May 22nd - 23rd: Arrival in Essaouira, The Medina and The Souk.

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A good article about Essaouira

May 22nd- I spent an uneventful, and sleepless, night in Luton airport, dutifully walking through security at the allotted hour of 3.30am - only to discover that the flight would be delayed until 9.30am, courtesy of air traffic controllers on strike in France.The flight was thankfully uneventful and we arrived to a beautiful warm sunny Moroccan day at one of the loveliest airports I've ever seen. I then had the task of staying awake in the tiny terminal until the arrival of my aunt's flight some four hours later. She had left Paris the day before, but her flight was grounded in Madrid because of a cracked windscreen. They were flown to Bordeaux where they spent the night in luxury and put on another flight to Essaouira after I had already landed. It has been about 25 years since I last saw my aunt, but we recognised each other instantly and talked as though we did this on a regular basis. Her driver was unavailable so we caught a taxi to the flat, passing goats along the roadside! Her flat is in the medina. From my bedroom window I look down on shops and shoppers, yet it is not noisy. I feel like the luckiest girl alive!

We unpacked then walked through the medina, finding a lovely restaurant in which to dine on delicious lamb tajine.  The shops are all pocket sized, and inserted into odd shaped nooks and crannies. Our restaurant seated 8 people in a space barely larger than a small bedroom! Whilst waiting for our food to be served, the call to prayer sounded and we were told that our food would be delayed by 15 minutes because of Ramadan. It was worth the wait.

May 23rd - I slept in late - recovering from my journey - but awoke to find that my aunt had gone shopping and returned with croissants for breakfast. We ate our croissants, and bread & jam, with bowls of hot black coffee; very French. We determined that we needed provisions from the grocery store about 1.5 miles away, outside the medina, and that we should walk there and return by taxi.

I have just spent 3 weeks in Norwich, walking up and down cobblestoned hills at breakneck speed, so I knew I could handle this. However, I was soon reminded that I was with a French woman in Morocco… life moves at a slower pace… I am reading Robert Louis Stevenson’s Travels with a donkey in the Cevennes and feel he adequately describes our pace: “... it was something as much slower than a walk as a walk is slower than a run; it kept me hanging on each foot for an incredible length of time; in five minutes it exhausted the spirit and set up a fever in all the muscles of the leg.” But arrive at the grocery store we did - on the same day on which we had set out! and having had plenty of time to watch the dromedaries on the beach.

The grocery store contained few surprises, but much nicer smells; spices and peppers set out like a buffet bar. I hovered while my aunt made menu decisions I was happy to go along with… Ooh, lamb curry? Yes please! as I watched three steaks being sliced from a leg of lamb. Our taxi driver was obviously a D- student in taxi school, but he dropped us off at Bab Sbaa much as he had found us, perhaps a little more shaken, and we walked home through the medina. I don't know how my aunt finds her way around here, it is a daunting place; twisting and turning, alleys leading off alleys. One day I will ‘own’ this medina… I have 6 weeks to learn it. My mapping and orienteering skills will serve me well.

We had to go to the electronics shop - more laptop woes! and I had to run home to pick up my charger. Three objectives: find my way home, gain access to both building and apartment, return to the shop. Success in the first. Then I was left to struggle with the door to the building. Now, almost everyone in the street is in jeans or similar western gear. Some of the locals are more traditionally, but casually, dressed. As I wrestled with the key, the lock, and the door, a turbanned and exquisitely robed gentleman appeared, from thin air, to assist me. He pulled the door closed with a heavily jewelled hand, dealt deftly with the lock, and entry to the building was mine! Open sesame! and as I turned to thank him, he smiled and vanished. A splash of colour and elegance in a denim clad world. I grabbed my charger and ran back to the shop, happy to have accomplished all three objectives.

In the afternoon we walked to The Souk to price the fish, meat, and fresh fruits and veg. Essaouira is a port on the Atlantic, so the fish market was astounding. There were many fish I didn't recognise. But I do remember how to say “qu'est-ce que c’est?” and “merci” - with a smile...