From my 4-dollar-a-night hotel room in Rabat, one could see on the right one of the great gates to the Rabat medina (old city), a castle-like structure built during the early modern period and inspiring with little imagination images of merchants and other travellers arriving at a guarded walled city on whatever business brought them here. Stepping out onto the terrace and looking left, you could see the huge Hassan Tower, originally begun by the Sultan Yacoub the Victorious in 1195 and intended to be the minaret of a mosque which was never completed. Looking out of the southernmost two streets of the medina you could see Avenue Hassan II, which forms the border between the medina and the villa nouvelle, and across it huge hotels and flashing neon signs with advertisements appealing to Rabat's rather large population of wealthy elites and travellers.

The street below was busy, as in the narrow lanes of the medina one finds all sorts of merchants selling their wares, from clocks to eggs to silver vessels all interspersed with restaurants and hotels, some of which featured interior courtyards with banana trees. Among the flow of pedestrians in the streets were the usual flow of beggars and in this case a small army of battery vendors calling their prices in French and Arabic and being largely ignored by the non-battery-buying Rabati majority.

I did find the medina dirtier than those in Fez, Tangier, or Jordan and Syria, as the patisseries and fruit stands seemed home to a rather large number of insects wandering freely over the food, but still it was an interesting place to stroll through about 9 a.m. in the morning as shopkeepers turned the poles to crank up tentlike awnings and cats sat around licking themselves clean for a good hard day of being catlike. Hanging a left by the old Jewish Quarter, I eventually came to the carpet suq (market), which in days long past was the slave market for captives brought back by the Sallee Rovers, pirates named for Rabat's sister city of Sale across the river to the north.

This lay in the shadow of the kasbah, built in several stages during the first half of the last millennium as a military outpost for campaigns either against tribes to the south or Christian Spanish to the north. Inside it was cool, and the narrow lanes were all blue up to about three or four feet and white above, lines mainly with houses and a few shops along the main alleys. At one point there was a large viewing platform where lots of people were gathered taking in the view of where the river empties into the Atlantic, with views of Sale on the right, and a lighthouse to the left separated from the mouth of the river by some beach cafes and general waterfront stuff.

The kasbah also had a museum, but it was closed, as was the major archaeological museum in the Ville Nouvelle. In fact, the entire city seemed under renovation, as they were working on Boulevard Muhammad V, the great north-south thoroughfare. This made something of an adventure for the pedestrian going to and from the pigeon-beseiged train station and taking notice of the red-and-gold Parliament building, which paled in comparison to the huge white buildings to the south housing the government ministries and certainly the walled-off royal palace of King Muhammad VI, son of Hassan II son of Muhammad V and a descendant of the prophet Muhammad.

It was still clear that the city was nice, as if you went to a place like the Hassan II tower you found a fountain-filled garden near where two soldiers on horseback holding Moroccan flags guarded the entrance to the mausoleum of the previous two monarchs. (I thought of entering, but they required respectful dress, and after noticing everyone around there was wearing a suit, decided I might not qualify after all.) The construction in Rabat is really a good sign, as you see development all over the place, perhaps not countering the country's deeper economic problems, but interesting nonetheless, as Morocco generally gets poor ratings for the quality of its infrastructure. Still, on both intercity trips I've seen road work, with the train ride back featuring the contruction of a completely new highway - I didn't catch where it was going, but as the two men in my train compartment spoke of it approvingly in French-influenced Moroccan dialect I did hear that it was expected to be finished in about two years.

My favorite spot in Rabat, though, it probably south of the walls of the Ville Nouvelle, where John Kennedy Avenue comes up outside of town to a huge traffic circle from which a single lonely lane leads to a fortress-like structure amidst the open countryside. This is the Chellah, which houses both the tombs for some sultans of the late medieval Merenid dynasty and the ruins of the ancient Roman city of Sala Colonia. There I wandered around for a couple of hours, through the Roman ruins and the mosque and madrasa destroyed by an earthquake around 250 years ago, and peered into a small walled pool which on the bottom featured lots of change and not a few pieces of egg peel, presumably confirming the story that women came here to offer eggs to the eels when they wanted to conceive children with the aid of the baraka of the wali buried nearby.

Because it was hot and I was tired, I found a suitable place to sit, and after a few moments realized I was in the graveyard of the mujahadeen who had died fighting the Christians of Spain centuries ago in the wars which left Spain Christian and Morocco Muslim. This seemed really odd, especially considered the ways in which today "mujahadeen" has become a somewhat loaded term. The graves were really not that impressive - the long stones lain in rectangles around the spot of burial were all cracked and in some cases actually missing, and between them grew little besides the occasional weed. Still, it gives one pause to reflect that despite all the strife of the time they lived, today I was still as a Christian able to relax among them, chatting with a Muslim couple from the United States, an area opened to European (and Islamic) influence by the Spanish. In fact, this whole city was in part the product of Christian-Muslim conflict, from its development as a haven for Muslim and Jewish refugees from Spain to the role in played as a base for the Sallee Rovers and the wars against Europe, yet today it is a very open city with a major street named after an American President and a deep French imprint left over from the colonial period but still discernably present. And that perhaps gives hope for the present, when the conflict between those two faiths isn't nearly as bad, and in which the ruined graves of warriors amidst the main attraction of a religious building and learning institution remind us of what people the world over truly value most

 
For the train back from Rabat, I picked up a copy of al-Ahram Weekly. One thing I got to see was the ads, most of which were related to education, with American-style education being a major selling point. On the front page was an ad for AU-Cairo with five majors singled out, presumably as major sellers: Economics, Political Science, Business, Computer Science, and Engineering. In terms of articles, you might want to check out this media review, in which it seems the Egyptian failure to win the World Cup is giving rise to bits of political protest. Also check out the status of democracy in Pakistan.

That night, we also had al-Arabiya on in the villa. One thing I saw was what looked like a program dedicated to reviewing the American and British media on stories of interest to the Arab world. The papers cited were the Washington Post, New York Times, New York Post, Independent, and Observer. Tom Friedman's column got a special segment of its own, with a political science professor called in to discuss it. I'm not comfortable saying more, but the tone was dispassionate. Arabs apparently pay more serious attention to us than we do to them. It was also interesting how outlets like Le Monde or Xinhua were never used. I'll try to pick up more on this sort of thing as time goes along. Maybe Abu Aardvark knows for sure what I was seeing.

UPDATE: I should also add that the main stories were a terrorist attack in Saudi Arabia (lead story), stuff about Iraq, Darfur, and something done by Ariel Sharon.

 
En route from Fex to Rabat, I was in a train compartment with two American Muslims, a professor from Sale, and some miscellaneous Moroccans. The discussion turned to politics, mainly because of the professor, who thought people were blaming so much on President Bush personally they were forgetting all the deeper problems (from the Moroccan perspective, of course) with American foreign policy in general. Anyway, the issue also turned to whether the two American Muslims were oppressed in the U.S. - they didn't seem to really think so, but the professor argued that they were using logic that reminded me a lot of Tacitus's posts on religious minorities in the Islamic world. That struck me as an interesting comparison between commentators =) The next logical step would have been to take his assessment that Morocco didn't have any minorities frowned upon by society in general (something like that anyway...my understanding was vague in places) and relate that to his wondering if Bush's foreign policy had too much Jewish influence.

 
If it were thousands of years ago, I have little doubt that the people of Gibraltar would worship their rock as a god. Walking around, it is always with you, a looming presence of mostly tree-covered white rock that also makes a good guide if you get lost. The Rock of Gibraltar is what led not only to Gibraltar's current prosperity, but to its very existence as a unique territory in the world, for it is on its account that Britain took the small peninsula from Spain in 1704, giving rise to a distinct cultural identity, British with a Spanish flavor.

Spain, of course, wants Gibraltar back, and the legacy of that dispute is visible today in the travel possibilities around the Strait of Gibraltar. On the north side, you have Gibraltar and the Spanish cities of Algeciras and Tarifa, while on the south you have the Moroccan port of Tangier and the Spanish enclaves of Ceuta and Melilla. All of these are thoroughly interconnected except Gibraltar, which is connected only to Tangier by ferry. No ferries ply the waters between Gibraltar and Ceuta, and to go overland to the Spanish town of La Linia you must walk or drive yourself.

The Gibraltarians, however, want no part of Spain, which they derisively refer to as "Tomatoland." And aside from the fact most speak Spanish, there is very little reason why they should, as Britain has been the main cultural influence. Gibraltar's brightly painted churches and cathedrals are mainly Protestant; the only sign of Catholicism I saw was a bar called "The Angry Friar," next to a building called the "Convent Guardhouse" with two cannons outside. Gibraltar is one of those places where the taxi drivers double as tour guides, and the one we had stated firmly that no matter what Britain and Spain agreed on, it wouldn't matter because they would have to listen to the people of Gibraltar who ardently desired to remain British. It's also interesting that the greatest event in Gibraltarian history is apparently the Great Siege of the 1700's, and many are the stories told of the deeds wrought by the Gibraltarian people as they sought to remain free of Spanish control during that deparate time.

The town itself is nice if cramped. Real estate is at a premium, so they brought in Dutch experts to raise the ocean floor and literally build on to the territory to the west. Despite this, there is still space for a large botanical garden patrolled by cats under the protection of a local cat welfare society. The rock itself is also reserved mainly for its scenery. After you pass through the Jews Gate, so named for a recent discovery of a few hidden Jewish graves near it, you find yourself by the Caves of St. Michael, used for military purposes during World War II, and a short distance away from the home of a bunch of small Barbary apes, who climb around near the level where the peak becomes cloud-covered and tend to surprise tourists by climbing onto their shoulders.

Because of Gibraltar's population shortage, they have to import labor. Historically they have brought in Spaniards, but during a time when Spain closed the border, they brought in Moroccans instead, and today many of these remain, serving in restaurants or cleaning hotel rooms in the shadows of society. When you consider the fact that these workers are generally fluent in at least one or two European languages, the inequality of opportunity in the world becomes clear: A bright student in the U.S. always thinks of becoming a college-educated professional of some sort, while in Morocco they might hope for that or they might hope to become a waiter in a Western restaurant.

If the Moroccans in Europe are often invisible, the Europeans in Tangier stick out dramatically, sauntering in tour groups through the old city, dressed in shorts and tank tops in a society known for its reserved dress and making comments at customs like "It's always surprising to see the Arabs in police uniforms inspecting us." Thanks to frequently advertised day trips from Europe, Tangier is the only Moroccan city many Europeans see, and as someone commented to me before I left, this is rather unfortunate.

According to a bit of tourist literature, when Samuel Pepys was governor here, he described it as "the excresence of the earth." It is Morocco's rough edge, and as you arrive at the port, you are met immediately by an army of hustlers, all promising deals on hotels, taxis, and in shops, while in reality the prices will be inflated because they get a commission in addition to whatever they wring out of you. I almost made it out without difficulty, but then a cop started insisting I was going the wrong way, gesturing back into the port. I later deduced he was wrong, but at the time as he kept gesturing wildly felt little choice but to listen to a hustler who took me through another gate, then followed me all the way into a cheap hotel. Financial damage was minimal, as I managed to knock the room price down to what it would have been in Jordan; more annoying was the clamor made outside my room by the hustler and another who had joined us en route as they demanded large (by Moroccan standards) amounts of cash.

This is partly the effects of geography on Tangier, for throughout not only Morocco but all Africa there are poor and desperate people who see a job in Europe as the key to success. Many make it to Tangier but are never able to hop the Strait, becoming even poorer and more desperate as they've whatever savings they had getting here. Tangier was also an international city for a long time, so its cultural notes are about Rolling Stones concerts in the kasbah and the like. As a result you can leave a restaurant where Africans gather at night to talk about Ghana's soccer team and watch James Bond movies to wander over to the Petit Socco, where men sit drinking vast amounts of tea and coffee, while hustlers badger you with offers of marijuana.

If, however, you concluded this was all there was to Tangier, you would be wrong. For lunch Saturday I wandered into a restaurant across from a mosque where I had a good conversation with another customer and the owner, who together had enough understanding of my Arabic/ability to make themselves understood that we could talk. Looking closely at the hustlers, it seems clear that even those who use their services don't care for them. At a place overlooking the port; fro, which you could see ferries coming in, huge ships at anchor, and fishermen out in the distance, a deaf young man started pointing stuff out to me, then gestured for me to follow. I knew he was a hustler but was curious, and noticed him rub his fingers together as we passed an old man, who sighed with a bit of irritation. We got to the old man's shop, the hustler gestured for me to enter, I declined, and shopkeeper actually looked at me with respect. As I was leaving the young man started pestering me for money. I decided to give him 2 dirhams more as charity than anything else, and when the guy turned to the shopkeeper to angrily protest the paltry sum, the shopkeeper shrugged a very clear "not so bad," while looking at me with respect again.

All of that could have been just another routine (Tangier makes you suspicious), but it was a common pattern I noticed in the city, that bystanders would appear concerned/annoyed when hustlers would approach me, then relieved/respectful as I ducked their offers. Their work sucking dry the tourists is not highly regarded in Moroccan society (which of course has many businessmen who would prefer to have the profits from the most gullible customers all to themselves).

But I was still glad to get out of the place where Europe and Morocco meet and reach areas where Morocco is just Morocco. So now I am in Fez, where I am doing a private study in medieval Arabic at the Arabic Language Institute in a part of the Villa Nouvelle overlooking the old city. But more of that later...

 
Well, I've made it to Fez. I don't have time to say much, but you might be interested in the fact that a lot of the shops in the Tangier medina have in the counter area stickers that feature the Spanish and Moroccan flags, and the words "We are all against terrorism" in Arabic and Spanish. (At least, I assume that's what the Spanish says, to match the Arabic and all.)

Incidentally, port security at the Strait of Gibraltar seems pretty weak. Except for a quick look at some in Moroccan customs, my bags were never searched or screened or anything. Even if they decided I looked honest, how do they know I didn't fall for some con artist and agree to carry something?

 
Well, I'm now almost completely packed, which is good considering I leave for the airport in a little over seven hours. I will post again from the other side of the Atlantic. I don't know how often, but at least once a week I will put up a duplicate of an e-mail I send to friends and family who don't read blogs. There may also be special blog bonus content as situations merit. No promises on what I'll wind up talking about - when I went to Irbid, I assumed I would visit one of the Palestinian refugee camps, but it never materialized.

I have no idea what to expect. I'm travelling alone into a very foreign country. Anything could happen. Sometimes that makes me nervous. Other times, it seems exciting.

Incidentally, one book that has greatly influenced my view of travel is Pilgrim, by Leonard Biallas, albeit mainly before it reached book form. I've added it to the featured books on my sidebar - there's no picture, but the cover is a pleasing shade of blue. Here's some of the guts of it:

"In our travels away from home, we are pilgrims...when we are on the lookout for contact with the sacred hidden forces which underlie and shape the destiny of our world and which can transform our lives. We find the sacred present in undramatic incidents, in Pasternak's 'greatness of small actions,' in Blake's 'goodness of minute particulars.' Because we are mindful, experiences of the sacred break through into our lives. When we look steadily and lovingly at any thing - a waterfall, a child, and field of poppies, and really 'see' the whole of it - not merely steal an idea of it, but know it by direct experience, we encounter the sacred. Such moments of small joys and humble experiences are miraculous epiphanies."

Finally, this was my 1000th post. That seems like a lot. Thanks for reading!

 
This and this make me happy. Enterprise was kind of dull for the first two seasons, but the second half of this year has been excellent, and shows a lot of potential for the future. Let's hope the fourth season develops it further. And a new time slow wouldn't bother me at all, as I could just tune in to Smallville on Wednesday.

 
VOA has a profile of the Saharawis, who are seeking independence for Moroccan-controlled Western Sahara. I don't have much to add right now, but may in a few weeks, as I hope to duck across the border to Laayoune at some point in my travels.

 
Juan Cole posts about Iraqi Shi'ites comparing the U.S. to Yazid, the Umayyad caliph implicated in the death of Husayn at Karbala. Al-Jazeera reports on al-Manar's take-off on the Passion trailer to place Iraqis in the position of Jesus and Americans as his tormenters. Neither of these is particularly good. Since Americans are attacking Karbala and torturing people, however, it is inevitable, something I hope the administration is taking into account. They will probably accuse the media of inflaming the situation, and al-Manar is a Hizbullah outlet, but here I suspect they're just saying what's on everyone's mind in the Arab world.

 
My classicist friend Rob Groves has posted his thoughts on Troy before seeing the movie. They're not what you might expect.

 
IWPR has an interesting story shedding light on the linguistic situation in northern Iraq through the experiences of Arab med students in Kurdistan. A core issue seems to be the fact that Kurds have to learn Arabic, but Arabs generally haven't learned Kurdish. I think in the future the Iraqi educational system should require some knowledge of both Kurdish and Arabic, regardless of the primary language of instruction in a given region. It would be interesting to see how this situation compares with that in Quebec, where east of Montreal I ran into a number of people who didn't know English, even if they had had some in school.

 
Congratulations to my brother, Jason Ulrich, who just graduated from QU with a BS in Chemistry and Biological Sciences. Congratulations also to my parents, who have successfully raised two kids and put them through college. May there be a happy future for all concerned!