Smitten with Essaouira

I’m starting this post from the lounge of the same quirky riad in which I spent last week's Saturday and Sunday nights. There are the regular trash statues adorning the fireplace mantle (the one to my left has old bicycle chains for hair, making him look a little like a Rastafarian), statues of the Buddha, an elaborate beaded elephant head on the wall, and a strange lit up man sitting in the corner, looking like he has something on his mind but is far too polite to interrupt. In my mind, he’s an intelligent British fellow who has something quite important to say, but doesn’t get past the “Ahem,” stage of the conversation.

 

We've come back to Essaouira in order to once again experience the famous fish and to bring Mike's cousin back to the airport in Marrakech. I'm delighted that Yaelle enjoys Essaouira so much, as it gave Mike and me the excuse to spend another couple of nights in the gorgeous seaside city.

A few more notes about Essaouira that I failed to mention in my previous post:

This city had such a large Jewish population because it was Morocco's main port city in the 1600s, and Mohammed ben Abdallah wanted the Jews to handle trade with Europe. They comprised about 40% of the population at one point, but their numbers have long since dwindled due to the introduction of Islam.

Not only does Essaouira boast world class kitesurfing and windsurfing, it's also a really artsy/musical town. One can find unique, tasteful galleries in just about every narrow alleyway, and it is home to the Gnaoua Festival of World Music. Visit Essaouira in June, and you'll have to share the small city with about 450,000 spectators and musicians who've come from all around the world to participate in the "Moroccan Woodstock."

Orson Welles shot parts of his "Othello" in Essaouira.

It appears to be the pot capital of Morocco. Mike and I were offered "something special" just about every night we were there. That said, Essaouira is as hippy as an African Islamic country can possibly be.

It attracts the kinds of tourists I really enjoy being around. People who want to stay in fancy hotels and eat in fancy restaurants and pay street performers to hypnotize venomless snakes end up in Marrakech. People who want to surf, experience good music, and see some excellent craftsmanship and art end up in Essaouira.

There are hundreds of cats wandering the streets. They eat the fish scraps, chicken heads, and sheep offal that people toss outside for them. They function in the much needed role of "garbage disposal" for the city. 

I feel like this animal would be very useful on a ship. For blocking leaks and things. 

Mike's cousin is very interested in purchasing her own Moroccan riad, so we went with her to tour the two in which she was most interested and give her our opinions on her potential vacation home. On the rooftop of one riad, we found this:

Even with the large Islamic population, Morocco still possesses many firm believers in black magic. This unassuming chicken foot, with its simple piece of black twine tied around the ankle, will keep your husband coming home to you each night, and not to one of the many prostitutes he sees along the way. Chicken foot not working? Well, just hope that Aisha Qandisha will visit him in his dreams. This genie, a seductive lady with the handsome legs of a goat, has a nasty habit of rendering men impotent. So, there's always that recourse if your chicken feet just don't do the trick.  Be sure to hide all the knives, though. If your husband is able to plunge a knife into the ground before Aisha Qandisha attempts to possess his soul, he'll be right as rain. 

And while I'm in the list-making mood, I'll add another couple of notes on Morocco in general:

If a Moroccan woman would like to marry a non-Moroccan man, the man must first convert to Islam. This is the law, as religion passes down through the father and the Moroccans would like all of their babies to be born good Muslims. 

If a Moroccan man is seen with a Moroccan woman in suspicious (sexual) looking circumstances, they can be arrested. Mike and I were stopped by the police the other night for no apparent reason. Mike told me that it was because they wanted to check to see whether or not I was Moroccan. As foreigners can do whatever they so please (even be alone with a member of the opposite sex in a car, goodness me), we were peachy. 

If you drive 6 km over the speed limit on the highway, you WILL be pulled over. However, if you know how to talk to cops, you can easily slip a hundred dirham into their corruptible hands and be off the hook and on your merry way. I regard this as part of the toll. The toll for the road costs 20 dirhams. The toll for the cops along the way is about 100, depending on the mood of the cop and your skill level when it comes to improvisation. 

There is a tourist price and a local price. The tourist price is about twice the local price, so if you're interested in filling your suitcase full of Moroccan knickknacks and spices, find someone who speaks Arabic and understands the bargaining system to accompany you on your journey into the labyrinthine souks. 

The tap water is full of minerals, so be prepared to either drink bottled water for the duration of your visit, or to end up with an upset stomach and black teeth. 

EAT THE NUTS. Morocco produces amazing almonds, cashews, dates, pistachios, peanuts, and walnuts. 

EAT THE OLIVES. They're very cheap and absolutely delicious. 

NEVER take a taxi close to a touristic location. I tried to take a taxi near the main square yesterday, and he told me it cost 50 dirham. I waved him off immediately. A couple hundred meters down the street, I waved down another taxi. This one quoted me 20 dirham. ALWAYS set the price before you get in the car. 

Try the Mechoui. More on that later.