Rabat

The road from central Marrakech to Rabat starts as a major urban arterial, walled by mid-rise apartments, offices and street-level retail. Walid works his way around construction projects and errant pedestrians as we quickly merge into an exurbia of scattered homes, light industry and farmlets.  As we head north, even these urban fragments yield to jagged, barren, low-lying terrain, dominated by browned out summer grain remnants, an occasional sad herd of sheep or goats, and ever more sparsely distributed tiny rural settlements.  Most settlement shacks by the side of the road looked deserted, or at least like they should be deserted.

It is now a four-lane highway, speeding southeast of Casablanca past the town of Settat.  The further north we go, the greener the landscapes and more dense and large the villages and towns. As is our habit, I sit upfront with Walid, asking him an occasional question, but mostly find myself staring in weary awe at the strange landscapes we pass.  Jean is in the back, minding her own business, but infrequently raising a question or making an observation.

We are on our way to Rabat, capital of Morocco since 1956, home of King Mohammed VI and his palace and his courtiers and the national administrative state. Our guidebook says that if Casablanca is analogous to the New York of Morocco, Rabat is its District of Columbia. 

The broad boulevards of a capital city, flags-a-flying.

Rabat will also prove to be the highlight of our three plus weeks in Morocco and Spain.  For this is where Jean lived and worked as a United States Peace Corps volunteer for two years, from 1981 to 1983. This is where Jean was placed in her second year in an adult leadership position; provided a car and tasked with driving around the country, meeting with Corps volunteers, evaluating their performance and assisting them with their questions and concerns. This is where she spent her third year, developing written program materials for the Moroccan Peace Corps program. And now, we were eager to see about what, if anything, remained of the places and people she knew way back when.

We arrived mid-afternoon in the city and Walid drove us to the hotel where we would spend three nights, the Rabat Marriott. The hotel was adjacent to, and appeared to be built in conjunction with, a major shopping mall called the Arribat Center. It was also a half block away was one of the city’s modern light rail system stops. Collectively, we had been dropped into a 21st century generic urban middle- to upper-middle class corporate fantasy land. 

While Jean took a brief rest, I scouted out the Arribat Center. Walking the mall corridors, past the same corporate names you would see in Europe or America, the shoppers appeared indistinguishable from their western contemporaries. The majority of the teenage girls and middle-aged women were not wearing hijabs (Dorothy, we are not in Marrakech anymore!). Ethnic attendance too appeared global: melanin levels of all sorts and multiple languages overheard.

Strolling Rabat’s Arribat Center Shopping Mall.

Returning to the hotel, Jean and I decided to take a walk for an early dinner.  We were rewarded with a delicious Moroccan meal where we were the only patrons (it was too late for lunch, not early enough for dinner, but they served us anyway).

A tired but hungry Jean works her way through a delicious early dinner in Rabat. The tagine is mine!

After dinner, we returned for an early restful evening at the hotel.

The next morning, Walid picked us up, along with a Rabat tour guide, Mustafa, and we were off to the King’s palace. Jean had never been there as a Corps volunteer, and the reason why relates partially to her priorities at the time, but also to current priorities of the nation. Those priorities? Tourism! We were told that foreign visitors represent the second highest economic sector in the country. Thus, a major financial incentive for political and cultural stability.

Mustafa, Jean and Walid inside the grounds of Mohammed VI Palace.

Tour guides, such as Mustafa, are licensed by the government.  They are given training, of course, but I also think they are provided with certain boundaries about what they can and can not say.  To get into the King’s palace, there is, of course, security. And having an official tourist guide is a measure of that security.  I imagine that Walid, Jean and I could not have gotten in without Mustafa – or at least it would have been more difficult.

Mustafa’s official tourist guide identity card.

The grounds and the buildings were, of course, monumental.  There were also grand open spaces around the palace itself. While apparently King Mohammed VI is rarely present at his Rabat palace (frequently in Europe is what I heard), the net visual effect of the palace grounds is one of awe and power.

The Palace of Mohammed VI, King of Morocco.

Behind the walls lie the nation’s administrative ministries, adjacent to the palace and its grounds.

From the current royal palace, Walid drove Mustafa and us to the mausoleum of King Mohammed V, Hassan II and Hassan II’s brother – the current king’s grandfather, father and uncle. Across from the mausoleum was the ancient Hassan tower, started a thousand years ago, but never finished.  Much was damaged after a recent earthquake.

Rabat’s answer to Sydney’s Opera House.  Modern architecture which screams “look at me!”

More “look at me” ultra-modern architecture.  Apparently, this structure and the surrounding massive development scheme – including the Sydney-like entertainment center – got derailed by the Covid pandemic. Never completed.

The mausoleum of the immediate past two Moroccan kings.

Hassan Tower remnants. About a thousand years old.

Across the street from the Hassan Tower site was the South African embassy. I asked the young lady who is reading her cell phone in the picture, whether she knew where to get some Black Cat peanut butter in this town.  She replied, “Oh… I miss it so much!”

From the tower and mausoleum site, we drove to Rabat’s oceanfront Kasbah. Beautiful. White washed buildings. Spectacular views of the Atlantic.

The Rabat Kasbah is a bit of an art colony.  Here there was a fund raiser for earthquake victims in the High Atlas Mountains.

Oceanfront view from the Kasbah.

After our visit to the Kasbah, we parted ways with our guide, Mustafa.  Walid, Jean and I then went for some fried seafood on the ocean front.  I had been thinking about this opportunity for days.  As it turned out, the quality was only so so.

A bit of work to pry off the bones, and less meat than it looks, nonetheless, it was indeed local fish from a local sea.

After our seafood lunch, we asked Walid to take us to where the Peace Corps headquarters used to be.  Jean had lived in a flat not far from the old HQ.  But as we arrived at the address, the old Peace Corps center had been rebuilt and repurposed and her neighborhood razed and rebuilt. 

We returned to the hotel for the rest of the first full day in Rabat.  The next day would be our “free” day. No Walid.  No tour guide.  Just us fending for ourselves, but with one overriding goal in mind: get to the new Peace Corps headquarters and see if we can get to talk with someone to give Jean’s 40-year-old pictures for their records. 

The sign identified both where we had been and a bit of where we were about to go.  Now, we didn’t pick up shabbat bread at “Challah.”  That’s the palace, I think.  And you can also see on the sign references to the mausoleum, Hassan Tower, and administrative quarters. Coming up later would be our train ride to Sale, Rabat’s neighboring city.

The search for Jean’s old neighborhood in Rabat yielded only newer apartment buildings.

Breakfasts at these fancy hotels are a real showcase.  So, our “free day” got off to a gourmand’s delight. But this would be a day of much walking, so we felt justified in getting our fill.

Walking the streets of Rabat was easy.  Many broad boulevards. Excellent pedestrian facilities.  And Google Maps worked like a dream.  Punch in the address and audio directions in English provided the confidence to stroll.

After an hour or so of walking around we approached the Peace Corps gated entrance. Jean spoke to the guard, describing her background and interest in meeting a staff person.  The guard got on his cell phone and soon, out came a slim-built older gentleman named Aziz.  Turned out that he was a Moroccan national and Corps’ General Services Manager and had worked there for 38 years. 

Aziz was so very welcoming. He offered to not only give us a tour of the grounds but introduce us to Peace Corps staff that were present and available.  It felt like Jean in particular became almost instantly an honored guest.

Inside the grounds of Peace Corps HQ, Rabat.

Soon, Tim Ambrose, the Director of Management and Operations was introduced and started guiding us through our questions and the grounds. Tim had worked with the U.S. Army in the civic affairs office of Special Operations. He started doing community development work with the army, then retired.  He had earlier made contact with the Peace Corps and found that he wanted to continue his international service. So, he joined the Corps.

Tim told us that the Morocco site was undergoing a change in leadership at the moment.  The existing country director (yikes… I didn’t write down her name) was in the process of departing and the new director, Lena, had just arrived.  He asked whether we’d like to meet them and of course we said we’d be honored. Lena had a Jordanian background and was last serving as country director in Indonesia. Tim brought us over to Lena who was talking with Rashid, the Youth Development program manager.

Jean and I with Peace Corps big brass in Rabat HQ.

We had the good fortune to speak with this Peace Corps crew for about 5 – 10 minutes, asking them questions about the program (it’s climbing back from a full stop during Covid), and them asking Jean questions about her experiences way back when.  We spent additional time just with Tim.

Jean handed Tim the photos which he said could be incorporated into a 60^th anniversary event they were planning. Tim said he’s put Jean on a list to get updates on Moroccan Peace Corps happenings. Overall, it was just a lovely, satisfying opportunity for Jean to reconnect with a key part of her life story.

We bid adieu and hopped a (shared) cab ride half-way to our hotel.  We stopped for a magnificent lunch at a Syrian restaurant.  Then walked over to the nearest light rail station.  We hopped (lots of hopping!) aboard the train going out to Sale, the neighboring city to Rabat. 

Delicious meal at Syrian restaurant.

On Rabat’s light rail.

Jean described Sale as the place where the lesser paid bureaucrats could afford housing.  Mostly though, we just wanted to get on a train and feel what it was like, and then immediately take the first train back to the station adjacent to our hotel. Which is what we did.

Hanging back in our room for awhile and then going out for a small bite to eat at the Arribat Center, would finish off our free day.  And finish off our visit to Rabat.  From there, the next day, we would be on the downward end to our Moroccan adventure.  Roman ruins, medinas and souks, weird and beautiful blue-washed buildings, and a ferry ride across the Mediterranean would all await. Oh yeah, and another gourmand breakfast paradise the next day to get the ball rolling.