled me up into first class. I had to pay about $2 extra when they checked my ticket, but it was well worth it. I sat next to him in a compartment with another local man and a Korean girl I had noticed at the station before. She speaks choppy English, but she is actually studying Arabic in Rabat. I asked why and she said she is a Christian missionary. That seemed odd and even dangerous. I can’t imagine that a Korean girl is going to be able to convert many Muslims to Christianity, even if she can be sort of understood in Arabic.

Abdellatif got off at the a station just outside Rabat to meet a friend and the Korean girl was getting off at the stop after mine, so I jumped off alone into the warm Rabat afternoon. One of the things that makes Rabat a great first stop is the modern train station is literally in the middle of the main street in the new city. I had my pick of hotels in my book, but Abdellatif actually recommended one of the cheapest ones called the Hotel Central just a couple blocks from the train station. I was there in minutes and a beautiful but cross-eyed woman there told me a single room with a shower is 100 Dh or without is 80 Dh. That is $12 or $10 so I figured I would spring for the shower. It’s a big hotel, but definitely decades past its glory days. I walked up to look at a room and was satisfied so I went down to check in. This was now officially the cheapest hotel room I have ever rented. This wasn’t shocking because I had read about this, but a room with a shower in Morocco doesn’t necessarily mean it also has a toilet. It had a washbasin and a shower and that was it. Whatever. It also had a great view of a famous hotel next door and its sidewalk café so it seemed like a bargain. The room was fairly large and the bed was comfortable.

Rabat didn’t really look like I expected. It has been the capitol of Morocco since France moved it from Fez in the 1910s and its population is supposedly about 1.5 million. It didn’t look that large in its center or really like a capitol. The main street is called Mohammed V, which is true of every large city in Morocco. Mohammed the 5th was the grandfather of Mohammed the 6th, who is the current ruler. The next major street in each town seems to be Hassan II (he was Mohammed 6’s dad and 5’s son). Mohammed V in Rabat is lined with banks and hotels and clothes store and looks totally European except for the row of palm trees going down its center. The new part of town was built by the French starting about 90 years ago, which is true of every other major city in Morocco as well. In other words, the architecture is fairly modern and generally European. The people are mostly Caucasian looking although with slightly darker features than even the Spaniards. I also noticed quite a few really good-looking women, which I wasn’t really expecting for some reason.

I bought a bottle of water and then found a pharmacy to buy a stick of lip balm on my way down the street to the entrance of the Medina, which is what they call the walled, old city in every town in the area. It’s only a few hundred meters down the street so I was there in a flash. The entrance wasn’t really grand at all and it didn’t even really look like a gate. I cruised on in and was quite surprised at what I saw. These market places in the medinas are the traditional place where locals buy and sell their goods, crafts, and food items among themselves and the Rabat market is not a tourist draw at all as it is much smaller and newer than the famous ones in Fez and Marrakech. Still, I expected the items for sale in this sacred part of this Muslim city to be traditional food and clothes and decorator items like carpets and vases and the like. Instead, the first few dozen stalls along the street are occupied by people selling mobile phones and sunglasses and cameras and just about everything else I didn’t expect to see. Further in you see the carpet merchants and the clothing sellers and the craft dealers, but even then they are mixed up with people selling items you’d normally see at Radio Shack.

My first stop was a table covered with pirated DVDs. Since often my hotel rooms don’t have TVs (or at least channels in English) I thought about buying a DVD to play on my computer. This table had many films I recognized, but only one or two I might want to see. The graphics were all in French also (Moroccans speak both French and Arabic) and I asked the guy if any of them had English audio tracks since virtually every legit DVD sold in the world also has its original English language track as an option. The guy was apologetic and said that very few had English. When I left he thanked me twice for rummaging through his bin and was so friendly that I kept checking my wallet to make sure it was still there. It was. Many Moroccans are extremely friendly. A few stalls further down I found more DVDs and some VCDs (an inferior format for video playback that has long been popular in Asia). Again, they were mostly in French, but I spotted some VCDs of Mr. Bean episodes. They have almost no speaking anyway so I bought two for 10 Dh (a bit over a dollar).

I was really enjoying walking through the market. The sights and sounds were all very exotic and when I came near a spice dealer a heavenly smell would fill the air. There was little or no sales pressure like I heard I would find in Tangier or Marrakech, which made it even more pleasant. I haven’t bought anything at all to speak of on this trip, but I was interested in one of the traditional robes called Djallabas that many Moroccans wear over their clothes. I don’t know why, but I think they look cool and comfortable and I wanted one even though it won’t be much more than a permanent Halloween costume in the U.S. I found a stall that sold them and was a little surprised when they had one that looked good and fit well. I didn’t really want to buy the first one I saw, but the guys were nice and it was exactly what I was looking for. The first bid on their part was 250 Dh, I countered with 150 and after a few more rounds we settled on 200, which was the price I was willing to pay all along and they probably knew it. I was impressed with this market really looking forward to the famous markets of Marrakech and Fez. I had a couple small things for from the food stalls near the entrance and headed back to the new city and my hotel.

That evening I decided to see what a Moroccan bar was like. I had read that there are three distinct types of bar in Morocco. One was a bar attached to an expensive hotel and these tend to be very expensive and fairly boring. The next type was a respectable bar and these contain men and only men (presumably straight men). The third type were the seedy places and those contain men and prostitutes. No normal woman would be out after dark and if she were she would never be in a bar. I could see this pattern already as my book also described the sidewalk cafes the same way and I could see it was true, all Jacks and no Jills. The first place I tried was just two blocks away and obviously aimed at English speakers because it was called Henry’s Bar. I had one quick beer there for 12Dh and tried the other place I read about across the street attached to Restaurant Le Clef. That one was similar inside with about 20 men and no women and the same small beer in a bottle with a glass alongside cost 13Dh, although a free dish of really delicious olives accompanied the beer and just about everything else you get in Morocco.

An English speaking Moroccan about my age asked me where I was from, of course, and we started talking. His English was good, but occasionally he couldn’t find the right word so he tried it in German and amazingly I almost always understood. He had lived in Germany for a few years and has a German wife so he spoke that one well. We chatted for a while, then two of his friends got in the conversation. The first guy bought me a beer and then when I wanted to get the next round he said no. I paid anyway and he seemed insulted. From then on he bought and then his friends insisted on showing their hospitality by buying me one each. The beers were about 8 ounces each, so they never really add up to much. Everyone kept welcoming me to Morocco and insisting I would enjoy it and have “no problems”. I had read having guests is considered ‘a gift from Allah’, but I wasn’t really expecting this warm welcome. I kept getting suspicious, but everyone was just being nice. I was thinking that Morocco was the strangest and one of the nicest places I have been and that I might stick around a while. First I had to get to the real heart of the attractions in Marrakech, which was where I was headed the next day.