Rabat, is it all that?

Rabat. Rabat. No, it’s not the noise emitted by a pretentious frog who’s decided to adopt an accent for shits and giggles. It’s the political capital of Morocco. Yes. Political Capital. Two words guaranteed to make my heart rate slow and eyes glaze over. You mean it’s like the Canberra of Morocco? And we only have one afternoon there???? But how will we have time to take in all the sights, like Parliament House, and….. the…the…….ummmmmmmm…. did I say Parliament House already? I did. Huh.

You’d be correct in gathering that I’m not all that enamoured with the prospect of a few hours in Rabat but as it turns out, I’m in for a surprise. It’s a gorgeous city. Wide streets lined with palm trees, beautiful colonial architecture, and, the Melburnian in me notes approvingly – even a (Myki-less) functional tram system! We deposit our backpacks at a restaurant near the train station and assemble on the main street for a walking tour.

Solid First Impression

Our guide cautions before we leave that there’s a political protest of some description happening outside the presidential building on Mohammed V Ave. And just like that, I immediately second guess all my lovely first impressions. Those wide streets I was admiring moments ago? Yeah, they’re wide alright. Wide so that TANKS can rumble along them with ease when there’s a martial law situation. I have a dramatic flash forward to being caught up in some sort of major political upheaval with tear gas and police in riot gear. I’m not dressed for civil unrest – I didn’t even bring a multi pocket khaki photography vest for crying out loud.

I needn’t have worried, of course. We get close to the Presidential Building and the protest is the most bizarrely polite, low key demonstration I’ve ever seen. Just groups of civilians milling about with banners and chatting amongst themselves. No angry shouting, no jostling. (It honestly reminds me of Kenneth the and The Pages’ protest on 30 Rock: “What do we want? Page Rights! When do we want it? Whenever would be convenient for you!”)

Riot gear not required

A Colonial Gem!

From here we continue on, and in due course we arrive at The Medina. If I’m honest this is kind of so/so. Lots of Made in China junk, unconvincing knock-offs of major brands (colour me cynical but I just don’t remember the famed collaboration between Prada and The Bedazzler?), football shirts, some local natural medicines. Nothing all that riveting.

Then in the midst of it all, a stall selling sheep’s heads and hooves. I’ve got to say, I am impressed with Moroccans’ dedication to ensuring that no part of the animal is wasted. We pat ourselves on the back because ‘in our slow cookers we use the cuts of meat that used to be considered cheap – like lamb shanks!’ but at the risk of making wild generalisations, I’d wager that most Melburnians would balk at eating an actual animal’s face.

Dire straits if you won’t eat anything with a face

Then, just in front of the Hooves and Head emporium, boxes of baby turtles. I can’t bring myself to voice it, but I’m ashamed to admit, I’m quietly nursing the question “oh god, you guys don’t eat them… do you? Maybe the shell creates a perfect all in one tagine system ensuring circulation of heat without the meat drying out?” I once went to a dinner party where we were all given an entire wheel of deep fried camembert and I could barely cope with looking down at that, let alone having a turtle shell plopped onto the plate in front of me. Someone else asks and our guide reassures us they certainly don’t eat them, a lot of families just have them for pets because they’re considered to bring luck. As it turns out, our accommodation that night has a pet turtle who has a penchant for biting your toes while you’re taking photos of the panoramic views. Fortunately you only need to take a few decent steps to one side and you buy yourself a good five minutes till the next attack.

Good for long, very slow walks along the beach.

On we wander, towards the water to reach the walls of the casbah. Now I’d always assumed a casbah was basically a large, opulent sort of room with louche types smoking shisha and lolling about on embroidered cushions, and a perpetually underwhelmed man named Sharif scowling in the corner. But no. It’s actually a village behind fortified walls. Who knew? And what a sweet little revelation this one is. Rows and rows of walls whitewashed blue and white. And gorgeous views out over the Atlantic Ocean. So incredibly pretty and picturesque.

Rabat’s Top Cat

We didn’t Rock The Casbah, but we did Instagram the f%^k out of it.

Guaranteed 20 likes

Bonus Ocean Views

We also check out the Hassan Tower (shrouded behind scaffolding, thus not worthy of wielding the camera), and the adjacent Unfinished Mosque which *would* have reportedly been the world’s largest mosque, only construction stopped after it’s patron died. So it’s essentially just a lot of pillars in a big square. You have to hand it to them, it’s a veritable marketing triumph to get people coming to see a place based on what it should’ve/would’ve/could’ve been. Maybe I’ll employ that tactic for comedy festival next year, and market my show as the one that *could* have been the funniest?

Guarding ‘Potential’

Nearby is the Mausoleum of Mohammed V and thankfully that’s finished, not covered by scaffolding, and completely and utterly stunning –

Just a low key tomb…

If you have to rest eternally you may as well do it surrounded by exquisite mosaics

Drunk on pretty details

Naturally we get comprehensively lost making our way back from the Mausoleum to the restaurant meeting point but to be fair, we have only been armed with a map that resembles a seven year old’s enthusiastic but very poorly executed scrawling of the main streets and attractions. After power walking in the heat for a good thirty minutes, we pile into taxis to be transported back.

Possibly the heat and extreme hunger talking, but in this unassuming little restaurant, I have for lunch what will become my Benchmark For All Other Tagines. Forgive the photo, I’m an unskilled food photographer, but believe me, this is the most utterly delicious chicken, green olive and lemon tagine I have ever consumed.

Alas, they didn’t have sheep’s head tagine

So Rabat, that’s that. When it’s all said and done, Jarrod, would you go there?