After hanging out at hotels and hanging out of windows trying to pick up a wifi signal, I went to the Wana store in Hassan (Rabat) accross from Yum Yum and bought a wireless modem. It cost 700 dirhams (about $100 USD - ouch, the dollar is low) for the modem and first month of unlimited connectivity. You can buy additional months and pay-as-you-go (Meditel offers a similar service, but at the time they require a two-year plan). Based on the access map I saw at Wana, it looks like it should work along the costal areas of Morocco. You can ask them about coverage, but I don’t expect it would work for a trek through the desert. I’m using it now in Rabat and plan on using it when I get to Restinga, between Tangier and Tetuan.

Since I work as a freelance web designer, this is a very, very good thing for me. A bit pricey, but worth it if you need to work while traveling. Wish I knew about it before I started my travels, so I wanted you to know.

I just bought a bag made of fabric woven from silk and cotton with leather detailing. I bought it from the “purse guy” on Rue des Counseils in the medina Rabat. He has excellent quality bags. If you get to go to Rabat, stop by his shop. I don’t know how to describe the exact location, but you should be able to spot it by the steady flow of customers coming in and out.

I *love* my bag. Its big enough for a full laptop to fit inside without peaking out of the top. The straps are padded so they don’t dig into my shoulder. I added an eight-point star which I also bought in the Rabat medina.

There are lots of interesting bags being made from this type of fabric. I bought a jewelry box and wallet made from the same leather/fabric combination.

The purse guy speaks fluent English and sports a jellaba and beard. He can duplicate anything and is interested in seeing new designs. “Is that a Furla bag?” he asked on my last visit to his store as he inspected my beloved Toscanella tote bag.

If you get a chance to visit his shop, bring your dirhams and your designer bag. He’ll love seeing new designs and you’ll be able to shop from the shelf.

So often in Morocco the exterior door is all you ever get to see of a building; the exterior walls mask the interior structure, which is securely hidden. Riads are designed with windows facing in towards a central salon, so there is no hope of peering-in or guessing what lies inside. Mosques and relilgious buildings are interdit, completely off-limits to me as entrance is forbidden to non-Muslims. Luckily, and consequently, doors in Morocco are beautiful. So I made a flickr photo set of doors in Morocco.

The sunlight in Morocco is spectacular. It adds or subtracts from the depth of color. It creates patterns that change through the day so that a simple trellis becomes a thing of wonder.

Watching how the pattern of light changes through a stain glass window, for example, brings insight into the role of geometric design in Moroccan ornament.

Wrought-iron windows, metal lanterns, and archways, which frame both light and darkness, give insight into the cyclical nature of time.

Geometric patterns found in tile work are also created naturally by light as it filters though a window or terrace shade.

Given that Islamic prayer practices require precise understanding of specific time (five prayer times per day) and direction (facing Mecca) it is no wonder that light, during both day and night, has become an integral part of Moroccan ornament. Moroccan lanterns duplicate the effect of the sun passing through the trees or the stars appearing at night, but it is really no substitute for watching the sun filter through a simple tessellation, which shows how time returns.

Note: if you are American, Riad D’Or doesn’t need your business…see update at the end.

It should have been perfect and for a few hours it was. Our room was large and light. We had a semi-private salon just outside our door. It felt as if we had the place to ourselves; a perfect escape from my in-laws house; a perfect place for my daughter to play and be loud; finally, a place where we would not disturb anyone. We ran around a zillij column in the main salon and pretended it was a tree. We giggled. We admired: “Mommy, it’s so beautiful!” The water was hot for our shower. So what if they forgot to leave us any soap? It was a fraction of the cost of staying at a riad in Fes.

We were in Riad D’Or in Meknes, a recently opened, very large riad. There is evidence of ongoing renovation efforts, such as construction of a small pool on the roof terrace and flimsy stair rails on the way to one room. The décor is a little over the top for my taste, with multi-colored plaster work surrounding stained glass windows set in pink-painted walls the growing from multi-colored zillij floors. The purple table clothes seemed a bit out of place with the traditional architectural details. But there are lots of traditional touches, such as fantastic wood ceilings, and some amazing spaces to discover and enjoy. Overall, the space is lovely. I thought it a bit odd that the manager watched a movie in another room instead of sitting with us while we had the customary welcoming tea, but casual service would work fine for us. For a few moments, it was a small paradise for me. That was, until the French fry fiasco.

I asked Amine, the manager, about dinner times and menus and he said having dinner at 6pm wouldn’t be a problem. The menu was fig tagine. Would it be possible to have some French fries for my daughter? No problem! Perfect!

The plate of fries served to us was so large that after dinner, I asked if we could save the fries for tomorrow so we could reheat the leftovers. Amine took the plate and I went to his office to use the Internet because the riad doesn’t have wifi. Amine returned and with flaring nostrils and tight lips began to explain to me what a maison d’hote is and what it is not. Clearly, I had violated some rule and he was angry with me. I couldn’t understand why. He stormed off and I sat stunned. What had I asked for? Help organizing a tour to Volubis? Access to the Internet? An early dinner? French fries? I found him in the kitchen reheating the French fries. “Oh!” I thought “A simple misunderstanding.” I explained that I had only wanted to save the fries, that I didn’t expect him to reheat them on the spot, and that I didn’t expect special service for my child. “Good.” He told me in French “I understand you. Now you understand me.” His lips were still tight although his nostrils were no longer flaring.

This situation bothered me. I had only been in the house a few hours before the hotel manager felt he needed to check my expectations. I went downstairs to talk to him again. “If it will be a problem for me and my daughter to stay here, please let me know and we can leave. I came here to be left alone, not to be treated as a burden.” I got a little emotional as I’ve had an exhausting month and began to cry. His mother was sitting with him and she hugged me. He angrily told her “She has no reason to cry.”

It would have been customary to throw a casual arm around me, laugh, or offer me a drink. He could talk about me as the crazy guest for the rest of his life. What would I care what he said about me if only he could make me feel welcome for a few days? But, he made no gesture of welcome to me. He actually did the opposite.

We went for a walk and I found another maison d’hote down the street. I told them we would be back the next night. When we rang the door at Riad D’Or to return to our rooms, Amine answered. He offered us no greeting. It was as if we weren’t there. He only talked to a man who was standing behind us.

How could I stay in this place any longer? I felt I had no right to ask him for help with anything. I only needed him to offer me a bit of kindness, a little understanding, and a place to store leftover French fries.

When I paid for the night I wouldn’t be staying there, he lectured me on my need to be polite. “I’ve never had a guest like you before” he scolded and judged me. I hope he never has a guest like me again. No guest should be made to feel as low as Amine made me feel.

We found refuge at Riad Safir, a much more stylish and much, much smaller riad a few turns from Riad D’Or. We knocked on their door at 10pm without reservations and were compassionately welcomed with warm hot chocolate. Perfect.

UPDATE:
My Moroccan husband was upset about the treatment his ladies recieved at Riad D’Or, so he called to talk to the manager. The manager explained that he was upset about me requesting to reheat the fries (which I didn’t actually request). He stated that it is a bed and breakfast and guests are expected to take care of themselves. Then, he explained that I had (mistakenly) used his personal computer. “So, you want people to treat the place like their own, but not use certain things?” my husband asked. “Don’t you see a contradiction in that?” Amine admitted that but went on to say “I want this to be a casual place. I don’t really need the business of the three or four Americans a year that come here.”

I wish Amine told me that before I came to Riad D’Or. At least, I can tell you.

I love to spend time at my friends house in the neighborhood of Rabat aptly named L’Ocean, just down the street for the new Bou Regreg waterfront and the Oudaya kasbah. They have a beautifully decorated fifth-floor apartment with a large terrace and amazing ocean view. Its the perfect spot for watching sunset and relaxing with friends. I can’t say enough about how nice it is to have your own place in Morocco…a place on the ocean. But, in L’Ocean, if you turn away from the ocean and look south down the coast you will see a neglected neighborhood that tells the story of suppressed waterfront development in Rabat.

Hassan II had a policy, which he stated as “Turn your backs to the ocean.” I haven’t read this quote, but I’ve had several Moroccan friends repeat it to me. The best explanation I’ve heard for this policy is that Hassan II wanted his capital to be focused on the administrative work associated with ruling the kingdom. He did not want a city with cafes and liberal tourists, like Casablanca. He wanted a city of people dedicated to securing his rule. Perhaps he feared oceanfront development would encourage foreign investment which would in turn give foreigners an interest in the politics of Morocco. During the years of lead, it was better that Moroccans keep their eyes on Hassan II.

Whatever the logic behind the policies of Hassan II, it is clear that development in Morocco wasn’t inhibited by social or cultural concerns, which is what I feared when I wrote about new development plans for Oued Laou. It isn’t that the people of Morocco haven’t wanted foreign investment in their country, but foreign investment and tourism development was held back by the political policies and concerns of the previous king.

Under the rule of King Mohammad VI, the country is beginning to see the fruits of ambitious development projects, cultural celebrations, and development projects such as the Prince Moulay Abdellah sports complex and the Villa des Arts.

It is wonderful to see Morocco moving closer towards its full economic potential. I hope the new real estate development projects bring prosperity to Moroccans. The next challenges for Morocco are energy capacity, education, and cultural differences in expectations of services. I will write more about those concerns later. Overall, the future looks bright.

Although I’ve been in Rabat for about five weeks now, I have just begun to appreciate how much there is to enjoy around the Moroccan capital. Take for example this madrasa in Sale, just on the other side of the Bou Regreg estuary. It made an excellent day trip for me and my three-year-old traveling companion.

I drove next to the medina walls until I saw the Great Mosque, one of the oldest religious establishments in the country, and an empty lot where I parked the car and quickly found a guide to show us the rest of the way. After quietly making our way past the mosque, we found ourselves surrounded by school children on their way home.

Our destination was a Merinid madrasa built under the Almohad Sultan Abu al-Hassan Ali in 1333.

Inside I was delighted by the lovely examples of Merinid artistry and my daughter by the student cells and narrow hallways of the upper level. They structure looked as if it had gone through a recent renovation. The railings and walls were sturdy and we enjoyed opening and closing the doors of the small student rooms.

Our guide (in the red shirt) kept an eye on the stroller while we went exploring.

The next day, my daughter asked to go to the castle again, and I knew she meant the madrasa in Sale.

On our way to a friend’s house in Ain Atiq, we happened upon a fantasia. It was a competitive tournament, not a regular tourist attraction, so I felt lucky that we were able to witness it.

The horses were beautiful. I love the tassle under this one’s chin.

The gun shots were loud and frightening. No, that isn’t colored smoke. Its fire.

The riders stopped directly in front of the tent at the end of the field. Sometimes they fired their guns, sometimes they didn’t.

The tent was filled with male spectators. I bet they came early in the day to get the best seats.

The riders had a chivalrous air. One even posed for me.

Of course, I was interested in the tents set-up around the festival. They looked like portable hotel rooms. Each one was prepared for serving tea.

Some tents had sofas inside, others had only pillows. This one has an ocean view.

I wish I knew more about the symbols that decorated the exteriors of the tent. Were they equvilants to male and female signs for bathrooms? Tribal markings? Mere ornament? I just don’t know. I found a website that offers Moroccan tents for sale or for partys and events. They site includes information about the symbolism of the interior colors (red=power, green=religion, gold=wealth), and notes that the exterior symbols in black are representative of minarets and symbolize freedom and happiness.

Do you know something more about the symbolism of Moroccan tents? If so, please share by leaving a comment.

For more photos of the fantasia, visit my flickr photostream.

The guide, a man of about 20, at the entrance to kasbah was lying. He told me the café didn’t open until 6pm. It is in fact open from sunrise to sunset. But, I had a few hours to kill while waiting to meet with some friends and little else to do for a distraction as most shops were closed for lunch. I decided to follow him, interested in what he would show, tell, and expect from us at the end. He showed me his national identity card in lieu of a guide license. It showed was that he was a resident of Oudaya.

Within a few steps, I felt like I was in a neighborhood in Chefchouen, but in place of cool mountain air was a breeze from the ocean. Oudaya lacks the sophisticated boutiques of its Northern blue and white cousin. Here were only residential markets and an orange juice stand. Boys in half wet suits carried battered surf boards through the narrow streets, half of which was shaded from midday sun by the blue and white walls surrounding it. The walls were pieced by ornate doorways that hinted at the architecture and ambiance hidden within.

The guide tells me that the painted door style is Andalusian, not Berber.

We tried to stay on the shady side of the street. All we could see were doorways, walls, and a view of the ocean and river that separates Rabat and Sale.

The guide discussed the symbolism of the wall colors and the various origins of the doorknocker styles. The Hand of Fatima (a feminine hand wearing a ring), Hamsa (stylized hand with two thumbs, Jewish origin), Hand of the Virgin (no ring, Portuguese), and scissors. The scissors, like the hand doorknockers, are talismans used to ward of the evil eye or bad luck. The scissors, also and more intuitively, signify a barber shop. One bizarre door was decorated with a variety of brass objects, including Roman chariots. It was the door of an apothecary of Egyptian origin.

Door of an Egyptian apothocary in Oudaya.

I ask and the guide tells me the blue color used on the medina walls represents the ocean and also serves as a mosquito repellant because “mosquitos only like yellow”. He tells me that the white paint on the outside of the buildings between the street and the curb symbolize both Islamic religion (white, he says, is for the Prophet) as well as pathways that have an exit. He shows me places where the same section where building meets curb is painted light blue, explaining that this color marks Andalusian homes and paths with no exit. I have never heard Andalusian used as a race. Certainly when the Moors were forced out of Spain, many Jews and Muslims settled in Morocco in towns like Chefchaouen and Rabat. I wonder if Andalusian means Jewish in this case. I know the guide, in the Moroccan tradition, will answer any question I may ask just. I know in advance that his answer won’t satisfy me.

The white paint on the curb indicates this path
should have an exit.

He points to the gate to the Oudaya and says that the shell detail was a symbol of victory in the Almohad dynasty.

We go by Dar Baraka on our way to an open plaza that overlooks the Sale and the Bou Regreg river. There is sign with a gold cat on it. He explains that the cat represents luck and the gold represents wealth.

From there it is short walk to the café and gardens, which are, at 3pm, miraculously open.

The guide wants 170 dirhams for this short tour, an unreasonably amount of money. I offer him a bit more than he deserved because my daughter dropped a bag, the contents of which amount to close to his asking price, and he quickly back tracked and retrieved it for us.

Enjoying tea with my travelling companion. The charming open ledge isn’t very kid-friendly, but the gardens are great for toddlers.

Overall, the tour was a rip off that was worth the time and money. If you want to go into Oudaya, don’t bother with the guide. It is a small, lovely, and relatively friendly, although the guide did shoo away one persistent beggar boy during our tour. Still, I don’t need to spend any dirhams to see it unless, like me, you are interested in what the locals have to say – historically accurate or not- about symbolism and history.

Tassels and embroidery have always had a place in Moroccan design. Lately I’ve noticed them being applied in nontraditional ways. Silk threads normally used for embroidery are being twisted into bobbles for hair accessories, woven into bracelets, rings, and necklaces, or used to covered ordinary pens with colorful designs. Tassels appear on key chains, as tiebacks with chunky metal hamsas, and as embellishments on jewelry, bags, or clothing. I don’t recall seeing such a large selection of tassels and embroidery bobbles during my previous trips to Morocco.