Got up before six this morning and wondered if maybe I should reconsider and take a train or bus—the foot that got cut at the beach yesterday is a little infected and forces me to limp and I’ve got a nasty sunburn on my neck & shoulders that might get torn up by my knapsack. I was determined to give hitching a go, though, because:
1. It would help bring me out of my shell.
2. It would be one of the easiest journeys of the trip (90km).
3. I have less reason to hurry than practically anyone in the world.
I left on foot, then, and in spite of walking five miles or so to the highway (Casablanca is extensive), I reached Rabat by 9:15 am.
More mileage was added as I tried to figure the city out—I wasn’t starting out with a city map, as I was in Casa. Got a room to drop my load, then went all over town to find out where to get an Algerian visa. Much waiting and writing later, I was privileged to abandon my passport for two days, but to my surprise, I wasn’t asked to show an onward ticket or huge sums of money. Maybe that’ll come at the border.While resting by the river, a Moroccan Poli Sci student candidate came over and talked for quite a while and then shook my hand and left. It was the first time since leaving the plane that anyone conversed with me without financial profit in mind. Hooray for humanity! I only wish I wasn’t so much on guard with him.
My room, simply stated, is horrible looking. However, the tiny cot has a fat, fluffy mattress that’s a dream and as I found out later, the hotel (1) is across the street from the Kasbah (centuries-old Arab fortress); (2) is about ¼-mile from the beach where the river meets the sea—the sunset/seascape was reminiscent of Oswego evening; and (3) has a tiny grocery outlet where I can get food more cheaply than at a restaurant and the young guy who runs it is very helpful.Too tired right now from all the walking to do anything but read for the rest of the night.
PHOTO CREDIT 1
PHOTO CREDIT 2
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