The aroma of strange spices and sweat trickles in the sunlight that sneaks through the dancing tapestries, ones that create the layered roof of the outdoor Rabat market.
Further down the narrowing arteries of the allies and walkways an aging canopy of iron suns and rods shades our little posse of American girls in swaying maxi skirts and frizzing hair stunned by the endless combs of merchandise wooing us with foreign allure.
As we turn around to retrace our paths, it hit me. I’m in Morocco.
We checked into the Tuxedo Hotel around two this afternoon in desperate need of showers after living on planes and in terminals for 48 hours traversing through three different time zones. Once settled and refreshed, we hit the streets of Rabat to explore.
The bristling palm trees and crumbling buildings set our scene. Pedestrians and cars and bikes and cats all claim the road, which has confusing traffic circles that are also parking spaces and an intersection with stoplights all in one. Basically, we ventured in a swirl of magical mania.
Approaching Medina area with the Atlantic Ocean as the backdrop, we turned right into the depths of the market where I somehow managed to only buy bottled water and some bread to snack on. It was a great place to revive some lost French skills by saying, “Non, merci” and “Combien-fait?”
Next stop was the beach. Though we kept our distance and gazed from the road above, the panorama was breathtaking. Morocco in a 360 degree turn- a medieval wall watches over the surfers and rock piers, which reach out into the roaring waves, keep turning and your eyes cross a road that is the crest of an enormous graveyard then the rest is filled with climbing rows of buildings stamped into the hillsides.
We wrapped up the night with dinner, which we tasted some bold Moroccan flare (check out the Play with your food tab).
I must note the drive from Casablanca to Rabat earlier in the day was eye opening. I did not expect to pass neighborhoods of shacks with the trash piled at backdoors as well as rivers of litter beside the highway. Cows and farmers were a mere few feet from the traveling industrial caravans on the road.
It seems that there is no separation here, no need to keep distant when it could all blend together and move in a hectic speed like one grand orchestrated being.
We fall asleep tonight to the lullaby of revving motorcycles and horns singing through our cracked window.
Further down the narrowing arteries of the allies and walkways an aging canopy of iron suns and rods shades our little posse of American girls in swaying maxi skirts and frizzing hair stunned by the endless combs of merchandise wooing us with foreign allure.
As we turn around to retrace our paths, it hit me. I’m in Morocco.
We checked into the Tuxedo Hotel around two this afternoon in desperate need of showers after living on planes and in terminals for 48 hours traversing through three different time zones. Once settled and refreshed, we hit the streets of Rabat to explore.
The bristling palm trees and crumbling buildings set our scene. Pedestrians and cars and bikes and cats all claim the road, which has confusing traffic circles that are also parking spaces and an intersection with stoplights all in one. Basically, we ventured in a swirl of magical mania.
Approaching Medina area with the Atlantic Ocean as the backdrop, we turned right into the depths of the market where I somehow managed to only buy bottled water and some bread to snack on. It was a great place to revive some lost French skills by saying, “Non, merci” and “Combien-fait?”
Next stop was the beach. Though we kept our distance and gazed from the road above, the panorama was breathtaking. Morocco in a 360 degree turn- a medieval wall watches over the surfers and rock piers, which reach out into the roaring waves, keep turning and your eyes cross a road that is the crest of an enormous graveyard then the rest is filled with climbing rows of buildings stamped into the hillsides.
We wrapped up the night with dinner, which we tasted some bold Moroccan flare (check out the Play with your food tab).
I must note the drive from Casablanca to Rabat earlier in the day was eye opening. I did not expect to pass neighborhoods of shacks with the trash piled at backdoors as well as rivers of litter beside the highway. Cows and farmers were a mere few feet from the traveling industrial caravans on the road.
It seems that there is no separation here, no need to keep distant when it could all blend together and move in a hectic speed like one grand orchestrated being.
We fall asleep tonight to the lullaby of revving motorcycles and horns singing through our cracked window.
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