The road trip to Rabat was born from a need, but ended up as quite a treat. The espresso I gulped helped negotiate rates from the only guy that was actually there within the (theoretically many) car rental shops. Shortly after we were shooed out of the Casablanca airport parking lot, the gas light came on. This reminded me of how our expectations - cars come with full tanks, no? - are always being challenged, especially when we hit foreign environments. After adventures of finding and filling gas, ring roads and other roadblocks, we raced to reach Rabat before the embassy closed. I can see why most people prefer places that have paved paths for their vacation plans.
That Rabat was the capital was evident. Order, institutions, infrastructure, upkeep and ornamental architecture were easy to appreciate. Cruising the concave curve of the road seemed like a covert ceremony that introduced the city. At the edge of the bend, the view waited, like the set that’s revealed when the curtain rises and the play begins.
As a nidus around which a nation is built, capitals create a particular context with their content and culture. Which made me wonder where the administrative centre point of our lives is housed. Like capitals of countries, how do we determine and demarcate our core values in ways that delineate who we are and what we represent?
I remembered my first visit to Morocco many moons ago, and while I didn’t revisit Fez and the other classic spots again, having a home base in Casablanca enabled a few short-haul stints. Our first stop was the Chellah. Once thought to be a Phoenician trading post, the Sala Colonia displays Roman ruins, a cemetery and architecture from Islamic dynasties.
The complex bridged yesterday to today with practicality. Hip and hipster style restaurants flanked it on the bottom and top, with the latter offering panoramic perspectives of the city.
The first of many mint teas were enjoyed from that vantage point. White storks serenaded our stay as we looked on with front row seats onto the Mohammed VI Tower. This is the tallest building in the country at 250 meters (visible from 50 km away) and is equipped with 36 elevators for 55 floors.
I’m a fan of arches. To me, I feel the invitation to pause and ponder over the physics and precision, which in turn, amplifies their aesthetics. I had to override my desire to photograph them all, as Morocco has millions to marvel at.
From there, we strolled over to Rabat’s historic UNESCO fortress Kasbah des Oudaias, with its blend of Andalusian and Moroccan architecture. On this prime piece of land, another past and present co-existed.
At the adjacent Rabat beach, boys scurried after a football, kicking up sand as they demonstrated their skills in directing the ball. Within the same soil in the cemetery just slightly above, lay the remains of their ancestors.
Was the internal administrative capital that guided their foremothers and forefathers similar to what folks use today to also light their path? Of all that transcends time and tradition, I wondered what keys we retain to help us unlock the treasures of today.
Along the fort, various vantage points were freely forthcoming, like someone who seems guarded, but then tacitly touts their talents.
This place of the past persevered in offering sweeping views of the skyline for us all to enjoy, still. Elbows resting on the cement ledge, I peered out at the horizon and powered down all the apps running in my mind. In no time, I was washed up in the waves, the sun and sky, as if my molecules were part of the entire mural that I was mesmerized by.
A tiny dive shop, beautiful facades of the washroom, the water view and my feet on the beach made it difficult to leave. Nearby though, the next stop was quite quaint too. While it reminded me of Stradun, the main drag in old town Dubrovnik Croatia, this seemed much more lived in and artisanal.
The colours of the rainbow were readily used in all the magnets, coasters and other touristic paraphernalia on display. I imagined how many could coo over this memorabilia considering how their souvenir might be the perfect star or supporting accessory, reminding them of this sojourn.
Just as our countries and cities host a mix of mandates and memorandums, so too do our homes and lives. Whether it’s our mind, heart, spirit or somewhere else, the capital within us is often directing and influencing the meaning and memories we make.
Maybe, as mortals these types of reflections regularly land on our radars. Or perhaps it becomes a point once someone passes. After all, death too also affords opportunity. The Mausoleum of Mohammed V - the first King of Morocco - in Rabat is an exquisite example how a resting place can become an enduring symbol of heritage and respect while showcasing local craftwork.
Artistry, including colourful zellige (geometric mosaic tiles), carved plaster and carved cedar covered in gold leaf commanded our eyes upward, then down to the ground where the tombs of the royal family lay.
The dipping of the day doused the monument and its grounds in a soft light. Visitors wafted in and out. While we wandered through here relatively quickly, I was cognizant of the decades and details of deliberation of those that came before us and how this shaped not only their present, but also, the moments we moved through today.
May we regularly frequent our capital within, fortifying it with the qualities we wish to exude and embody,