Arriving in Rabat in calm conditions |
I’ve noticed that sometimes borders between cultures can
induce a concentration of cultural characteristics, making differences more
stark. This is certainly the case in the
area south of Maastricht, where the Dutch and French areas of Belgium come
together. The Flemish villages on the
border are more stridently Dutch than in the Netherlands, and the French
villages are almost like film sets in their Frenchness.
Bouregreg river between Rabat and Sale |
In Rabat one sees this in the relatively few bars in this
predominantly Muslim city. The bars are
markedly different to life outside - you walk through the door and enter into
another world … rather like the magic realism bar in the Transglobal
Underground song Stoyane/Male-Le. Each bar is different, and each in their
respective way has turned the dial up to 11, whether it be a shabby drinking
hole that feels like it could get violent or a get-lost-in-here-and-never-leave
softly lit womb of warmth. El Trianon
manages to pack three different bars into its two rooms, each with a different
atmosphere. The lighting is low, the TV
plays movies silently, the music is great – really great – and the bar staff
friendly and mostly female. The
clientele is male and Moroccan. At the times
I’ve visited in 2010 and this year we’ve been the only foreigners there, and
the only women not working there have been those in our party. It’s a bar that would be memorable in any
city of the world.
The Medersa in Sale |
Arriving there one night in November we sat at one of the bars
and asked a few questions about drinks in my schoolboy French. The bar server didn’t understand my shabby
pronunciation, and the Moroccan gentleman sitting next to us tried to
help. After our drinks were served he
continued the conversation:
“Vous etes Francais?”
(rather obviously not!)
“No, je suis anglais”
“Ah, then you speak English”
Searching for the spirit of William Burroughs at Cafe Hafa, Tangier |
His English was excellent - very proper, well enunciated,
not English learned from a book. We
talked about our respective lives, travel, Morocco, sailing. Aziz was a Moroccan diplomat who was in
Budapest for several years, 2005 being the year he left and the year I arrived.
Reminiscences about Hungarian life,
restaurants, places, people, politics.
We knew people in common. He went
on to India, then to Dublin, and is now back in Rabat sipping whisky at Le
Trianon.
Desert music in the evening |
The desire to enjoy, the pursuit of pleasure in these bars, brings
to mind the words of the teenage protagonist in Vernon God Little, who, having participated
in an evening of extraordinary debauchery in a Mexican roadside bar involving
iguana impersonations, muses on how something in America seems to stop people
really partying. I think the same is
often true of Europe too. The falling-down-drunk
tedium of Magaluf in the summer or Cancun at spring break doesn’t come close to
the real thing. The crazy bars of Rabat
are a little closer.
Sand dunes near the Algerian border |
We went exploring the desert close to the Algerian border
during a visit from Annamaria. We hiked
sand dunes for sunset and sunrise, tried snowboarding down them (Annamaria, an
excellent snowboarder, fared better than Maret and I), and saw amazing
landscapes … reminiscent of the US desert southwest, but with different
architecture, and very different clothing.
Most of the houses were build from adobe, and when these are not
scrupulously maintained they slowly melt away.
In one town we saw a whole neighbourhood that looked biblical in
age. Our guide told us it was the old
Jewish quarter, and that the residents had moved away “to build their country”
in 1950s and 60s … just 50 years without maintenance and the houses already
looked like ancient monuments. I loved
the gentle way he talked about the Jewish residents leaving “to build their
country”, and commented on it, which led him to explain the Berber approach to
religiosity – how the berber flag symbolises Islam, Christianity and Judaism,
and how Berber villages had historically been viewed as safe places for people
of all religions. Would that it was this
way everywhere.
The old Jewish quarter, abandoned in the 1950s |
Annamaria snowboarding down to our camels |
On the train to take Easyjet to the UK for my mother’s 80th
birthday celebrations, we’re sitting in a compartment with a middle aged
Moroccan businessman, shoes off, quietly chanting religious devotions that he
is reading from his tablet PC propped up on the table. Although dressed in western clothes, the dark
thumb-print mark on his forehead tells that he is a devout Muslim. His gentle sing-song verses are interrupted
from time to time by the aggressive chirping of his mobile phone, which he
answers immediately, seamlessly switching from Allah to Mammon for as long as
it takes, and then back.
Morocco is modernizing everywhere. That is its right, of course, and it’s not a bad thing. My impression is that the government is trying
to pull off what Japan has achieved: to become a completely modern place, while
not losing their own culture, as all too often modernising equates to
westernising. The results in Morocco are
generally good, but there are exceptions.
Baggage transport from the taxi to our hotel |
After the desert we went to the film studios of Ouarzazate, and
then to the real life disaster movie called Marrakech. Really, what has happened to this place? Is this even Morocco? I’ve been here a half dozen times and remain
unimpressed. It seems to me that the way
to enjoy Marrakech is to stay in a lovely riad and to rarely leave it,
something I did on one occasion. The
city itself has little to offer in architecture and ambience outside of the
riads, and Djemma el Fna, the main square that I used to consider the reason
for staying one night in town, has become such an unpleasant experience that I
can’t say I want to return here again.
Even compared to 2010, the last time I was here, this has deteriorated
into more of a circus. Constant
aggression from touts means you are simply unable to walk on the square now …
and if you don’t respond to their aggressive interventions you get a stream of
insults. Maret was called racist more
than once, I was called German (something I have no problem with, but their
tone indicated it was meant as an insult).
Just so unpleasant.
High Atlas morning |
Contrast this with our welcome after hiking in the Atlas
mountains, arriving late at our small hotel where the owner, a mountain guide,
had prepared a room for us with a wood fire to warm it up, and mint tea moments
after arrival to fortify us. We had a
similar reception arriving in the high refuge on Toubkal. Friendly smiles, caring people, almost
overwhelming hospitality.
Toubkal summit - a bit chilly up there |
In the Atlas mountains we had an interesting time pondering
limits. I am not much of a fan of
limits, especially my own, and try to ignore them. Goethe expressed this with an elegance of
language that I lack: “To be pleased
with one's limits is a wretched state”.
Our main hike was Jebel Toubkal, the highest peak in the Atlas and in north
Africa. I’ve been up twice before, the
first time on skis, the second in late summer, and was relaxed about the
territory. The snow levels were still
fairly low, so no avalanche risk, and the forecast was for bluebird skies. After hiking to the aforementioned refuge at
3200m we set off the following day for the summit, fairly quickly getting into
cloud, wind and occasional snow. By the
time we reached the peak, 4167m, it was no longer picnic weather … an estimated
50kts of wind, stinging blowing snow, instant rime on our jackets, an air
temperature of perhaps -5C and wind chill very much below that. Not a place to hang around.
Half an hour off the summit - eyebrows still frozen |
The limits question came up during our ascent. Now, I might dislike limits, but in winter
mountaineering you need to stay well within them … things can go from OK to
serious to life threatening too quickly in the high mountains in winter, and
you need reserves of energy to get out of difficult situations. (Not wanting to overdramatize, though – after
all this was a day hike up a 4000m peak, not a Himalayan expedition). Whatever that percentage of reserve is (and in
my mind it’s 25%) I certainly strayed a little into that territory … worrying
for such a modest hike, and evidence of not enough running in the last year or
two. Maret went very much closer to 100%
… concerning to me, and we disagreed about whether that was OK. Ultimately everything was fine, we summited,
started down, and although the inflatable santa remained packed and uninflated,
90 minutes later and 800m lower we were sitting in sunshine eating our picnic
lunch.
Christmas in Rabat marina |
Rabat is a lovely city, and the marina – in a new
development of modernity and tradition cleverly combined – is a delight to be
in. The only real downside to the marina
is getting in and out – there is a bar across the entrance to the Bouregreg
river that is unpassable in more than 2m of swell for anyone not on a surfboard. Because of the high latitude
north Atlantic storms thousands of miles away, 2m or less swell is rather rare
in winter months. We therefore ended up
in Rabat longer than expected (as was also the case in 2010). The main problem with this was that we had
agreed to meet some of Maret’s friends in Tenerife for New Year’s Eve –
something we were unable to do.
Christmas in Rabat was quiet, as one would expect, although the Catholic
cathedral in the center was well lit up, and there were a few shops selling
Christmas decorations. We had a
traditional Christmas day : a pre-lunch pub visit, in this case the very swanky
Club Nautique overlooking the river, then lunch on board of turkey, roast
potatoes, gravy, etc, followed by a Christmas pudding brought back from the UK
earlier in December with brandy sauce. We
were finally able to cross the river bar on 30th December for the 4
day passage to the Canaries, once again in almost zero wind, motoring. Once in the Canaries we should,
theoretically, be in the trade wind belt … let’s see.
The river bar on Christmas day - not a place for yachts |
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