Rabat doesn’t scream for your attention like Marrakech. It doesn’t flirt outrageously like Fez or pose seductively like Chefchaouen. Rabat just gets on with it. It’s the grown-up in the room, quietly being a capital city while others show off. But if you give Rabat 48 hours of your life, it’ll repay you with unexpected charm, a touch of history, a whiff of Atlantic salt, and a solid appreciation for how delightfully unbothered it is by your presence.
Start where the story starts: the Kasbah of the Udayas. This blue-and-white fortified enclave sits like a proud cat at the mouth of the Bou Regreg River. The Andalusian Gardens below the Kasbah are calm, shady and smell like every citrus orchard ever dreamed up by a homesick Moor. Inside the Kasbah, you’ll find maze-like alleys painted in the kind of blues that make you question why you ever liked grey. The views over the Atlantic? Smug. The tea at Café Maure? Even smugger, because it knows it’s being sipped on a terrace from which Andalusian pirates once watched the horizon.
Stroll down to the beach, Plage de Rabat, which is often more about people-watching than actual swimming. Surfers chase unruly waves, local lads show off their acrobatics, and families picnic like it’s a competitive sport. From there, walk up the Avenue Al Marsa and catch the tram to the Ville Nouvelle. Rabat’s Art Deco district was the French colonialists’ attempt at modernity with palm trees. Here, you’ll find the Cinema Renaissance, still standing like an extra from a Casablanca film set, and boulevards where cafés do that particularly Moroccan thing of serving orange juice that tastes like sunshine filtered through a citrus grove.
Lunch at Dar Rbatia, tucked in a corner of the medina, is a deep dive into the world of tagines, preserved lemons, and couscous so fluffy it could double as insulation. The medina in Rabat is no souk olympics. It’s civilised, measured. You can browse without being strong-armed into buying a pouf. Look for leather slippers, antique maps, and spices that will later leak into your luggage and make your socks smell like cumin.
Spend your afternoon at the Mohammed VI Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art. First of all, it has air conditioning. Second, it has a brilliantly curated collection of Moroccan art that goes beyond camels and carpets. It’s also the only museum in Morocco where you might hear someone seriously discussing abstract expressionism in Darija.
Evening is for Salé, Rabat’s quieter twin across the river. Get on a little boat – yes, that charmingly rickety blue-and-white rowboat you thought was decorative actually moves – and let it carry you to the Salé side. The medina here is more local, more lived-in, and the sunset from the marina is golden in that cinematic, this-can’t-be-real sort of way. Dinner at Marina Bay or Le Dhow (a restaurant in a boat, because Rabat is full of surprises) should include grilled fish, fresh calamari, and possibly a glass of Moroccan gris wine if you’re in a defiant holiday mood.
Wake up with the muezzin and a mint tea hangover, and make your way to the Hassan Tower. This 12th-century minaret stands as if someone hit pause halfway through building it. Next to it, the Mausoleum of Mohammed V sits in pristine, green-tiled silence, guarded by ceremonial soldiers in uniforms so spotless you wonder if they actually exist in real life or were conjured by a Wes Anderson set designer.
Then there’s Chellah. Bring water and an open mind. This Roman ruin turned medieval necropolis is where storks nest in crumbling columns and cats sun themselves on ancient tombs. It smells of rosemary and myths, and if you don’t feel at least one ghost brushing past you in the shade, you’re not paying attention. It’s unkempt in the best possible way.
Lunch today is at Yamal Al Sham for Levantine cuisine, because why not eat hummus with a view of the tram? After that, head to the Royal Palace. No, you can’t go in unless you’re on someone’s very special Christmas card list, but the grounds are worth the stroll. Watch the changing of the guard if you’re into that sort of thing, or just admire how a country can pull off being a monarchy, a republic, and a vibe all at once.
In the afternoon, swing by the Bibliothèque Nationale du Royaume du Maroc – yes, a library. But a good one. Its glassy modern architecture is worth the look, and it hosts exhibitions, literary salons and the kind of people who wear scarves unironically.
Your last evening calls for a walk along the Bou Regreg Marina promenade. Watch Rabat light up gently, like it knows it doesn’t need to try too hard. Pick a spot like Borj Eddar or the rooftop at Réserve to sip something sparkly and toast a capital that keeps its treasures casually tucked behind calm smiles and soft Atlantic breezes.
Rabat won’t ask you to fall in love with it. That would be far too needy. But chances are, as your train or plane pulls away, you’ll find yourself wondering why more people don’t talk about it. Then you’ll realise that’s exactly why it works.
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