June 6th: Slow train to Fes

Photos for June 6th: Essaouira to Fes

The alarm clock went off at a cruel and inhuman hour; we had purchased tickets to Fes. My aunt had it all planned, we would walk to Bab el Menzeh and catch a taxi the short distance to the Supratours office, near Bastion su Sud, for the 6.30am bus. No problem … until we reached Bab El Menzeh and ne’er a taxi was there in sight. We were told they don't start running until 7am… It was now 6.15am. Only one thing for it, sprint through the Place Orson Welles, past Bab Sbaa, through the gardens. I say sprint, but my friends know I don't run - although my kids claim they had to grow such long legs to keep up with my walking pace. As for my aunt, well, she’s a game old biddy, but I've seen snails outdo her. I grabbed the bags and set off, hoping against hope that the bus wouldn't leave early. Rounding the corner I could see the bus still there, motor running. A glance behind and my aunt was nowhere in sight! I ran into the ticket office, showed the tickets, went outdoors to plead to hold the bus, when she suddenly appeared. Yes! We were on our way to Fes, in 3 hours we would be in Marakesh.

It was still Ramadan, so at 7.30am the bus stopped for the driver to eat. Lo and behold, there was a stall flying a Union Jack, displaying pictures of mouth watering burgers, fish and chips … but, closed for Ramadan. I'm interested to see what changes take place after Ramadan.

I watched the countryside pass by. Looking forward to sights of the Atlas mountains, but we edged onto the motorway and sped on to Marakesh.

We disembarked, knowing we had 30 minutes to have some lunch and find the train before it departed. Thankfully the coach had deposited us right at the train station, no searching except for the platform number. No lunch. No food anywhere, except for the bread, boiled eggs and yogurts we'd had the foresight to pack.

The train station in Marakesh is lovely; clean, well organised, the employees friendly and helpful - even in a language they didn't know! The train was waiting at the platform … I love train rides, and this was going to be a long one! We boarded the train and, as with everything else when we travel, I let my aunt make the choices… because I refuse to get settled in one place then move to another. So, if we had to walk the length of the train to find a clean, unoccupied, compartment, then that's what we were going to do because we would be on this train for 8 hours.

Settled and comfortable in our compartment, the train slowly chugged its way out of the station. I hadn't had time to look at the route. I hadn't had time to check out the things to do in either Fes or Meknes… all I knew was ‘old medina.’ I was tired, grumpy, and facing backwards unable to take photos of the anticipated change in the countryside. But, we were once again on the move. Next stop Fes.

The countryside changed enormously as we headed almost due North, from Marakesh to Casablanca, from Sandy to lush green and plenty of agriculture. We passed through Casablanca, seeing the ocean in the distance, and continued northeast, along the coast, to Rabat. Public transportation reveals a lot about the communities it passes through. The commuters at Marakesh train station held a near 50/50 mix of European and Arabic clothing. Rabat could have been almost any European city; young, smart, jeans, dockers, cell phones glued to their ears … even the slow walk had been replaced by the rapid weaving those of us from big cities are used to. I'd love to explore this City. We stayed northeastward, towards Kenitra, wondering whether we were in Morocco or speeding through the English countryside; stone walls, fields of green vegetables and golden wheat. Our fellow commuters confirmed that we were not in England.

At Kenitra we turned Eastward, watching the homes become poorer, more sparse, with small cities or towns in the distance. Our fellow commuters definitely more Arabic than European. Meknes, where would be in a couple of days, and finally, Fes. I had done no research, I didn't know what to expect, but I knew I wanted a hotel to aim for and not just to direct the taxi driver to “the medina.” I finally made myself understood to my aunt, and we sat and looked though the usual - expedia, trip advisor … everything was booked! Finally, Riad Dar Guennoun. They had a room with 2 beds, and we could reserve it. I had asked about transportation at the ticket counter in the train station and was told that taxi fare to the medina should run around 10 dirham, and that there were no buses. I get the feeling that people assume we won't rough it on a local bus, how wrong they are!

The taxis wait in line outside the train station, much the same as anywhere else in the world … they all insisted the charge would be 50 dirham … “old part of medina, far away, is Ramadan.” Welcome to Fes! I seriously can't wait for Ramadan to end. I may celebrate with them.

The taxi driver wanted assurance that we had a reservation, as the Riad was not on a main street and someone would have to come out and get us. So our trip was conducted with me connecting to our hotspot, transmitting information to my aunt to translate into French for the driver to make phone calls in Arabic to the hotel staff, all while zipping around roundabouts. Welcome to Fes!

The taxi driver waited with us until the young male receptionist from the hotel came to meet us and walk with us to the hotel … just up these steps, and these steps, and around this corner and up these steps, to this street and up these steps and here is the hotel. We don't have a room at the rate you reserved, but we have another with 2 beds, just up these steps to the top of the riad. I should point out that the steps in the riad resemble those of old cathedrals; they are stone, steep, narrow, and spiral. And we had had a long day.

I told my aunt to stay put while the receptionist and I went all the way back down to fill out the papers and for me to get the wifi password. I would return and we could decide on dinner. As I began filling out papers, sure enough, there she was by my side! I summoned all that was left of my patience and asked whether she wanted to go out for dinner now, or return to the room and look through a map.  You guessed it, the answer was “yes.” I know this is my fault, I know I should have made a better attempt to learn French before my trip, but still, something inside me died. We walked out of the hotel, retraced our many steps to the street and sought a restaurant - because it was now well after 7.30pm, and food should be available for tired, hungry travelers.

We found the Cafe R’cif and were led to the elegant rooftop terrace where we ordered tea. Apparently that was the signal for the waiter to forget about us … more running up and down stairs to make it known that yes, we would like to eat. SOON. Two lamb tajines please …  Delicious as they were, they were consumed in stony silence.

During dinner we were approached by a young Italian woman, a student, wanting to know if we wanted to share a taxi to the airport the next day. She then told us about her hotel, a nearby riad, Riad la Source Bleue … at ground level… that included breakfast, was cheap and very clean.

You know what comes next, don't you? My aunt called the current riad to cancel our stay - although they had our bags. I found the Source Bleue online and made two reservations, one for 2 nights, the other for one night … just in case. We walked to the new riad to check that it was acceptable. I sat, firmly planted in the lobby, sending my aunt up the stairs to see the rooms. One of the two managers - both named Isham - accompanied us to the Riad Dar Guennon where we picked up our bags and then brought us safely home to the Riad de la Source Bleue. We ascended the steps to our room… only to discover that we had separate rooms, a salon separating the rooms with a balcony looking into the riad, and a bathroom with toiletries… all for a total of €30 per night, and that included breakfast!!!

A separate bedroom. Heaven! I don't remember if I wished my aunt a good night, but I remember closing the door, happy to be alone, at last.

June 4th - 5th: Lazy days, and fresh plans

June 4th - I woke up when the sun shone through the window and the birds sang their songs. Bright and early, refreshed after a proper nights’ sleep in a familiar bed. A shower; a long, hot, shower. That was the order of the day; wash the desert sand out of my hair, the saltwater from Legzira off my feet, and the grime of Agadir from my body. But the shower ran cold … the gas tank needed to be replaced! I had seen men driving carts full of gas tanks all over the medina, but hadn't questioned from where our hot water came! Aziz, my aunt’s handyman, was called; gas tank exchanged, two clean females vaguely resembling human beings emerged. Now for our clothes … I couldn't face the task of hand washing the collective grime from my clothes, and my shoes were in desperate need of a good machine wash - with the hottest water possible, bleach, extra detergent, any and all measures to return them to a wearable state. My items were going to the laundry, no matter the expense!

Over breakfast my aunt casually asked if I could access a train or bus schedule to Fes. My computer has not been fixed, but I have the world at my fingertips on my phone… Why, yes, there is a bus from Essaouira to Marakesh which conveniently connects to the train to Fes. Yes. In the abstract, the trip is do-able.

My aunt does not have a smart phone. I am sure she thinks I spend too much time on my phone: journaling in a word doc then uploading to my blog; captioning photos; creating photo albums;  keeping up with floodplain management and disaster risk management articles, news, and conferences; posting collages of our day and keeping track of friends on FB; writing reviews on Trip Advisor; following colleagues on LinkedIn; making notes of the the things I want to do and see … but I think she's also a little envious of all I seem to accomplish.

We took our laundry to the “pressing” in the medina. They provide a 1-hour rush service, or a 3-hour regular service, and charge by the kg. They wash, dry, and, if so desired, iron your items. They took our clothes, raised an eyebrow at my shoes, and told us they’d be ready that afternoon for the princely sum of $11.00. I felt there wasn't enough soap in the world to scrub the dirt acquired from lunching on building steps and endless waiting in the Agadir bus station. Perhaps not enough soap, perhaps fire was best. $11.00? Done deal.

We marched onwards to the Supratours office. Supratours is a coach, or bus, service. Their website is useless, but their schedules seem to be covered by the ONCF site. ONCF is the national rail service. I had deduced that we could journey to both Fes and Meknes, and back, without too much hastle. The Supratours agents confirmed this, took our money and gave us tickets in return. I guess we're going to Fes!

Coming back through the souk I decided to break ranks with my aunt. We continually pass the street vendors who appear shortly before 7.30pm - they have assorted breads on display, sticky gooey pastries,heavenly smelling fish … none of which I have been able to try! I am one of those people who simply has to sample every food around. I want to know the ingredients, how they are made, how they taste, are they traditional … family members would be amused, given that I was such a fussy eater when I was young; the bain of the adults’ lives as one was always assigned to me to make me chew ten times and swallow… the first accomplished, the second seldom so! Today I bought the fish;  fried sardines, stuffed with herbs, 1 piece for 3 Dirham (30 cents). Delicious!

June 5th - The laziest day imaginable. My aunt had business which seemed as though it would take her back and forth between the bank and the lawyer. She is still dealing with the fallout of relatively recent widowhood. My services were unnecessary … besides, my book called, and tomorrow would be an early start.

June 3rd: Legzira Beach

Photos for June 3rd - Legzira Beach, Agadir, and home.

Breakfasted, packed, and on the road by 9am to avoid paying for another night at the hotel! My patience began to wear thin in conversations with Gabriella and my aunt; whether or not you agree with Myers-Briggs personality types or even horoscopes, there is no denying that the descriptions for INTJs and Virgos have me in mind! The French habit of responding to questions with nothing more than a shoulder shrug leaves me in despair! I may think laterally, and see possibilities that others don’t, but I intake information linearly. When information received makes no sense, I quite literally feel that a computer screen inside my brain spits out a message stating “does not compute. Does not compute” and, like a GPS recalculating or rerouting, there is an almost human like element in the mounting annoyance. Age has helped me mask this - I am not as impatient as I once was, and my face no longer imparts the “what sort of imbecile am I dealing with?” look that I know it once did all too readily! But, being tired and dealing with a Rumanian, an example of whose conversation begins with “I am vegetarian, I no longer eat animals” and ends with “beef grease or fat is better than butter. I use it on all my bread” and a French woman who responds to questions such as “would you like to go out for a walk now, or stay in the hotel?” with “yes” was, quite frankly, more than I could cope with today. I decided the wisest course of action was to smile if looked at, but otherwise keep silent! Mental note to self: never, ever, ever, ever, travel with company again!!!

Gabriella and Andrei stated that they were returning the car to Agadir and flying from Agadir airport. I mapped the CTM station in Agadir and asked the location of their rental return so that I could find a drop off convenient for all of us. After twenty minutes of questioning, it turns out they are dropping off the car in Inezgane - a suburb of Agadir. To make things less complicated, I requested that they drop us off in Tiznit as I knew this was on their way to Agadir, we were already acquainted with the town, and knew the location of the CTM station, although not the bus schedule. Agreed upon this plan iof f action, we retraced our route to Sidi Ifni and onwards to Tiznit.

None of us had seen the famous rock at Legzira Beach, so we  stopped and followed the correct road downwards to the beach and agreed to meet at the car after 30 minutes. Legzira Beach is beautiful; soft golden sand, restaurants, a small resort, a surf shop, lifeguards,  families playing, locals sunbathing, and the famous arch … there were two rocks with arches, but one collapsed in 2016. The one that is left actually has 3 arches, and is very photogenic. My aunt thinks she would like to return with her daughter. It is a lovely sleepy place.

I walked to the arch as quickly as I could - encountering jellyfish along the way -  so that I could see it up close and take photos and then we strolled back to the promenade and up the steep ramp to the car and waited for Gabriella and Andrei.

We reached Tiznit in no time and said our goodbyes. We were grateful for all we had done with them, but it was equally nice to say farewell!

We walked to the CTM station … no more buses to Agadir today! We might be staying another night in the hotel Assaka. I got out the Wi-Fi hotspot that we are carrying, but using sparingly, and mapped the Supratours station - a short distance and worth a try. Success, they had a bus leaving in 30 minutes, and from Agadir we should find a bus back to Essaouira. We were feeling very nomadic by this time!

The route to Agadir took us through Inezgane, which looks like an interesting town; cosmopolitan, affluent, a mixture of architecture, and plenty if well kept parks and green spaces, full of families, palm trees … and jacarandas in full bloom.

Finding ourselves at Agadir bus station once again, we purchased our tickets. This time on Pullman Sud - the only coach leaving that day to Essaouira! We had a three hour wait and chose to explore the city streets in the hope of lunch. As expected, the restaurants and cafes were closed for Ramadan, but we purchased bread and laughing cow cheese triangles ar a small store. We found some steps in the shade to sit and eat our meagre fare and were soon joined by a wild (stray) dog, who sat and watched longingly, hopefully. Suddenly we heard a shout “hey, American” - it was our friend, Sallah, from our first time at the Agadir bus station, just a few short days ago. He shooed the dog away, chatted about our recent travels, again offered his services as a guide, and then left as suddenly as he had arrived.

We decided the cats of the bus station were preferable to the stray dogs of the street and made our weary way back. Only a few hours to go… We sat at the tables outside a cafe in the station, and one by one men and young boys gathered nearby. Suddenly, the tv was switched on and the entire floor came to life; apparently they can do without food, but not football (soccer)! Spain V Switzerland … we gave up our seats.

As 7.30 approached, we saw the same preparations being made at a tent in the station plaza. I asked the young ticket sellers, and was told that food is provided for free to the travellers during Ramadan. We were welcome to join the feast. I wanted to see what they were offering, but not to eat, so we walked to the tent and were welcomed like family; chairs brought out, plates set, we were offered mint tea, harira, hard boiled eggs, freshly baked bread … we kept refusing, saying that we had eaten and did not keep Ramadan. But, it is futile to refuse Moroccan hospitality and we sat to enjoy hard boiled eggs bread, and mint tea.

Finally, it was time for our bus to leave. We would be in Essaouira by midnight, home shortly after. The bus dropped us off in a part of the City I had not yet seen, and the streets were absolutely packed with people celebrating Ramadan; it looked like a combination of a busy market day and kids waiting, expectantly and excitedly, for a major pop concert. It was tough to navigate the streets for a taxi, but navigate we did. Finally home! Feeling dirty, grubby and tired we decided that tired won out. Showers could wait until tomorrow.

June 2nd - The desert tour

Photos for June 2nd - Tighmert

Breakfast was served at 9am on the dot; black olives, assorted freshly baked breads, fresh butter, strong coffee in miniscule cups. Salama and Mohammed arrived at 9.45am in an ancient jeep. Oh, today was going to be an adventure! My aunt had felt unwell the previous night and didn't think she should accompany us today. But we would be sitting, chauffeured through the desert and who knows where else. Convinced there would be minimal walking, she joined us. A box containing our picnic was put in the back of the jeep, Salama wound long white scarves into turbans around our heads, and we piled in ready for, and expecting, an adventure.

Salama was to be our guide, Mohammed our driver. Salama is fluent in French and speaks very good English. He is of Berber origin and has family who live in the Sahara as he once did. Mohammed speaks Arabic and little else.

Our first stop was ‘an oasis.’ Lush greenery, palm trees and bougainville standing out among the rocks, a river, and a canal system. Salama proved both knowledgeable and willing to answer my endless questions. Our tour took us from one oasis to another where we left my aunt and Mohammed and walked along the narrow canal, crossing from one side of the river to the other … watching the jeep following our progress and wondering where we would rejoin. We saw nomad’s tents off in the distance, a solitary nomad and his dromedary drinking at the river - possibly returning from the market in Goulmime. Suddenly the jeep was back in front of us and we headed into barren land.

We drove through endless desert, although not true desert - not the Sahara, but bleak nonetheless. Mountains on all sides, cactus, small shrubs, no dwellings, the occasional small argan tree. Bleak, desolate, but still beautiful in its own way. Rich colours, striations creating attractive patterns, valleys showing where the wind and weather alter the landscape. Hot, but not humid. We journeyed on.

We stopped at the hot spring; not a geyser but a spring tapped by the government. Salam said there is a network of them, mapped by the government. Oh how I wish I had proper computer access. I know I could pull those maps, see the locations and all the associated information. Gabriella and Andrei took the opportunity to paddle in the warm sulphurous water. I, meanwhile, found molehills to explore and a lizard to play with.

We passed outcrops of rocks, black flint with pictures etched “by the ancient ones” and graffiti etched by the more recent ones! We stopped for lunch in the shade of a solitary tree. It is Ramadan, observed by both Salama and Mohammed, so they served us our meals and then absented themselves. We ate, sitting on a low branch, my aunt on a small chair thoughtfully brought along: simple ‘Moroccan’ salad of cucumbers, tomatoes and the lightest olive oil; a loaf of large round bread - airy and full of holes, hard boiled eggs, yogurt, water. We took some time to stroll after lunch, finding sea shells while Salama slept in the jeep. Mohammed joined my aunt and I, and, amused, answered with animal sounds and gestures, my questions about the animal scat on the ground around us. Dave and I hike, ramble really, in the parks and conservation areas near us in Sarasota County. Identifying  animal tracks and scat is something that we do. Of course, Mohammed was not to know this!

We passed a group of dromedaries and descended en masse to take photos. Salama instructed us to walk slowly towards them, hands cupped. They would think we came bearing food so would not run away. Taking photos was the first glance we had of Mohammed’s personality and sense of humour. He is not a young man, he doesn't say much. But he watches, is attentive to our needs - swooping in with an upturned makeshift step for my aunt to ascend and descend the jeep - and photo bombing with a delightful and mischievous smile at every opportunity.

We drove for what seemed hours through barren land, mountains around us, whispy clouds hanging barely above us. The sun on the mountains creates different pictures as we drive. It is all quite beautiful. We pass more groups of dromedaries, ears tagged, bearing brands of ownership, not a human around for miles.

In the distance Salama points out a sand dune. Distinguished by its homogenous colour, its lack of striations, it is barely visible. Another half an hour and we are on an upward climb, to marvel at the mass of richly coloured sand underfoot, and the view from the top of the dune. Gabriella takes the opportunity to roll down the dune. I am older and can think only of how many days it would take to remove the sand should I join her! As we sit and survey the scene, I note Mohammed standing aside … chatting animatedly on his cell phone!

We began our return journey, but still have delights ahead. We drove interminably on barely discernable roads, tracks really, until suddenly Mohammed stopped the jeep seemingly in the middle of nowhere. Salama gestured for us all to get out and follow him, then promptly disappeared! It is a rocky canyon, with a series of small waterfalls into a small river at the bottom. Mohammed planted a small chair at the top of the cliff and made it understood that this is not something my aunt should attempt. I gamely followed Salama, hoping that I would be able to make the upward journey without too much help. Gabriella is young, she bounded ahead, Andrei followed behind me, a little more cautiously. My aunt watched from way up high and waved as we finally reached the calm quiet river. I stopped to take photos then clambered back up to find the source of the falls, thinking how sad to see so much graffiti on the rocks.

We were not yet done with our tour, although the day was getting on and Mohammed and Salama were becoming anxious. It is Ramadan, they have not eaten, they want to be at prayer on time and break their fast at 7.30pm. Our tour was supposed to end at 6pm… it us already later than that. But we had requested a visit to the local museum. We pulled in to the parking lot of the Caravanserai museum, a tiny building, and were greeted by L’habib. He has the gentlest face of any human I have ever encountered. He has a booming laugh, an easy smile, is thrilled when asked to pose for photos - photobombed by Mohammed- loves to be huggged, has a generous personality, and punctuates all of his sentences with a gut busting “ugh” - an Arabic version of the Canadian “eh” eh? He showed us around the museum; artifacts found in the desert or bartered for when the caravan is in town: slave cuffs, agricultural tools, camel seats, traditional clothes, musical instruments… the museum is small, but contains many items. He is Saharawi, a tribe from the Sahara, and speaks little French or English. But he makes himself understood. After the tour he led us to a tent and made mint tea. Gabriella and Andrei inspected the trinkets for sale, she chose a bracelet, he purchased it for her upcoming birthday. I don't want any more possessions so I remained seated. Finally Salama ordered us into the car. His day is done. He is tired and hungry. Mohammed needs to drive to Goulmime for prayers. We returned to the hotel where Ibrahim was waiting, and our evening tajine was being prepared.

Before dinner Ibrahim made it understood that he would like payment that night, not in the morning. Oh, and he doesn't take credit cards … the four of us checked our wallets; credit cards a plenty, and almost -but not quite - enough cash. Andrei and I were elected to drive into town, accompanied by Ibrahim. Gabriella and my aunt remained. We told them to do the dishes and that we'd Skype their families and inform them of their new address!

We drove the 10 Km to the supermarket in the nearest town. Tomorrow, Andrei and Gabriella will be returning to Agadir and flying back to Roumania, they have kindly offered to drop us off along the way. We knew the shops will be closed for Ramadan, so took the opportunity to buy items for the next days journey.

We returned to the hotel, paid Ibrahim, packed, and made plans. This has been a good day. We didn't see much of Goulmime. We didn't see the camel market. We saw so much more, had a wonderful time, and made new friends.

June 1st: Sidi Ifni

June 1st: Road trip, day 3
Photos for June 1st - Sidi Ifni, Mirleft & Legzira

We awoke refreshed after a good night’s sleep; the view from the balcony even better in the daylight. After dinner I had spoken to Yassir, the receptionist, asking what sights he would recommend. He gave me a list - which included Legzira beach, just as a gentleman in the cafe the night before had suggested. He also offered his services as our guide, for free - to practice his English - should we choose.

Breakfast was purchased, hastily, at the grocery store; jambon de dande, danone yogurt, Laughing Cow cheese, and bread. But on my return to the hotel, I found the manager kindly making coffee for us. Coffee and pain au chocolate… such a welcome sight!

We left our bags at the hotel and walked to the bus stop for the local bus to Tiznit. We had been told the number 18 would cost us 6Dh each, and would drop us off at Legzira. At the bus stop we met Milosche and Jeanetta from the Czech Republic. When not travelling, they pick apples in a village near Murano, Italy.

The bus dropped us off at what appeared to be a deserted crossroad… the mountains to our east, a ghost town between us and the Atlantic to our west. No sign of a beautiful beach - or the famous rock. Undeterred we set off on the rocky path… only to find ourselves on a cliff. Despondently we walked back to where we had alighted, and waited… there would be a return bus in an hour. Instead, a taxi pulled up and we asked the fare to Legzira beach, gesturing the rock with the hole in it. We had found one of the few taxi drivers who speak no French! But, he seemed to know our requested destination. Fifteen minutes later we were summarily deposited in Mirleft. But there was a rock, and it had a hole in it. So we went to explore. The beach was quite deserted, save for ourselves and a young American couple taking photos of each other scaling the rock. We walked the sandy beach; dotted with pebbles but few shells, the water looking inviting but cold,  the rock showing the geologic processes at work. A wild dog came to join us, following every step of the way. It is hard to not make eye contact, but dangerous to do so.

We walked back to the road, a little disappointed in ourselves and our day, and settled in for the long wait for a taxi or bus, whichever appeared first to deliver us back to Sidi Ifni. Our luck was in. While we waited patiently near a restaurant, a young couple arrived. They stayed for coffee, we waited … As they left they asked our destination. Their names were Gabriella and Andrei, from Roumania, and vacationing for a week in Morocco. They were passing through Sidi Ifni on their way to Goulmime - our intended destination that night. We gratefully accepted a ride back to Sidi Ifni.

By the time we arrived in Sidi Ifni we had agreed that all four of us should engage the services of Yassir. He was happy to take us on an extended tour of the town - and we for a lot more than we bargained for! Sidi Ifni is known for its Spanish influences and architecture; it was once a protectorate of Spain, only returned to Morocco in 1969. Many in the town want a return to Spanish rule … Yassir is one of those! Descriptions of the town, details of the history, were dotted with tales of his resistance to Moroccan rule; “this house, the government (of the country whose name I will not say) wanted to pull down, my friends and I we climbed the roof and staged a sit in. There are photos. You see, it still stands. We saved this house …” We walked the streets, bemused, amused, and interested.

Our tour ended at 5pm, as Yassir’s evening shift at the hotel began - our bus not scheduled to leave for another 3 hours, and the market jumping to life in readiness for the evening break-fast. Our Romanian friends offered to drop us off at an as yet undetermined hotel in Goulmime, and we readily accepted.

Goulmime at sundown, gateway to The Sahara, cannot be described as a welcoming place. Stark, austere, dirty … nonetheless we stopped to find a hotel. One room for two, bathroom shared between eight rooms? Perhaps we should look elsewhere? The four of us opted for an inexpensive hotel outside of town, made reservations, and set off. Wherever we would be in this inhospitable place, we would be together!

The drive to Maison D'hotes Nomades seemed to take us to the Moroccan equivalent if the “backwoods.” Turning, twisting, unlit roads far off the beaten track, until suddenly there was Ibrahim welcoming us to his home. Welcome, welcome, come inside. Meet my family, my wife, my daughter, my mother. Come, join us for our Ramadan breakfast … it was going to be a long night! Ibrahim's wife had prepared fish, slilou, an assortment of snacks, and the ubiquitous mint tea. We stayed in their salon getting to know the family, sampling their foods until finally we were shown to our rooms and instructed that dinner would be ready in “maybe 1 hour.” It was already 9pm.

The hotel is set apart from Ibrahim's home. It is a lovely place; quiet, clean … with a shared bathroom. But it was ‘home’ for the night. We were served a delicious vegetarian tajine - and mint tea - and set up a tour for the following day. Breakfast would be served at 9 am, we should be ready to leave by 10am, a picnic would be provided, and we would return at 6pm. Just like that our say was set! Nothing more to do but say goodnight on the terrace, under a sky flooded with stars.   

May 31st: Tiznit

May 31st Road Trip, day 2
Photos for May 31st - Tiznit

Dawn broke over Tiznit and we had no plans other than visiting the medina, the souk, and pressing on to Sidi Ifni. Travelling during Ramadan takes extra preparation - preparation we had not made because, lulled by the tourist industry in Essaouira and on the advice of locals, we did not believe it necessary. However, once away from tourists, the rituals of Ramadan become more obvious; hotels do not serve breakfast, cafes and restaurants remain closed. Fresh fruits are available in the souks, but coffee… hot coffee, fresh pastries, meats and cheeses. These are nigh on impossible to find between sunrise and sundown. We passed a supermarket and purchased what would become staples on our short trip: bananas, a packet of turkey ham, Danon yogurt drinks - and fresh bread wherever possible. This served as breakfast, lunch, or dinner, depending on the time of day; in bus stations, seated on sidewalks, in whatever shade we could find; sometimes under the eyes of children amused to find such mischievous adults breaking Ramadan, sometimes under the imperious eyes of women questioning our not keeping Ramadan, once under the hungry eyes of a wild dog.

Tiznit is larger than Essaouira, but the guide books list only two attractions: the Grand Mosque (pronounced mosk-eh, in the Canadian fashion) and le source bleue; both located within the Medina, which is a maze of majestic proportions. The people of Morocco are incredibly friendly and do their best to give directions in a mixture of English, French and their native language - always delivered with a smile. Our final impromptu guide to the mosque was a young schoolgirl hurrying to some activity, but trying not to lose the strange women lagging behind. Naturally we arrived at the mosque in time for the call to prayer! We waited for the mosque to clear, and then - covering heads and shoulders -  entered where we had watched the women leave. The interior was simply decorated, many women were still at prayer, and there were no additional public spaces to wander. It was a bit disappointing for a tourist, but the mosque has historical value for the locals.

Following the signs for La Source Bleue, we took our tourist photos of the pool and the reconstructed nomad storehouses, and then browsed the traditional Touareg jewellery in the nearby store. The owner, Abderrahmane ID Bakrim - who collects pens from around the world - plyed us with Morrocan mint tea and showed off the hand made original designs in his store. We spent a pleasant afternoon in the square, watching and being watched by the local residents, and then caught a taxi to the souk.

The souk resembles Eastern market in Detroit; large, covered, clean, bustling - and few tourists. It was late in the day, so only the fruit and vegetable stalls were open. The colours and smells were heavenly … especially to two hungry travellers.

We took another taxi, requesting to be taken to the “boutique traditional” - the closest shopping mall; we had time to kill, and had, apparently, seen all that Tiznit offered! The three storey shopping center housed elegant bridal stores and clothes stores, all with a working sewing machine in use and other clothes stores - ‘sales’ tables laden with clothes “exchanged when the caravan is in town.”

Back to the hotel to pick up our bags, eat a dinner of turkey ham and bread and then a short walk to the CTM station for the evening bus to Sidi Ifni… arriving just in time for the Ramadan break-fast.

Sidi Ifni was a Spanish protectorate, has Spanish architecture and influences, and a thriving resistance movement. The drive from Tiznit has mountain views on one side of the road and crashing blue waves of the Atlantic on the other, with gulleys, ravines, and hairpin bends thrown in for good measure. The town itself is high on a cliff; peeking through alleyways reveals endless flights of steps. It is beautiful.

We arrive as feasting begins for the evening. The main streets are over run by food stalls, we can smell fresh cooked fish and bread, the restaurants are opening. We opt to find a hotel first, knowing that a hearty dinner is assured. The Hotel Safa is a glorious and unexpected haven. Our room has a balcony, with views both westward, of the sea, and eastward, of the mountains. The bathroom is large and has an “Italian” style shower. The beds are clean and comfortable. We could stay here for weeks… But our stomachs call, we make the short walk back into town … but the food market stalls have disappeared, the restaurants empty, the cafes serving only tea and coffee. Thankfully the hotel is still serving dinner; my aunt has brochette de viande (turkey kebabs/skewers) with chips, and I have a seafoid gratin. Hungry, and happy with our hot food, the irony of our portions being too large for us to finish is not lost on us.