Motoring Madness in Rabat

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After a reasonable nights sleep we awoke at 0730 and unanimously decided against having a shower in the toilet.

At 0845 we walked back down the hill to the port area, found a small cafe and ordered breakfast. Actually, ordered may be giving ourselves a little too much credit - we held up 3 fingers to the waiter and pointed to some pastries that may or may not have been bread and smiled politely. I also pointed to a coffee that a local punter was enjoying and again raised three fingers.

Within a few minutes the food was presented on our table with sides of jams and butter. The breads ranged from a thin pancake style (although not sweet) to a thicker cookie like substance. For the first time in two weeks I also enjoyed a decent coffee too. The bloke at the table next to us heard us speaking English and introduced himself as an English Language Student based in Tangier. We initially spoke with scepticism but it soon became apparent that he was simply wanted to chat. As we were talking, no less than ten people - mainly kids - approached us for money or cigarettes. We were told that a number of kids as young as nine or ten come from outlying areas of Morocco to Tangier in the hope of crossing to Spain and a better life. Apparently the majority of them just get caught up in a life of drugs and crime. We finished up - leaving the last scraps to a couple of early teens that had been circling us like vultures - and walked to the bus terminal to buy our tickets to Rabat - Morocco's Capital City.

As newbies to the country we were a little nervous about the transport system in Morocco and exactly how things were run. It seemed that everyone wanted a cut of any money that we had and they tried to charge us for baggage weighing, carrying and loading (three separate charges). We did spot the bloke that loaded our bags a few dirham for his efforts although we all kept a keen eye to ensure the bags were loaded. The bus left on time at 1100 and by 1330 we were stopped at a roadside cafe / bbq in Larache enjoying a spicy meatball burger that was matched in magnificence only by the discovery that the toilets contained toilet paper - something we had not seen in over 24 hours. Feeling significantly lighter (despite the burger) we reboarded our bus and arrived at Rabat Bus Terminal at 1545.

Together with a couple of English blokes that we met on the bus, we set about trying to hail a cab for the 5km journey into the city. There were a number of small Fiats around but we were all keen to stay together. Eventually a bloke approached us pointing proudly to his Suzuki Van. The van was approximately the size of a shopping trolley but given the alternatives it seemed to be the best option and we smiled uncomfortably to inform the driver that we were interested in entering negotiations. He held up ten fingers and - sensing the opportunity to display my command of the French language - I confirmed "dix", pointing to all of us to confirm that this was the fixed price for the whole crew. "Oui", I was informed. Under suspicion of trouble ahead we agreed and loaded up. The thought of five of us, complete with backpacks and the assorted crap that is collected whilst on tour all fitting ourselves in this poor struggling Suzuki was just too good to turn down. Paul drew the short straw and joined the luggage in the back whilst the remainder of us squeezed through the doors and assumed positions more akin to a game of Twister than the generally accepted positioning of a first class traveller. Any suspension that the van may have had prior to our entrance - which I suspect was nil anyway - was crushed, as was the clutch. Whilst first gear actually worked, it required half of the drivers two available hands to hold it in. I had never experienced driving like that anywhere in my life - including my time as a rally codriver. Any traffic laws that may have existed were blatantly ignored - the rush of traffic in every direction can only be accurately portrayed by comparison with old age women at the opening of a department store sale - it was everyone for themselves. More than a dozen pedestrians were in serious danger and we'd clipped our first moped within two minutes of setting off. Midway through the journey a Peugeot on our left (the Moroccans usually drive on the right - or at least are meant to) decided to hang a right immediately in front of us. We were a centimetre at best away from having the whole front of the van join us in the back seat. Not a minute later said panels were once again in real danger as our driver attempted to avoid a traffic jam by undertaking everyone in it.

Meanwhile Paul was crunched up in the back trying in vain to follow a very average Lonely Planet map and the nervous look on his face suggested that driving style was not our only concern - we appeared to have gone well past where we were meant to have stopped. "Ici, sil vous plait" I called out - looking around briefly to take in the admiration of my fellow passengers for my sensational fifth form French skills - none was forthcoming. Our driver eventually stopped to let us out and demanded 10 Dh each for the adventure. Suffice it to say that if we were still there arguing to this day, he wasn't getting another santim more.

The walk to find Auberge de Jeunes Hostel on the Western side of the Medina took approximately as long as the walk would have taken from the bus stop - around 15 minutes. It was already 1645 and the office was closed until 1830 so we found a nice, almost Parisian style, sidewalk cafe and filled in time drinking more good coffee and coke whilst being harassed for money and cigarettes. The hostel reopened as promised at 1830, we coughed up the 50Dh per person and settled into our dorm.

Amongst the many quirks that make Morocco such a character building destination are the toilets. If you are lucky enough to find one that is not simply a hole in the ground with footrests, you are certainly not going to find toilet paper anywhere. We located a grocery store and managed to find some and this purchase, along with washing powder and bottled water brought the smiles back onto our weary travelling faces.

Secure in the knowledge that we would all be clean for at least another few days we headed into The Medina through a huge ornate Arabic style gate in the mud wall. Like Tangier - the market was spread out and bustling beyond belief - 20 or 30 intersecting streets stretching for maybe half a mile or more and offering all the usual Moroccan crafts along with bootleg V.C.Ds and MP3s and a huge range of western clothing. Our time was spent meandering around, sucking in the atmosphere and window shopping, although I was happy to have purchased what I was informed was a fully legitimate Pink Floyd MP3 CD for NZ$3. The Medina felt alot safer than the one we had visited in Tangier the previous night and our only real hassle was a woman in traditional Muslim dress hissing at Jo as she walked past. Jo ignored her.

We found dinnner at a cafe in the New Town and retired to the hostel at 2115.

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Photos

Multi-tasking?
Shower/Toilet Combo Hotel Holland

The lap of luxury
Hotel Holland - Basic and damp

Ready to go
Breakfast before heading to Rabat