Mon., Jan. 29, 2018 - Essaouira, Morocco

Essaouira, Morocco

Delightful orange stand at the very working fishing port of Essaouira.

After -17 celsius in a basement room with no heat in the High Atlas under what seemed like 20 kg of blankets, we woke up warm but to a frigid breakfast.  We have learned that food in Morocco, apart from street food which is great wherever you are, is limited in choice and, surprisingly, bland.  Breakfast each day consists of lovely, "pancakes" with an initial crisp from frying in oil followed by chewy consistency, bread, perhaps croissants, jam, honey plus or minus oranges, yogurt, cream cheese, hard-boiled egg, olives  The staple, bread, are served in large baskets at breakfast, lunch and dinner.

The pancakes are at the top left.  Cream cheese is in those triangular foil packages.  This breakfast was one of the more abundant with delicious homemade jams and freshly squeezed oj.

We headed down the mountain to the awaiting bus on an alternative route through small towns.  For the most part we were lower than the snow which had stopped falling overnight but left the mountains behind us deeply covered.

To go down, we were headed to the far side of the valley on the easier trail you can see hair pinning down the slope to the first village below.

Our destiny was the little village on the right.  Even though the villages were discrete, the inhabitants, especially the men, knew everyone in the valley.  Marriage had been limited to within a village but genetic problems were common.  Now marriage partners are found in at least as far away as the village down the valley - this information given by our guide.

One of our donkeys on his way down with a porter in his djellaba.  Djellabas are worn by at least half of the men in Morocco, whether in the countryside or in Marrakech.  It is traditional garb but obviously has it's practicalities, used like my Dad's overcoat in days gone by, when he went off to work.

The village where we stayed from across the valley.  The lower slopes of the valley were all terraced with stone walls.  Tiny plots of land with one or two apple or cherry trees and wheat or barley.  Incredibly difficult work.  Walnuts were another major crop here - the large trees grew on the slopes without terraces.  Can't imagine how they were harvested though.

Back in town, supplies for hikers.

snacks

and lunch.  Tajine is one of the three choices for lunch and dinner.  Cooked slowly over a pot of coals they are both warming and taistie.  But every day, sometimes twice a day became a bit repetitive no matter how good.  Unfortunately, Tunisia is the same.

And squat toilet.  You rinse off the porcelain with a bucket of water.  In all stalls with flush toilets there is usually a lack of TP but a small hose that is used to rinse the bottom...I think.  Drying is a mystery.

On the way we stopped at an amazing town market held once a week.  The Berber men - only the men come to this weekly event - come from the small villages and hills to sell produce. (I like to imagine that the women get together in their villages to whoop it up.) Before entering the market grounds - acres of activity - Samir warned us to stay close together, to stay put if we got separated and he would return to the missing person, to pretend lack of interest to avoid being pestered, and to enjoy the feast for the senses.

Onion alley.  Literally thousands of onions in heaps.  With purchasers carefully selecting a kg or two.

And a wheelbarrow full of cookies

One of our younger, plucky companions was grabbed by the market dentists who specialize in teeth extraction with large pliers, hands tied.  They have a bucket full of teeth to prove they are still in business.  They also use a huge pair of scissors for circumcision - not sure if that is Moroccan legend - there was no pile of foreskins that I could see.

Tooth extraction complete.  Given a big tip by Samir for our entertainment.

Our itinerary directed us over a 2,200 m pass but there was some question of whether it would be open after the snowfall.  Upon arriving with a parking lot full of other vehicles, we were turned back. Apparently, the oasis where we had been going to stay on the other side of the pass was covered in snow - something the guide's friend who had lived there for 25 years, had never seen.  Given our previous night, we were happy to turn around and head to the coast.  We were now doing our itinerary in reverse.  Unfortunately, it was a long bus ride away.

Essaouira was a trading centre for gold, wheat and slaves turned hippie hangout - Jimmy Hendrix had a mansion nearby - and artist enclave in the late 20th century and now a popular tourist area for it's bustling fishing port, it's laid-back medina with twisting alleyways and old houses, and beautiful coastline of rocky harbour and lengthy beaches.

This fishing port was full of traditional boats.  Our guide felt that the port was the centre of the city.  The tower is Portuguese.  A cruise ship dock is planned for the future.  Ouch!

No slouching around in this harbour.  It was a hive of activity.  Boatbuilding is another point of pride.

Spider crabs were large and delicious looking but we didn't see them on any menus, sadly.

Two sailboats shared the harbour with countless fishing boats.  They plan a marina but at least we know we can come here with Milly when we head west again.

We explored the town, staying for two nights in a riad, a medina home of wealthier families passed from generation to generation, often in blind alleys. From the alley, they are typically walls with one or two high grated windows where the women could look out but could not be seen by the men on the outside.  Once through the front door, the riads open into a courtyard with fountain, plants, brightly covered furniture.  The courtyard, according to our guide, was an important feature, giving "vertical communication" with Allah.  The original features of cedar carved ceilings, plastered walls with intricate design, tiles, mosaics, tapestries and rugs make it sumptuous even though modern conveniences are difficult to maintain.  Ours had several sitting rooms on the ground floor where we gathered, ate street food and drank wine late into the night with our touring companions - a lively crowd. 

Olives.  I bought an assortment.

Herbal viagra was big in the market stalls.  "Turbo Viagra" in both Femme and Homme.  Our compatriots bought some but were not impressed.  The colourful pyramids in the back are spices.

Prior to the establishment of Israel, Essaouira was a Jewish centre.  There are still three synagogues where Jews come to celebrate once a year.  Otherwise, the Jewish population has shrunk dramatically, leaving Morocco for Israel or the west.

Lovely town.  We'd like to sail back someday.