No, I haven't died. I've just spent the past 5 days bumming around the Moroccan beach town of Essaouira, a town thankfully easier to pronounce than spell. I'll dive into some further details but first, here is a brief summary of a typical day in Essaouira: wake up (always a good start), coffee on rooftop terrace, follow friends to the beach (as I never figured out how to get out of the medina), eliminate capability for children by diving into the icy Atlantic water, regain bodily functions laying in the sun, proceed to "Mexican" restaurant for food, proceed to "bottler" to acquire booze, retire to roof top terrace to consume booze with the notable exception of the mandatory excursion for meat-pocket sandwiches.
Tough life. In seriousness, as my last day in Essaouira approached I had to strongly fight the urge to cancel the remainder of my travel "plans" for stint one and simply continue to exist in this wonderful place. It's warm, sunny, cheap, the people are fantastic, and as I mentioned there is a place to locate beer. I mean, that's pretty much all I need in life. And of course the meat-pocket sandwiches.
When I arrived in Essaouira after my 7 hour train ride and 3 hour bus ride I was, as you might imagine, a bit strung out. Especially since it had been a rough morning in the wake of the prior night's rounds of kings cup and f the dealer. I swear I've played more drinking games on this trip than in all of college. Anyway, when I walked into the hostel who did I immediately see but my friend Andrea from Madrid! And she had a whole crew, and they were heading out for food! Perfect!
As Morocco was once controlled by France not only do they speak French but you can easily find random French cuisine intermingled with the traditional Moroccan fare. Great examples are solid coffee, baguettes, and crepes, the latter of which the girls were seeking. I went with the typical meat-pocket sandwich which I essentially stole for 20 dirham (about 1.90 euro). When we got back to the hostel I checked out my bedding accommodations only to discover:
BOOM. Spongebob Squarepants bedsheets. Watch out ladies, I'm now basically irresistible. And apparently the (human) ladies of the hostel aren't the only ones to watch out for the enticing nature of the Spongebob bedsheets; when I awoke at 3am I discovered I had a bed companion- the hostel cat. Despite a brief argument over which side of the bed who was occupying, she nestled in next to me for the rest of the night. Just as an aside, there are an absurd amount of stray cats in Morocco. For the past week I had been wondering why I couldn't kick my runny nose then Andrea (I'm so stupid I can't even claim credit for the realization here) brought up that maybe I'm mildly allergic to cats. Well shit, I had totally forgotten.
The next morning after saying goodbye to my feline friend, I proceeded upstairs for my morning coffee by Magic our hostel host. Magic is great- I think he probably only sleeps 3 hours a night and is consistently um... happy... from the local herbal industry. But he's always around if you need him and proved to be the savior Friday night with his stash of beer when we discovered, to our collective horror, that the booze shop was closed.
Anyway enough about Magic and booze, let's talk about Essaouira. Friday morning Andrea, Jack and Sarah from Newcastle, and I went off in search of the fabled Jimi Hendrix Cafe. Allegedly the story is that he was inspired to write Castle Made of Sand while in Essaouira. In reality I think he didn't visit Essaouira until something like two years after the song was written. Anyway, we went looking for the cafe he ate at, only we missed the turn off and ended up on the main highway back to Marrakech. Crap! But we could see the little town where the cafe was located over the tree line. So, as any thirsty adventure seeking travelers would do, we cut through the bush in an attempt to get to the city.
The only problem was that there were many problems. First, we encountered what I believe (Jack and Sarah disagreed) to be a pot farm which was guarded by a pack of "vicious" dogs. The only one I could see looked like a dachshund but to be fair there were several other barks and growls emanating from the bushes. My solution was to grab sticks and press forward but I was outvoted and so we made our way around the encampment by way of a ridge littered with thorn bushes.
We finally emerged and were then required to cross a stagnant river off-shooting from the sea next to a jackleg rubbish dump. We all made it across the rock path safely except Andrea whose foot touched the water. I commented that she likely had just contracted hep C.
But no worry because we were on our way to the cafe proper! After passing through the dump, we took a right and low and behold there it was. We scuttled in and to our delight they served beer. As we relaxed and digested our food, beer, and adventure, we were greeted with another surprise, two donkeys engaged in a mating ritual. Frankly it looked more like a brawl than an intimate affair; the female's move of choice was to bash the male in the face with her hind legs until he would lose interest and begin to walk away. Then she would follow closely behind him until he again took notice, then back to the face bashing. I commented that she must be Spanish.
We then proceeded back to the hostel to waste away the evening. As described above, Magic saved our night and revelry and nonsense later it was morning. Day 2 brought about the first stationary trip to the beach. We also made the customary stop by the "Mexican" cafe, run by a British woman that features exactly zero Mexican products unless you consider chili con carne distinctly Mexican. They do have great cakes and a substantial burger. The beach was a beach- lots of sand and sun but the coldest water I've ever swam in apart from Deep Creek, MD. Seriously, what the hell Morocco?? I've been pining for a swim for a month and all I've got to show for it is a voice that's now three octaves higher. Bollocks!
That afternoon we walked by the ramparts and the fish market where I was suddenly struck with an immense sensation of horror and demanded to leave. Andrea and I then sunned ourselves by the rocks and breakers and then it was time to resume the nightly ritual of bottler, terrace, meat-pocket sandwich, terrace, bed. Oh, and I tried a Moroccan pizza which was awesome because the slices were so tiny I felt even more like a giant than I normally do in this country.
The third full day found us pretty much out of activities. We went to the beach, went to the bottler, and then Andrea and I said b.s. to any further activities and retired to the hammocks. OH! I forgot to mention the hammocks! Shame on me. Not only does the hostel have 2 wonderful hammocks (open to the sky) to relax away the troubles of the day, but you can also book them as a bed at night for 4 euro! How awesome is that? The best part is that there is a window right next to my bed that looks out on the hammocks- the perfect escape route to relaxation.
The rest of my (sadly) last night in Essaouira was spent (as usual) on the terrace. Since most of our friends had departed, Andrea and I watched this British show called Black Books which was hilarious. I can't wait to see the rest of the episodes. As the sun went down over Essaouira I was stuck with an immense compulsion to extend my stay there indefinitely. Alas, this trip is about traveling and seeing the world as a nomad, not bedding down in one place; even if there is sun, sand, beer, and Spongebob sheets. In the morning, with the assistance of Andrea to find the station, I begrudgingly took my bus to Marrakech.
No comments:
Post a Comment