I had looked over the map of the Salé medina and had an idea of where the riad (guesthouse) I was staying at was located. In fact the Maps.ME app that I had used in Myanmar even had it bookmarked, so I was fairly confident when I got off the train I could make my way through the alleyways without any problem.

Entering the medina was nothing like Casablanca’s. Well, to some degree similar, but times it by one hundred, add a bucket load more people, and throw down some heat from the friendly sun above, and I found myself very lost very quick. But I trudged on, confident that the location on the GPS was where my final destination was.

As I marched throughout lane after lane, the GPS spinning around at times unable to get a location, I had groups of kids following me for a while; as soon as I’d stop to check the map I could hear the unresistant giggle behind me. I’d turn around and they’d be smiling at me – I’m going to do this, I’d tell them in English, which just met with more giggling. I doubt they even knew English, but undoubtedly had an idea of what I was saying. I wasn’t going to give up. Well not yet at least. 

The usual hospitality from the locals was just as evident as it was in Casablanca. Many Bonjours and Welcomes. At one point an elderly man asked me where I was from. I told him Australia. He looked at me for a moment, America? No, no, Australia. He paused, America? No Australia, in the southern hemisphere, big island –  I cut myself off, why I am trying to explain this in English? Has the medina defeated me?

I had homed in on the GPS marker where the riad was meant to be, according to Maps.ME. I must have walked in circles 10 times without finding the place,  then I see a young guy leaning against a wall slightly further down the alley. He nodded and beckoned me over with his hand.

Where are you looking for? This is my home, I know where everything is. I show him the name of the riad and the address. He laughs and we walk all of 5 minutes down the lane to the riad entrance. Seriously? I check Maps.Me, where the marker on the map was was no where near to this. Thanks crowd surfing map, you have failed me. I was expecting him to ask for money, but instead he just shook my hand and said bye.

Finally at the riad I could stick my head under some water and clean away the litres of body sweat, and stand in front of the aircon for half on hour. Glorious aircon. Now feeling mostly refreshed I headed out to hunt down some food.

Generally most people stay in the state capitol of Rabat, just over the river and take a day trip to Salé. I ended up doing the reserves only because I couldn’t find decent (read: cheap) accommodation in Rabat. In retrospect that was a mistake. There really isn’t any place to eat in Salé. There were only two places I ended up frequenting, but everything you want is back over in Rabat. Live and learn.

I came across a new restaurant that had a bit of an Italian thing going on. I went with the Tangine again, this time sea food. It was essentially a creamy tomato based sauce with seafood, just missing the pasta. Tangine, as I would learn, is just slow cooking in a clay container. What you’re actually cooking doesn’t matter. One fairly delicious one I had later was chicken, but to my suprise when the lid was lifted it was covered in fries. In fact the sauce they used had a curry flavour, so essentially it was a chicken and chips curry, pioneered by the British.

After some food and fresh juice (so far I’ve only had one time when the juice wasn’t fresh), I decided to brave the medina and see whether I could find my way back to the riad. Heading into the alleys and ending up in the souq, those amazing scents of spices started to fill the air, and as people people chatted around me in foreign tongue, the Call to Prayer began playing overhead, and for a moment I felt like I was in some video game, everything was just unusual enough to think this was a different world… which it basically is.

Miraculously I managed to stumble upon the riad. No maps, just instinct. I had conquered the medina, so I felt at the time, but the medina lay waiting and pounced the next morning.

With my new found arrogance towards navigating the medina, I headed out in the morning to catch the tram to Rabat, cutting through what I think was the main part of the medina. It wasn’t. The medina is vastly bigger than I thought it was, in fact I even came across a crazy “tourist” map of it that would make any cartographers eyes water. Where I thought was the fruit sellers section, there was a wall. Where I thought I was going in the direction towards one of the outer walls, alleyways took me deeper and deeper.

I had switched to Google Maps at this stage, and Google couldn’t keep up with what was going on, as if we’d entered a rip in space time. I follow where it thinks I should go, but it’s a dead end. Now the GPS says I’m in a completely different area. The Call to Prayer begins I start to wonder if it really is the call to prayer… listening I can hear something different from the megaphones… 

The Medina is Life / Feed the Medina 

I glance around to the locals. There no way a normal human being could navigate this from memory. Are they humans? Cultists? Aliens? 

The Medina is Life / Feed the Medina

A car! I see a car pass one of the archways further on, meaning that’s the outer wall. I emerge from the medina, on the completely opposite corner of it than where I started. It took a good half an hour walk outside the medina wall and make my way to where I was originally planning; the tram station. Buying a ticket (their tram system is fantastic), I jump on the next tram and head into Rabat.

(no Matt’s where really hallucinating. But there were many, many, under the breath of swearing)

On the tram one thing really stuck out. I had noticed this on the train too; no one puts their bags on the ground. The train, for example, people were opening the food tray and putting their bags on that. On the tram, they’d all use the overhead storage. I was the only weirdo with a bag on the floor, which I quickly became self conscience of and stopped doing. 

I had wanted to visit the Rabat kasbah, which is where the ruling families would live and be fortified in case of something fun, like a seige. Making my way through the medina, which is  fraction of the size of Salés, I was almost out when one of the cloths shop owners offered me tea. It’s rude not to accept, but you know afterwards there will be the hard sell to go visit his friends if you’re not interested in the wares (in this case, dresses, so definitely not interested!). I agreed and finally had one of the drinks that Morocco is famous for – mint tea. Now this isn’t just crappy mint tea you get in a bag back home, or even if you use fresh mint, it’s nothing on this. I don’t know what else they put it in, but it was amazingly good. I was actually floored at how good it was, so that goes in as a mental note to try more of.

The kasbah is extraordinary. At first I had a tout outside trying to get me to do a tour with him, which I had to tell him repeatedly I’m not interested, but he did say one thing I wasn’t sure I believed, that thousands of people live it in. Here I was expecting some kind of ruin, but upon entering a whole new world slaps you in the face. 

Cobbled lanes play host to all these homes, painted in blue and white. The whole “suburb” is just brimming with colour and cleanliness. It was a completely unexpected, but very much welcome, scene to walk into. And made for some great photos.

There’s also garden section of the kasbah too, and as soon as I entered through the archway I was accosted by a fairly heavy set woman. Give me your arm! Wait, what, what’s happening? She puts my arm in a hold and puts out a syringe. This isn’t a needle syringe, but one filled with that brown dye they use for henna designs. For free, I’ll give you a scorpion! Before I can object a blob of poo brown shoots out and lands on my forearm. It didn’t matter how many times I tell her I don’t want it, she continues. A few minutes later she finishes and then asks for 50 dirham (around $7) for the “free” scorpion. Sighing I just give her the money, to which she says Another free one! Nooooo, I jump away and enter the garden, pouring water over my arm and wiping off the goop. Sorry henna likers, but it does look like you have shit on your hand.

The kasbah over looks a decent beach, which, without irony I say, was rocking. Families all swam and sunbathed. A giant kids jumping castle blared out rock music as hyperactive little munchkins bounced off each other. Tattoo artists sat under umbrella’s along the rock outcrop waiting for a customer. Jet skies danced around an obstacle course. It was a fantastic area to just put your feet up and people watch. Which is exactly what I did for who knows how long.

One of the big attractions for Rabat is Le Tour Hassan and the Mausoleum of Mohammed V. They are located in the same grounds, which the Hassan Towers over looks a court of the ruins of what was to be the second largest mosque of this time, unfortunately destroyed by an

earthquake. Nearby the mausoleum of Hassan II, the present kings father, lies. The mausoleum is a bit weird (for me, anyway), as since it’s royalty, royal guards stand at each entrances, including mounted guards outside outer wall. But what was weird were the people taking their photos with the guards. The guards don’t interact with the public, people just stand next to them and have their friends take photos. Now remember this is at the kings burial place. Personally I found it a little disrespectful, and as I went to enter the mausoleum a guard, who just had his photo taken, looked at me, I looked back and nodded, he nodded back. Yeah dude, I’m not one of them.

I had stayed three nights and very much ready to move on. The next destination was a town called Larache, but I wasn’t sure how to get there easily, and even considered skipped it. However I came across a suggestion to catch the train close enough to the town and use the Grand Taxi service for the rest of the way. Okay sure, let’s see how that pans out…