Am back in Rabat, flying on Air France tomorrow back to Paris and then to the Colorado Mountains. The beach below the ramparts of the kasbah is home to restaurants, games of soccer, and surf clubs...the current monarch being a founding member of the Rabat Beach Surf Club. The ocean is cold. Morning fogs form but usually burn off by noon. There is a serious need for wet suits. The surfers keep within two long sets of huge stone breakwaters that stretch out into the ocean, protecting the river and the cities, Rabat on one side and Sale on the other, from the ocean waves. 
In some ways like the surfers I have just been skimming the waves here in Morocco, riding the surface impressions, not getting very much beyond the immediate sights and sounds. Atheletically, the main sport, principally found in Marrakesh, was in crossing city streets...learning to just go ahead across the street and not hesitating. One evening I followed the lead of two guys as they crossed right through the middle of a huge roundabout...cars, trucks, mopeds swirling about us...the vehicles do not go round the circle as much as draw more or less direct lines through it...we just kept on walking. On safely reaching the other side, I had the impression I was finally able to figure out a little of the psychology of living here. And, at the same time, I was still alive. Great trip.
