When the weather cooled and was below 40 °C, I took the train to Rabat, because Margalit the mother of our daughter-in-law Limor came from there. Surprisingly, all trains were consistently on time.

Even though I had a first class train ticket, the journey there was quite unpleasant because of a bored little girl. And when the alarm went off in our carriage; no-one came to check. I switched off my hearing aids, stuffed tissues in my ears, put my fingers in my ears but still the noise was unbearable. The other 5 people in the compartment didn’t stir from their sleep. I went to the other first class carriage where it was quiet but when I saw no-one there, I thought they might uncouple that carriage at the next stop and returned to my seat. Thankfully by this time the alarm had been switched off.

Mustapha my guide was waiting for me at the top of lots of stairs. He hailed a taxi and we drove off, passing the Parliament – not the most impressive building in the capital Rabat - and a beautiful post office. Later on we even passed a kiosk selling stamps!

We got off when we could glimpse the Atlantic sea; Morocco is the only country that borders both the Atlantic Ocean and the Mediterranean Sea. We entered Kasbah Oudaia. Morocco is the country of beautiful gates; admiring the Almohad gate built in 1196, we entered the Kasbah through a more modest opening in the wall.

We stopped by a bakery that looked exactly like a taboon making pita bread back home. Mustapha impressed me by buying a little round pita-like bread, but it had no pocket. He proceeded to give me a piece and to others he met on the way.

The Kasbah, also built in the 12^th Century, unlike the bustling Kasbahs in other cities, had whitewashed houses with occasional blue trimmings and intricate doors on either side of very clean streets. It was so calm and peaceful and very beautiful. No wonder it is a UNESCO heritage site. Even though there were shops lining the streets there was no pressure to buy. 

In the Kasbah I saw a sign on a mosque wall forbidding non-Moslems to enter. It was surprising as Moroccans pride themselves on their religious tolerance. It seems that it is not forbidden in the Quran (and I’ve been inside many mosques in Israel). My guide in Rabat Mustapha told me that under the French Protectorate there had been an incident where drunken foreigners entered the mosque. After that there was a blanket prohibition on non-Moslems entering an active mosque. The only exception in Morocco is the Hasan II mosque in Casablanca, when guided tours are held between times of prayer but never on a Friday. It is quite okay and even encouraged to visit non-active mosques that are heritage sites..

We reached the overlook where the Bou Regreg River originating in the Atlas Mountains reaches the Atlantic Ocean, separating Rabat from the town of Sallee on the other side of the river.

I learnt that Salle was home to Barbary pirates, who among other things captured (white) people from England, Ireland and as far away as Iceland to sell them to Arab slave traders in North Africa. Miguel de Cervantes, author of Don Quixote was a captive in Algiers between 1575 and 1580 when he was ransomed. In Daniel Defoe’s novel Robinson Crusoe, when his ship was captured he was taken as a prisoner to Sallee, the only Briton among his Moorish master’s slaves. Many years later, after a number of wars,  combined forces of America, Sweden and Sicily and later Britain and the Dutch put an end to piracy.

Salle was later the site of Operation Torch during World War II. It was an Anglo-American invasion of Vichy controlled Morocco and Algeria, the first major amphibious assault during the war.

Walking down more picturesque streets we left the Kasbah and entered the Mellah, also surrounded by a wall and containing the old Jewish Quarter. Unlike the Kasbah, it was full of atmosphere, the streets bustling with shops, vendors and thronged by shoppers. Although very busy it was also clean and shaded.

Mustapha took me to a Foundok (pundak?), which had been Jewish owned.
It still retained its character with an inn upstairs and storage rooms and shops below.
It was very reminiscent of the Khan al Umdan in Akko.

The shops displayed carpets and blankets from wool and cotton; there was a myriad of cloth merchants and lots of shops offering furnishings and curtains. There were also holes in the wall where curtains were being sewn  and wood turners making intricate designs for furniture for traditional Moroccan houses; and of course shops offering Argan oil. What I found particularly interesting was a shop that made oil from all kinds of nuts including coconut, walnut, almond, sesame and some other unidentifiable seeds.

But the most fascinating hole in the wall had two men sitting opposite each other. The one man sitting on the floor with his back to the street held two large spools of red thread in his hands, continuously and smoothly changing the spools from hand to hand. On the other side a man sitting on a stool holding a length of material, with a tiny needle was joining the threads to the material, making an intricate pattern. 

We met an old Berber woman (recognizable by her tattoos) who as a young girl worked in the house of Jewish people in the Mellah She only had praise for the way they treated her. 
Although almost all Jews left in the 1950’s many streets still bear Jewish names. We saw the house of  David Levy, former FM in Israel in 2000. He later officially donated the house. We made our way to the Rabbi Zaouri Synagogue. I was disappointed when the caretaker with the keys was not at home. Unfortunately as we turned the corner and approached the synagogue, the soldiers who were squatting in the shade of the door hastily stood up allowing us to take an unimpeded, and less interesting, picture of the door to the synagogue, connected to Margalit’s illustrious family.

We left the Mellah and walked along the promenade overlooking Sallee, the Grand Theatre of Rabat, reminding me of the opera house in Sydney, and the Mohamed VI Tower. The bourge is designed to be seen from a distance of 50 kilometers all round. The trees had intriguing shapes shaped by the force of the prevailing winds. 

We reached the Mausoleum of Mohammed V which contains the impressive tombs of Mohammed V, and his two sons, the late king Hassan II and Prince Abdullah.    The kings of Morocco hail from the Allawite dynasty. (The Allawites are the major religious group in Syria)

Exiting the mausoleum we walked across a huge space, meant to be the largest mosque
 in the world built in the 12^th Century. When Caliph al-Mansur died building was stopped.
Hundreds of columns with the unfinished Hassan tower or minaret still remain standing 

Lunch time: Mustapha wisely hailed us a taxi and we went down to the Bou Regreg River to the Marina Palms restaurant. An excellent choice. While we waited for our delicious seafood to be prepared I watched with interest as boys jumped off the high pier into the river below; rowboats transferred people between the shores of Rabat and Sallee, while tourists chugged along in motorized boats.

Lunch time: Mustapha wisely hailed us a taxi and we went down to the Bou Regreg River to the Marina Palms restaurant. A wise choice. While we waited for our delicious seafood to be prepared I watched with interest as boys jumped off the high pier into the river below; rowboats transferred people between the shores of Rabat and Sallee, while tourists chugged along in motorized boats.

It was a delightful day and I could relax my sore feet on the 3 ½ hour train ride back to Marrakech.