From Casablanca to Rabat
September 11, 2007
I left the Youth Hostel in Casablanca in a rush. I did not want to be in that exhaust choked, grey-washed, no-food city any longer. I threw my things into my bag, ran from the Medina gates, and jumped into a train that was heading north to Rabat.
I arrived in Rabat and was amazed by its splendor; I arrived in a truly beautiful city. I was beginning to think that, a century after the advent of the automobile, there were not anymore real “pedestrian” cities left in the world- but I was proven wrong. Rabat’s main street is lined with palm trees, strewn with bold rock structures, and full of people walking everywhere. This is a city to visit; no, this is a city to live in.
If I were to advise someone on a city to settle in for a while, Rabat would defiantly be one of my suggestions. It reminds me of what I imagined ancient Rome was like when I was in my high school Latin class. I would daydream the class-time away by looking at the pictures of the Roman ruins that were in my textbook. I imagined these marble and stone cities to be full of people walking, talking, bartering, and drinking tea in sidewalk cafes. As it turns out, my high school daydreams are closely matched by Rabat.