Sunday, 22 September 2013

The City with Too Many Vowels

We're on the road to Essaouira (pronounced Ess-uh-wee-ruh, you have no idea how long it took me to get that right), a beautiful port city roughly 3 hours drive from Marrakech. Of the multitude of interesting factoids I’ve heard about Essaouira, the most important is that several Game of Thrones episodes were filmed there. GAME OF THRONES!!!


Ok, fan girl moment over. Because of its position along the coast and relative to Marrakech, it’s been an important port to all manner of kings and conquerors since its founding, and thus has been kept in relatively good shape. The route to Essaouira is mostly relatively lifeless desert, but every now and then you see something cool…

GOATS IN TREES!



So, while we’re trapped in the car, let me introduce you to someone new:


This seemingly adorable canine is actually the most annoying creature you’ll ever meet. Imagine an ADHD inflicted rabbit on speed and you have a less irritatingly energetic animal than Y. Yes he’s cute, but trust me the cute wears off when he’s been trying to hump your leg for 3 hours, has bitten you once and has peed on you twice. At this point in the trip, he was still cute. It was when he tried to fight a camel that we realized he was truly insane.


After briefly surveilling the city from above, we retired to the beach, where we enjoyed several hours of relaxation and delightful conversation with a lovely Canadian teacher, with brief bouts of saving Y from drowning.



Roughly 3 hours in to the experience we realized that we had forgotten one crucial element: Sun block. Thus began the worst sun burn of my adult life. Dazed and groggy from the sun and the incredible length of time since our last meal, we set off in search of food, shade and possibly some aspirin. But H had other ideas. Apparently it was imperative that we see Essaouira’s famous fish market.



So we staggered onward bitching and moaning, following H as he sped frantically through the market, heatedly bargaining and buying large quantities of every edible (and a few possibly inedible) fish known to man. Occasionally we held back to step in pools of rancid fish guts, complain and day dream about fish-free food. But those dreams would have to wait, because as we were just about to slip into tantrum mode, we were confronted by a grinning H holding 3 enormous plastic bags, full to the brim with various unappetizing fish, that we were informed would be our lunch. BUT FIRST…we had to find someone to cook them.

 Fast forward to me and A holding the impressively heavy, now leaking bags of fish parts as H runs off to find the car and iceboxes to transport them home. Imagine our horror as H plops each fish between layers of dirty ice, stopping occasionally to pick fallen specimens from the sidewalk (where people walk and spit and frequently defecate) and place them snugly with the others. Now imagine our embarrassment as tourists stop to watch and take pictures.

Hunger overcomes mortification and we’re finally on our way food-wards through the medina, to knock on a little door in an alley that I wouldn’t have otherwise noticed. We’re now hungry enough that we feel slightly ill, but all there is left to do is hand over the fish and wait. Which is what we did.


Skepticism aside, the food was quite tasty and it fortified us for our continued exploration of the city.


Essaouira is charming and inviting and utterly different from Marrakech. The ocean breeze is refreshing after the oppressive heat of the city (the rancid fish smell that permeates everything even reminds me a bit of fisherman’s wharf). The streets are just as crowded but less frenzied. People yell, trying to sell their goods but no one touches you or follows you. The ancient walls are crumbling and the streets are maze but somehow the city feels inviting. The nooks and crannies give it charm and make it wonderful to photograph.


The view of the sunset from the ramparts was romantic even to cynic like myself. I sincerely hope to return.


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