My aunt was up bright and early - packed and dressed for a trip up the amazon … but our CTM coach wasn't leaving from Essaouira until 1.15pm… Me, I woke with a blinding migraine. This was an auspicious start, but the ticket had been bought and I was looking forward to seeing some of the country outside the medina of Essaouira.
At noon we walked to Bab Sbaa and caught a taxi to the CTM station and caught the 13.15 to Agadir, but nit before my aunt had found the French bakery she had been looking for. We had planned our buses, but not our hotels and had not taken Ramadan into consideration. This, we came to find out, was a huge mistake!
I would like to say I have photos of the drive from Essaouira, through the Anti-Atlas (or mid range Atlas) mountains… but the combination of winding road, lurching bus, migraine and impending cold took its toll. A young French girl two seats behind looked as though she might keep me company, but no. I was alone in increasing the discomfort of my fellow passengers! Periodically I was able to look up, and through the window I saw camels, donkeys, hills, mountains. I'm sure it would normally be a pleasant drive.
We had planned a 3 hour layover in Agadir, time enough for dinner in the city because even the government website states there’s nothing of interest there! The City was decimated by an earthquake in the 60’s and has been rebuilt … there’s little but hotels there now. However, I was sick and didn't want to move, much less think of food! We opted to wait out our stay in the bus station; clean, not unfriendly, but not welcoming either. We sought the toilets… and discovered that they were, as my aunt explained so disdainfully, “Turkish style,” - a hole in the floor. The first time I encountered toilets like this was many years ago when our families camped together in France. They were an affront to my sensibilities then but now, as an adult, just a different way of doing things. However, we opted out.
We walked upstairs to the restaurant area and asked a young man if there were other toilets in the restaurants. He kindly volunteered to run to the third floor and find out, so that the “Old lady” wouldn't have to tire herself. I don't think my aunt realised who he meant! No other toilets being available, he asked if he could sit with us to practice his language skills. His name is Salah and he has his own business called Afolky Excursions. His facebook page is “Nomadic Berber.” He is Berber - similar to a first nations people; native Americans in the US or aborigines in Australia; the original people of Morocco. His home was the dessert. He has been working ad a guide since he was 22. He is now 28. He told us that all the restaurants would be closed until 7.30 because of Ramadan. So we stayed and talked, and wandered in and out if the building - the cold and wind increasing as the day wore on. I don't think I've ever felt such a biting wind, or felt so miserable.
Our bus to Tiznit finally arrived but, instead of allowing us to board, the drover informed us he was going for dinner. We could do nothing but sit in the wind, awaiting his return! Note: do not travel in a Muslim country during Ramadan!!! The bus departed for Tiznit 40 mins behind schedule, and in the dark. I can now say I can make a bus pullover for me in the middle of nowhere! I need Excedrin migraine! Theraflu! … and no more lurching buses!
We arrived in Tiznit and a fellow passenger helped us find a reasonably priced hotel, not far from the CTM bus stop. Too late for dinner, and the “breakfast included” would not be forthcoming because of Ramadan … However, the kind receptionist at the Hotel Assaka sent someone to the pharmacy, and a tube of paracetamol was duly delivered to our room. Drugged, cold, chilled to the marrow, I fell asleep. I'm sure my aunt was thrilled with her choice of travel companion.
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