Moro-Diaries #4: Rabat

Before coming to Morocco, I had more negative than positive experiences with Moroccans in Europe. This trip flipped my perception 180 degrees, turning me into a fan of the country and the countrymen (including countrywomen for our feminist readers among you). They were mostly kind and sincere people. Compared to Egypt, I found more quality services in Morocco. I always felt very welcomed, especially when people came to know that I am Egyptian. The two countries share a history rich in culture. I also noticed that the rate of obesity is not as high as in many other Arab countries (and definitely less than in Germany and England, for example). To my surprise, the local cuisine does not have a lot of carbohydrates. It is hard to find a dish that is served with rice, and the cuisine in general had lots of meat and vegetables.

I arrived in Rabat on a Saturday, just in time for the Liverpool vs. Tottenham football game. A local taxi driver guided me to a rooftop terrace crowning a fancy-looking hotel, where a simple espresso costs 5$. The other clients were mostly couples enjoying romantic dates. Joining me in a non-romantic way were Mirjam, a new local friend she had made, Sufian, and two fellow young travelers from Ireland and Colorado that she had met at the hostel. We exchanged travel impressions and suggestions, a great way to refine your trip-plan on the fly.

The Colorado traveler, Braeden, had taken the opposite route, starting in the north. He visited Chefchaouen, the famous blue mountain village known for its reputation in weed production. Surprisingly, he was disappointed by the quality of the weed in comparison to Colorado, where marijuana had been legalized around a decade ago. It seems they’ve likely perfected the art of growing weed using scientific methods, research, and development.

I left the crowd after the game and headed to my accommodation in a local riad in the old town. Moroccan riads are traditional, elegant residences with distinctive architecture, often centered around a courtyard or garden. They are renowned for their intricate tilework and Islamic decorations.

***

Rabat showed me a different side of Morocco. Its clean, wide streets were lined with perfectly aligned palm trees and featured many beauiful architectural constructions. I went to meet Sarah, a Moroccan architect who had spent six years in the United States pursuing her MBA and managing some exciting projects in DC. We had a lengthy walk in the suburbs of Rabat, near the king’s palace and a golf course.

The highly intelligent and talkative Sarah shared valuable insights about Moroccan society, the economy, and politics. A significant portion of the economy is based on mining, particularly phosphate mining, with Morocco holding the world’s largest phosphate deposits, comprising 75% of global reserves. I was charmed by her liveliness and her fluency in four languages. She expressed her intention to leave Morocco after a few months to explore new life perspectives.

Following our walk, we enjoyed a cozy lunch with more conversations. Then, Sarah volunteered to drive me around Rabat in her white Fiat 500. We drove through the streets of Rabat as she pointed out different landmarks, including the new, under-construction Hassan VI’s tower and the soon-to-be-operational magnificent Grand Theatre of Rabat, designed by the late, great British-Iraqi power woman and renowned architect, Zaha Hadid. I made a promise to myself to come back to Rabat.

Hassan VI’s tower

After saying goodbye to Sarah, I attended a local afternoon Latin party for some social dancing, where I was impressed by the excellent local salsa dancers, surpassing those in other cities. Soon after, I had to depart after nearly 24 hours in Rabat to catch my train to the historic town of Fes. At the train station, I discovered that the train was delayed by 2 hours.  I hummed some thankful prayers for the taken-for-granted Swiss railways company, and spent my waiting-time reading.

Miserable me im the train st for two hours

Moro-Diaries #3: Casablanca

After a bus journey to Marrakesh , it was time to split the company. David stayed in Marrakesh while Mirjam and I took the train for Casablanca. The almost 3 hours of discomfort in the second class was not my most favorite experience, and the train was packed with locals with no significant air conditioning so that by the end of the ride, I felt myself drained of all manifestations of life, like a deflated balloon! 
But Casablanca was a significant stop on my trip. Many travelers would say that Casablanca is just a big jungle of concrete not interesting to visit. For me, big cities are homes for many smart and professional people, which is a big focus of mine in my trips.

***

On the first day in Casablanca, I had a local breakfast and then headed to meet Mirjam to visit the remarkable Hassan II Mosque. It is the largest functioning mosque in Africa, and its minaret ranks as the second tallest in the world. When we arrived, the 60-story minaret was almost disappearing in the fog that surrounded the mosque. It was nearly prayer time, making it clear that Mirjam wouldn’t be going inside. I decided to attend the Friday prayer, while Mirjam waited in a café, and we met again after the prayer.

The mosque is immense, and its decorations exude majesty. Intricate patterns in marble, wood, and other materials, the nature of which I couldn’t identify, contributed to a certain atmosphere of peace and serenity.

During the “Khutbah,” the imam’s sermon, the topic was the earthquake, highlighting how Moroccans were united in managing the aftermath. The absence of differences between Arabs and Berbers hinted at underlying sensitivities in the region. Throughout my trip, I encountered many Moroccans who took immense pride in their nation’s earthquake response, recounting stories of how they proudly declined assistance from France. France was not amused.

A short video showing the Hassan II Mosque



After visiting the mosque, I met Mirjam again, who had managed to make a random new friend, Faisal, a local young guy in his thirties. I also got to know Faisal while observing surfers ride the high ocean waves just outside the mosque. Faisal didn’t hide the fact that he was deported from Germany after living there for 5 years. He was then trying to build his startup, specializing in various crimes like stealing and selling drugs. He traveled around many European countries in the process of finding a new home. After his deportation, he decided to start a new life and switch to the side of the angels by visiting Mecca. He currently works as a taxi driver, and today was his day off. We all went to the “Medina” together, where we had a quiet, fancy lunch with even better food than usual. Afterwards, we joined a Couchsurfing meeting where many young Moroccans and travelers gathered for chatting and later for a party. At some point, I detached to visit a Latin party, only to find that it was canceled because of the prophet’s birthday (which is not as important for Muslims as Christmas is for Christians). I called it a night.

***

The next day I went again for a local breakfast and decided to have a Moroccan hammam experience. Who could imagine, that there is a big colossal hammam underneath the big Hassan II mosque? 

I decided to go all-in, and took the deluxe package with all the features, which costed me around 60 euros.

First, I found myself in a jacuzzi filled with sea water, where I tortured my body with a hydraulic massage. After around 30 min, they took me to a steam room, where my hammam-man (?, I don’t  name of this job, maybe hammamist?) soaped up my body, and I stayed there for eternity, I think to open the pores of the skin to receive the next mystery. 

Then came the main event – the hammam table. The hammamist got to work, scrubbing away at my skin like it was his enemy. As I sat down, I noticed some dark thingies on the floor. With an embarrassment, I asked him if that was what he had just exfoliated from my skin. He grinned and confirmed it was indeed my “dead skin.” I thought I was Mr. Clean with my daily showers, but this was next-level cleanliness. I had to ask my hammamist how often he subjected himself to this ritual, and he proudly said that he did it once a month. From that moment on, I became a believer that Morocco must be the cleanest nation on Earth. Sorry, other “hammamistans” out there.

After the epic scrubbing session, he slapped on a mask made of coffee and chocolate, claiming it was a treat for my skin. I felt like a piece of fruit dipped in chocolate in a Christmas market. I didn’t have any erotic thoughts at all 😀

Then, he unleashed a full-body massage and some moves that looked like he was a chiropractor. Following the mask’s wash-off, I received another round of massage, this time with argan oil.

Leaving the hammam, I looked at my skin in disbelief. Somehow I didn’t recognise my own skin. I felt new and I promised myself that I shall offer my body this love regularly. I went straight to the beautiful Casablanca train station and took the train to Rabat, the capital.

A short video showing the hammam
With one of thr fount In front of Hassan II Mosque