Architectural Geology of Rabat, Part 6: An Ode to Stark Masonry | Morocco
Standing outside the southern wall of the Kasbah of the Udayas, just below the Bab Oudaya (main gate). Facing southeastward.
For the list of my primary sources for this series, see the bottom of the Part 1 essay.
One of the best things about my time in the US Navy was that I was stationed on a fleet flagship homeported in the Mediterranean. One of our embarked admiral’s chief responsibilities was to make courtesy calls on the leaders of various countries in North Africa, Western Asia, and southern Europe. And these visits were made throughout the year, and not just in the prime tourist season. As a result, I often got to see cities like Casablanca and Rabat in the off times, when they were busy being themselves. For a town clogged with foreign tourists can never quite be itself.
Such was the case on this January afternoon. Here, mothers resting for a moment along the walls watched their children play. Farther in the distance some men variously attired in traditional djellabas or in Western dress strolled down the boulevard or paused to converse. There was an open and unforced feeling to the place, in which the imposing architecture could speak to me without distractions.
This photo also documents the state of the Kasbah’s Salé Calcarenite ashlar fifty years ago. That granular limestone, quarried just across the Bou Regreg estuary, was prized as a highly workable and attractive building material. But, like other selections of its type, it does deteriorate noticeably over the years, especially in maritime settings such as this. A cursory inspection reveals a number of places in the masonry where ashlar blocks have fallen or crumbled away. And the white crusting due to gypsum or halite efflorescence is very extensive indeed.
In the decades since my visit arborescent fan palms, most likely the California and Mexican species thereof (Washingtonia filifera and Washingtonia robusta), have been planted along the rampway leading up to the Bab Oudaya. Talk about a high density of foreign interlopers!
I have to admit I prefer the more barren look. A certified tree hugger I truly am, but I know that sometimes vegetation detracts rather than improves the built environment. Landscape architects should be restrained from obscuring what the real architects have wrought.
And of course I can’t just leave it there. There are situations in which architecture should not be softened or prettified or made more welcoming. Or even restored in general. Sometimes dignified decay and stark monumentality and salt crusts and crumbling ashlar are more valid indicators of the human experience than cuddly Neoliberal notions of eco-friendliness. That whole mentality is fraudulent, anyway, and misunderstands nature as something suburban and tidy and nurturing.
To see the other photos and descriptions in this set, visit my my Architectural Geology of Rabat album.
Architectural Geology of Rabat, Part 6: An Ode to Stark Masonry | Morocco
Standing outside the southern wall of the Kasbah of the Udayas, just below the Bab Oudaya (main gate). Facing southeastward.
For the list of my primary sources for this series, see the bottom of the Part 1 essay.
One of the best things about my time in the US Navy was that I was stationed on a fleet flagship homeported in the Mediterranean. One of our embarked admiral’s chief responsibilities was to make courtesy calls on the leaders of various countries in North Africa, Western Asia, and southern Europe. And these visits were made throughout the year, and not just in the prime tourist season. As a result, I often got to see cities like Casablanca and Rabat in the off times, when they were busy being themselves. For a town clogged with foreign tourists can never quite be itself.
Such was the case on this January afternoon. Here, mothers resting for a moment along the walls watched their children play. Farther in the distance some men variously attired in traditional djellabas or in Western dress strolled down the boulevard or paused to converse. There was an open and unforced feeling to the place, in which the imposing architecture could speak to me without distractions.
This photo also documents the state of the Kasbah’s Salé Calcarenite ashlar fifty years ago. That granular limestone, quarried just across the Bou Regreg estuary, was prized as a highly workable and attractive building material. But, like other selections of its type, it does deteriorate noticeably over the years, especially in maritime settings such as this. A cursory inspection reveals a number of places in the masonry where ashlar blocks have fallen or crumbled away. And the white crusting due to gypsum or halite efflorescence is very extensive indeed.
In the decades since my visit arborescent fan palms, most likely the California and Mexican species thereof (Washingtonia filifera and Washingtonia robusta), have been planted along the rampway leading up to the Bab Oudaya. Talk about a high density of foreign interlopers!
I have to admit I prefer the more barren look. A certified tree hugger I truly am, but I know that sometimes vegetation detracts rather than improves the built environment. Landscape architects should be restrained from obscuring what the real architects have wrought.
And of course I can’t just leave it there. There are situations in which architecture should not be softened or prettified or made more welcoming. Or even restored in general. Sometimes dignified decay and stark monumentality and salt crusts and crumbling ashlar are more valid indicators of the human experience than cuddly Neoliberal notions of eco-friendliness. That whole mentality is fraudulent, anyway, and misunderstands nature as something suburban and tidy and nurturing.
To see the other photos and descriptions in this set, visit my my Architectural Geology of Rabat album.