It turned out I had got my timing very wrong, and arriving on a Thursday evening meant I had to wait until the Monday to apply for my Mauritanian visa (the reason I was in Rabat), then wait two more days to receive it.
Luckily there were plenty of awesome people at the Youth Hostel:
I met Guillame, the self-confessed "Volcano" hitching from France, Lee who's made it to West Africa overland from his home in Korea, Sarah a New-Zealander on a worldwide Tea-Research-Mission, Andy an Englishman who'd cycled there from Portsmouth, Tarik the motorbike-mad Maroccan, Djiboutian-American Man-about-town Yusuf and most importantly -
Laas, a Dutch guy riding his Yamaha TTR600 on a six month Africa trip.
Laas and I got on and he said he'd happily plod along at my 85kph cruising speed for the sake of some good company until Mauritania.
I had a very relaxed week, with the only dramas provided by riot police violently breaking up peaceful democracy demonstrations and a very drunk Maroccan guy (we found a bar!) proclaiming me to be not only the nicest American he'd ever met, but actually an Extra-Terrestrial saviour being who holds the ket to world salvation.
He bought me all the beers I could drink. Then some more.
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