Rabat

After the rest we had in Asilah, we were back in the big city, in Rabat the capital of Morocco and one of the most western styled cities in the country. This of course gave us high hopes of finding somewhere to get the beers in!

It took us some time however, to find a place to stay, as the camp site we were hunting, had been knocked down to make way for new development. We eventually pulled into the surf school (founded by the King himself, who by all accounts is a keen surfer) on the coast below the Kasbah, where the caretaker, Ocean helped us with our needs. Firstly trying to sell us an over priced second hand surf board, which we refused, and then taking us to a hotel on the outskirts of the Medina, where we decided to stop for three nights.



The quest continued for a well deserved beer, that was turning out to be near on impossible during Ramadan. We wandered the streets of the Medina, noticing that everything was closing up in preperation for the daily breaking of the fast. So, putting beer to one side we searched for a restaurant to have our first meal of the day. This turned out to be near on impossible too, as every restaurant and cafe was full to the rafters with locals, patiently waiting with full plates, for the anouncement from the Minoret to start their feast. With hunger creaping up fast we eventually found a table and waited for the cries of the Muazzin, before we tucked in.



Some hours later, when the Souq's (markets) reopened, we continued our wandering. Just as we started to give up on the fact that a cold beer would ease the dry throats of three weary travellers, we happened apon a more than guilty feeling. Hidden behind a screen in a local hotel, the barman served us three semi cold hienekens, that we sat and drank like three naughty school boys. After guzzling a second and third, with our tails between our legs, we headed for bed.

The sun rose on a new day, and some culture was in store. We headed off on foot toward Hassan tower, built by the king Hassan the 2nd in the 12th century. A magnificent piece of work, accompanied by the mausoleum of Mohammed the 5th, another work of beauty, filled with a fine mosaic from floor to ceiling.

Exhausted from our expedition and feeling quite hungry, the smells of a local patisserie where too much for some. Gluttony got the better of them, as Iain and Bendigo tucked into some suggary treats, five hours before the setting sun.

For the second time in 24 hours, guilt sunk in. So running away from the sceen of the crime, we jumped into a taxi and asked to go to the Roman Ruins. With a big grin from ear to ear, the taxi driver turned and set off down the street. Weaving in and out of the traffic like a crazed man and laughing like a wicked wizzard, we soon realised, we were headed in the wrong direction. Maybe he knew a short cut, so we gave him the benefit of the doubt. But he was indeed taking us in the wrong direction. After some time and a crazed look in the eyes of our captor, we exited with haste, leaving the correct change and the taxi driver still cackling away.

As we were now even further from the ruins, but had jumped from the taxi near the Kasbah (Fort), we crossed the road and entered. Very similar to a Medina, the Kasbah was a little smaller and was used to defend the city. After wandering the alleys once more, we came accross a man playing an Gnawa, and swinging the tassles on his Fez. Inviting us with a big smile, he beckoned for us to sit. Iain took point, and sat down on his rug, preceeding to swing his head and Fez to the sweet sounds of the Gnawa. Bendigo and Nathan, were next to try their technique. Only to find it not so easy.

With a full day of culture behind us, we decided for a quiet night in with a DVD, only that wasn't as easy as we hoped. Some time later, at about midnight, we eventually got it to work.

The Roman Ruins of Chellah, were on the agenda for the next day. This time opting to walk accross the city and not take a taxi, we found them. Sitting on top of a hill, the ancient ruins from the 12th century, were there to explore. Through the kept gardens and the more recent 14th century Mosque and Mausoleum, destroyed by an earthquake, we strolled. Ending up at the.....where it is said, if women feed the eels a boiled egg, they will become fertile. Iain wanted to try, but had forgotten to bring his eggs.


Time had flown by and as the sun started to get lower in the skies, the ressident Storks began to fly back in to roost. Perched up on top of the Mosques Minoret and all the surrounding trees, were the huge nests of these large birds. Clapping their beaks together to make a sound similar to that of the predator, they called their mates in to rest. It was now time for us to leave.

A long drive to Oualidia via Casablanca was in store for the following morning. If we could get the taxi back from the school kids...