Morocco: Four Medinas for One Enchantment
FR

Translated into English.

GR Groschats Veteran ·
Hi Kate, hi Richard!

First time in Tangier? Hope you enjoy it!
RI RichardXI Regular ·
Day Two: The Museums of Tangier, a Journey Through a Composite Past

After diving into Tangier’s present yesterday, today we set off to explore its past, visiting two major museums: Dar-el-Makhzen and Dar Niaba. We take the same route as the day before this morning. Up to the Kasbah, a coffee break on the square—“good morning, Mr. Expat, how’s it going?”—a glance from the borj over the strait, and down to the Mechouar, the all-white esplanade where the Museum of Mediterranean Cultures is housed in the Dar-el-Makhzen, the former palace of Sultan Moulay Ismail.

The entire history of Tangier unfolds within this magnificent Arab-Andalusian palace. A journey through time where generations of people, each developing their own civilization, succeeded one another: Berbers, Phoenicians, Greeks, Romans, Arabs, Europeans. Blending their influences in peace or war. Until, as a symbol, the city took on the status of an international zone in the mid-1920s.

We wander from room to room starting from the large open-air patio, paved with polychrome zellige tiles. While I carefully examine the different display cases to try to understand the threads of the past, Kate prefers to stay in the large courtyard to capture those little scenes of life she loves. Here, as always in Arab palaces, the exterior is inside: we eventually emerge into a beautiful Andalusian garden, all geometry, freshness, and greenery.





As we leave the museum, the light reflecting off the white walls of the square is dazzling, but the sea breeze is gentle, slightly cool, and we decide to have tea on the rooftop terrace of the café overlooking the esplanade, “Le Salon Bleu.” More and more often, Moroccan café owners ask if you want mint tea with or without sugar. So, it’ll be “blaa sukkar.” The view from the rooftop is stunning—the Mechouar on one side, the bay and the strait on the other.

As I gaze over the city, I think about its name: Tangier. A familiar name I heard during my childhood in Sète, watching the comings and goings of the ferry “L’Agadir” from the dock, which operated the route from Sète. That boat seemed enormous to me with its big red flag and green star painted on the funnel. And those Moroccan families boarding with cars packed to the roof. Those people who looked so different.

Tangier... that name fascinated and slightly worried me. Tangier-danger, and the almost perfect anagram of the word *strange*.

And here I am, many years later, sipping my tea on this lovely terrace and looking at this city spread out at my feet, feeling almost at home.



For lunch, we spot an address in the *Routard* that catches our eye: “Restaurant de la Maison Communautaire des Femmes Darna,” located in a small street just above the Grand Socco. According to the guide, it’s, and I quote, an associative restaurant for the economic integration of women. A volunteer from the association welcomes us and leads us into a lovely inner courtyard in the shade of a large fig tree. We both opt for sardines stuffed with chermoula, a marinade made from coriander, parsley, garlic, lemon juice, and olive oil, with added cumin and paprika.





After lunch, we head back to the medina, Rue Siaghine, to visit Dar Niaba, also known as the Museum of Traveling Artists. Both a museum of Tangier’s diplomatic history and an Orientalist museum, it’s located in the former French consulate general, built in the early 19th century.

Passing through the large stone gate, we enter a vast patio planted with orange trees and surrounded by a gallery of horseshoe arches with dazzling whiteness. Once again, the charm of these Moroccan palace-houses, built to keep out the hustle and bustle of the nearby street and offer visitors the hushed calm of an intimate world, takes effect. The rooms dedicated to traveling artists are on the second floor. That’s where I discover the works of a Spanish portraitist I’d never heard of, Diego Marín López. The wall of the room is covered with these striking small portraits painted directly on wood. Notables or beggars, with deep gazes, sharp features, and skin texture almost palpable. A vision of the Orient, not fantasized, but certainly lived by this adventurous painter.





Back in the bustling Rue Siaghine, we turn right onto Rue Touahine to visit the museum of the Fondation Lorin. Housed in a former synagogue, this place of worship has become a cultural space with a theater and an interesting collection of photos and newspaper clippings telling the story of Tangier’s “roaring twenties” during the international zone era.

The day stretches on, we’re a bit tired, especially since Kate keeps complaining of stomachaches. One last tea, though, on the terrace of the café “Colón” to enjoy the street scene. Across from us, the Alcazar cinema is showing a film about the “Avengers.” Morocco is also part of the global village. Tonight, we’ll stay quietly in our apartment. There’s still so much to discover in Tangier, which hasn’t revealed all its present or its composite past to us yet. Tomorrow, we’re taking the train to Rabat.



RI RichardXI Regular ·
Hi Olivier! So nice to hear from you. Hope you're doing well.
RI RichardXI Regular ·
Rabat

In Islamic tradition, Al Boraq was the name of the magical horse that whisked the Prophet from Mecca to the Al-Aqsa Mosque in Jerusalem in the blink of an eye. Today, it’s the name of Morocco’s TGV. Fast, comfortable, and punctual, it takes us to Rabat Agdal station in under 1.5 hours—a bright and spacious place that feels like an airport.

The accommodation we chose is just steps from the medina, but we need a taxi to get there. I’m still terrible at negotiating—100 dirhams for a 15-minute ride. Kate is fuming. Okay, fair enough: you handle the haggling, and I’ll plan the discovery routes. The apartment is in a fairly modern building, but it’s super cute. Fahima, the owner, named it “Artist’s Gallery.” The decor is meticulous, and the walls are covered in colorful paintings. The living room overlooks an inner courtyard—perfect for our two and a half days in Rabat.



Once settled, we wait for Martine, a friend of Kate’s who lives in Essaouira. She’ll be joining us for the rest of the trip. A tall, quiet woman with measured movements, we’ve traveled with her in southern Morocco before. I know we’ll get along, but it won’t just be the two of us—Kate and me—anymore. We’ll have to shift from couple mode to group dynamics. Martine arrives in the mid-afternoon, pretty exhausted—the drive was long and grueling in the heat.

We get our bearings in the neighborhood; the medina is right nearby. I take a quick look at the pinkish-ochre ramparts. Martine and I pick up some groceries for breakfast and hunt down a pharmacy for Kate, who’s still struggling with her stomach. We sit down at a small local restaurant for our first dinner and a much-needed catch-up. As night falls, the calls to prayer rise from the medina’s mosques.

RI RichardXI Regular ·
"Behind the Doors: The Medina, the Kasbah of the Oudayas, and the Hassan Tower"

The medina of Rabat is quite different from those you typically encounter in Morocco. Dating back to the 17th century, it was laid out on an orthogonal plan, making it relatively easy to navigate. It’s nothing like the labyrinths of Fez or Marrakech.

After passing through the majestic Almohad gate Bab al Had, which marks the entrance, we emerge onto a sunlit square lined with shops. At small wooden tables protected by parasols, a dozen men sit behind their old typewriters, serving clients. They’re public scribes. Kate whips out her Canon to capture the scene but lacks discretion this time. A man spots her and starts shouting, "Who do you think you are? I’m not a monkey—this isn’t a zoo! You could’ve at least asked!" We nearly have a diplomatic incident. Kate looks flustered. I can tell she’s torn between wanting to apologize and defending her position. The photographer’s instinct seems to win out. Used to handling conflicts, I step in gently. Things calm down, and we move on. I chuckle to myself. "Well, you really got an earful!" She just shrugs.

We now walk along Souika Street and the Sebat Souk, where shops of all kinds line up—typical of Moroccan souks: carpets, clothing, handicrafts, spices. A world of colors and scents. This medina is truly pleasant to explore, with its wide, straight streets offering endless escape routes for new discoveries. Above our heads, beautiful wooden frameworks embedded with translucent glass create a unique atmosphere, playing with light and shadow. There are people around—tourists, of course—but the merchants seem to do most of their business with locals, far from the relentless "Come see my shop!" of Marrakech vendors.



From the Street of the Consuls, we enter through a discreet door into a large rectangular courtyard paved in gray and planted with small orange trees. The space is bordered by galleries supported by pink sandstone pillars, rising two stories high. Small rooms on both the ground floor and upper level: we’re in an old caravanserai, the Fondouk Ben Aïcha. Caravanserais were inns reserved for traveling merchants who crisscrossed the Muslim world: rooms on the first floor, and on the ground level, shops for storing goods and stables for animals. Carefully restored, this one now houses artisan shops, a cultural center, and a traditional Moroccan pastry shop. It’s the perfect time to linger, sit down, and enjoy a mint tea before tackling the climb to the Kasbah of the Oudayas.





The Kasbah of the Oudayas! Its name rings out like a joyful youyou. The main entrance is through a monumental gate visible from the lower part of the medina, the "Bab el-Kebir." Built at the end of the 12th century by Sultan Yacoub el Mansour, it takes the form of a massive horseshoe arch, finely decorated with geometric and floral motifs in shades of ochre and red. It’s the guardian of the fortress, itself perched on a rocky promontory overlooking the Bouregreg River and facing the ocean.



We step into a meticulously maintained space of charming whitewashed houses with flat roofs, door and window frames highlighted in blue, intricately wrought iron grilles, and carefully paved alleys lined with plants and climbing flowers. The main street leads to a vast esplanade overlooking the river and ocean, where everyone loves to take photos.







Then we descend through the maze of alleys toward Dar el Karam Square, right next to the Andalusian garden. A café-tea salon spreads its tables across small terraces overlooking the river. The walk is full of charm in this picturesque, somewhat museum-like setting. Far from the bustle that must have reigned here when the Oudayas garrison occupied the area.







RI RichardXI Regular ·
"Behind the doors: the medina, the Kasbah of the Oudayas, the Hassan Tower" (continued)

For lunch, we prefer to dive back into the lively atmosphere of the medina.



The afternoon is dedicated to visiting the Hassan Tower and the Mausoleum of Mohammed V. In just a few stops, the tramway—with its very contemporary look and highly graphic decor, featuring stylized patterns reminiscent of Moroccan zellige tiles—transports us to a more modern part of the city, developed during the Protectorate era.



The entrance to the site is solemnly guarded by riders in white attire, red belts, and green headgear, as motionless as their mounts.



The 12th-century Hassan Tower, with its ochre hues, never completed, still looms 40 meters high over this astonishing esplanade covered with the bases of truncated columns. What was meant to be one of the largest mosques in the Muslim world now reveals its amputated verticality, its stone skeleton—a witness to an unfinished past. The sun beats down fiercely in this mineral landscape, and before visiting the Mausoleum of Mohammed V, we take shelter in the welcome shade of the mosque adjacent to the monument. Kate takes advantage of this moment to capture the beautiful perspectives offered by the vanishing points of the esplanade. The muezzin then calls to prayer, and as often happens, time seems to stand still during the brief moment of his chant.





We then head toward the white marble mausoleum. However, we won’t be visiting the tomb of the Alaouite sovereigns Mohammed V and Hassan II. Closed for renovations.

Tonight, we’re dining at home. Martine prepares a simple meal in the peaceful courtyard of our apartment. The day comes to an end—it’s time to close the doors again.

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