The Chellah, which was a necropolis constructed since Roman times. The first we saw of many more Greco-Roman ruins, though they were to come much later. Chee Hui sustained, rather inconceivably, two mosquito bites here, his first in months since arriving in the UK.
I've not know cats to be social animals, and I was rather amazed to see them in such large numbers gathered outside the house of this janitor. And the only probable reason why those chickens were able to strut around freely was that there was enough food to go around without all of them having to vie for it violently. (I'm absolutely certain our feathered friends would have lost one in such a contest.)
The Grand Hassan Mosque, the foundations of which were laid in the eleventh century by the Almohads, a dynasty of ascetic Muslim conquerors. Little else remains of it other than the orange building which stands alone.
The Kasbah Oudaia, perched on a outcrop that overlooks the Atlantic. The self-sufficient community houses three thousand people, and it was here that we fell prey to an insistent wily rascal who we thought was an official guide. The price for three? A hundred and twenty dirhams, which amounts to about twelve euros, or S$24.
The moral of the story - go your own way if you have to, because even if the guides are official, they aren't free.
Those specks in the distance are surfers you see. Yes! In Morocco!
The waves here are decent enough, though I wouldn't even want to wade any further than it would wet my jeans. Essaouira further south, not Rabat, would be the surfing capital here.
The rock and the deep blue sea.
Tree-lined boulevards in the middle of the road are always a central feature in any French-influenced city. They were present in Phnom Penh and in Ho Chi Minh City, and now I find them in Rabat. I like them very much, because they make for very pleasing evening strolls.
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