Finding the Footpath: Morocco and then Menton, France 2018

Casablanca is a sprawling metropolis, the largest. city in Morocco, and the financial capital of the country. After lunch we climbed into our 16-seat van and settled in. With only six travelers, Fattah and the driver, Said (Sa--EED) there is lots of room for nesting. This will be our only constant for the next 15 days.

Margaret and Said (No that's not our bus!)

Images of the Royal Family are everywhere

The French have left an indelible mark on the city. As we leave the corniche and head north through the suburbs, the roadways are wide and smooth, the boulevards planted in tidy shrubs, climbing bougainvillea and low beds of big-headed African daisies. There are construction walls promoting new gated communities with names like Serenity and Blanche imprinted over scenes of ocean waves. Promotions are in French, Arabic and English. Fattah tells us that Casablanca is built on rich fertile land--good for farming. He points out that, like in so many places, small farms are no longer profitable for the rural people and massive urbanization and gentrification have taken over. The effects are obvious. We drive past countless housing projects, identical box-like complexes, mostly new and white washed, others old and run down, still others in ruins. Solo minarets rise up amid the dense housing, cattle graze in scattered barren fields, and occasionally in the far distance, ocean waves slap against the west African shore. Fattah worries for the future of the country. Given its strong agricultural tradition, food has always been plenty, but he wonders how the country will feed itself if the trend continues.

New suburbs replace old abandoned villages; housing replaces farmland.

New developments are everywhere.

Rabat is "all dressed up", as Margaret puts it; blazing red Moroccan flags hang ng from every lamp post. A gentle breeze reveals a single five-pointed star in gold against the solid background. Its similarity to the Star of David prompts questions about the place of Judaism and of Jews in Morocco. Fattah walks us through this complex relationship between two distinct religious groups who have lived alongside each other peacefully for thousands of years. The formality and efficiency of this gateway to the capital city tells a story of wealth, modern traffic control and design, plush decorative landscaping, standardized decorative lighting, the kind we see between Edmonton and the international airport. Forget jammed-up smashed-up jalopies inching their way through traffic, squeezing five cars abreast on a two-lane road while sharing the shoulders with donkeys and carts. Imagine instead European sports cars and Japanese SUVs in an orderly parade around traffic circles. This is the home of the Royal Family.

We make our way quickly through the portal into the Medina, the old city, a World Heritage site. We are like a parade, chugging our way down a long, narrow alley, our overnight bags dragging behind, wheels rattling on the broken tile surface of the lane. Small, undernourished upright geraniums hang from evenly-spaced pots along both sides of the lane; locked metal doors prompt more questions. Fattah tells us that these homes are worth many millions of dollars to buy, and restoration is expensive. As we lug our stuff through the door of our riad we immediately see what he means.

A traditional Moroccan door

The centre courtyard


The rooftops of Rabat from the top floor patio of our riad

Jim practices pouring Moroccan tea

Inside, the riad is cool and quiet, beautiful and serene beyond description. The central courtyard rises up five floors. On the main level, the de-commisioned fountain plumbing marks the centre of the square, around which our rooms are arranged. Ours has a double glass doorway with gold hardware; there are floor to ceiling glass windows on either side. Sheer white pleated draperies hang from the height of the loft softening the light from the courtyard; decorative metalwork protects us from the outside.

Our room, with bathroom upstairs

In the morning, we crossed the busy street to join our local guide for a walk through the old city. I was most struck by the intricate patterns painted on doors, windows, furniture, and walls.

A traditional two part door--the smaller one for people and the larger one for animals

This feels like Greece!

From there we headed to the Mausoleum of Mohammed V where dressed-up guards on steeds protect the entrances and the interior of the mausoleum. A volunteer sits cross-legged reading the Koran (it is read continuously from front to back, over and over) adding a mysterious aura to the experience.