A Weekend by the Sea -- Essaouira

Although Essaouira is a name no average Coloradan will ever be able to pronounce with confidence and ease, it is a town that every decent Coloradan should visit at least once in his/her life. Mike had taken me to see the City Wherein I Shall Eat Fish for a Sunday afternoon a few weeks ago, but as we'd only been able to enjoy the unique seaside town for a few hours, he decided that it would be a good idea to spend an entire weekend soaking up the scenery. Mike's journalist cousin from Paris, a bubbly redhead named Yael, adores Essaouira perhaps as much as I do (and can certainly pronounce it better), and had scheduled a week of fish eating, surfing, and horseback-riding to recoup from her chaotic Parisian life.We met Yael at the airport in an air-conditioned car that her father had arranged for us to use during our weekend, and set off for the mutually beloved city. 

This trip to Essaouira was much greener, felt much faster, and left me with much less pain in my lower back and derriere. It wasn't quite as exciting, to be sure, but I enjoyed being able to sleep in the back of the car enough to let the low-excitement factor slide. 

We arrived around 18:00, parked the car, and found a Moroccan with a cart to guide us to our riad and help carry the luggage. We followed behind through narrow streets and open squares, al lined with wood carvings, brightly colored scarves, spice vendors, beautiful leatherwork, endless tea shops, hole-in-the-wall restaurants, and shapeless Moroccan clothing billowing in the breeze. The streets were dirty, but the air was clean. The shopkeepers called out an occasional, "Madame?" but the tone was much friendlier and no one pushed me to buy anything I didn't want. A child on a bicycle said, "Excuse me" as he passed, and I nearly kissed him. 

Our riad was lovely. Mike booked a suite that was bright, quirky, warm, and so very comfortable. It fulfilled so many of my childhood fantasies, with the draperies and the lamps and the strange wooden statues propped up in every corner. 

The main bed where Mike slept. He was quite the gentleman and offered the best bed to me, but I preferred to take the bed in the loft. I've always been a sucker for bunk beds and tents and lofts and mobile homes and anything that makes me feel like I'm on an adventure. 

These statues are made entirely out of trash and are found all over Essaouira

After we'd settled into our quirky weekend riad, we moseyed out into the city to meet Yael for drinks and dinner. The city is even more enchanting by night. 

Yael at the bar/restaurant. The band played only bad American lounge music and made me feel a little homesick. 

After drinks, we wandered through the winding streets to an Italian restaurant Yael makes a point of visiting when she frequently vacations in Essaouira. It reminded me a little bit of Agritourismo Ca'Lattis, with the two women bustling busily in the kitchen, preparing all the food on the spot (I could watch them through the windows), and the single waiter rushing between tables of the packed restaurant, taking orders and delivering food as fast as he could. 

I have a feeling that the restaurant is not often very busy. Certainly not as busy as it was on Saturday night, at least. It took us nearly two hours to get our food, and when it finally came, we devoured it so quickly in our hunger induced delirium that we hardly tasted the meal. Serves us right for ordering meat in the City Wherein I Shall Eat Fish. 

Walking back to our riad with very unhappy tummies.  

I woke up bright and early on Sunday morning and worked on designing some yoga sequences. Mike has invested heavily in my career as a yoga teacher, and has bought me three notebooks to help me organize my sequences, notes, and quotes. I'm going to design a website when I get back to the states, purchase insurance through yogajournal.com, and start up my own company called Adara Yoga. Adara is sanskrit for "with adoration" or "with great respect". I enjoy that it sounds a bit like "dare".  Adara Yoga or Atara Yoga. Atara doesn't sound quite as nice, but I like the meaning a bit better -- "crossing over the river".  Thoughts? 

Anyway, morning yoga with Mike went swimmingly, and it's so rewarding for me to see the progress he's making. It's nice to know that he's an absolute beginner, so everything he does right is because I told him to do it right, and everything he does incorrectly is because I gave him poor direction. 

After a small omelet at the riad (they're not used to catering to people who don't eat bread), we took a walk about town. We stopped in a bookstore/knickknack shop and browsed around for a few minutes. Turns out that the shop was started by a Jewish man who knew Mike's stepfather (who grew up in Essaouria). Of all the cities that used to be very Jewish in Morocco, Mike tells me that Essaouira was one of the most Jewish. I bought a book buy Paul Bowles, a famous American author who found great inspiration in the northerly town of Tangiers, and I'm very excited to read it. 

We ordered a starter of Salade Nicoise, thinking that we'd still be hungry enough to eat proper fish later. The salad was so enormous that it made even my American belly shudder at the thought of stuffing all that lettuce inside, so once again, we didn't properly eat fish. Canned tuna and marinated anchovies don't really count as fish when you've got the ocean right behind you. 

Facts of the day: A camel can drink 100 liters of water in ten minutes. When a male camel wants to get a lady's attention, he puffs up his soft palate and lets it hang out his mouth. He also pees on himself.  

After eating a good 3/4s of my behemoth plate of tuna and salade verte, we went back to the riad to take a short nap before meeting Yael for horseback-riding on the beach.

Sometimes I don't realize how incredible my life is until I write it down. Goodness.

These are Berber Arabian horses. Not the most comfortable to ride, but bullet-proof. We had several dogs charge us, barking and growling as if they wanted to rip the horses' bellies out, but the Moroccan horses glared at them quietly and plodded on. 

This was Mike's first time on a horse. I don't think he got the balance quite right...

After our two hour ride through the desert brush and down the beach, I led Yael through a hip-opening yoga sequence (never do this in jeans), and scheduled to meet up with Yael and her 9 friends from France for dinner at a Moroccan restaurant.

Ever had a monkfish tagine with pear? No? Well, you should make that happen as soon as possible.

Essaouira in the morning.

After a cardio yoga session with Mike, we packed up our things, found a Moroccan with a cart, and followed him back to the car. As the tiny omelet was not quite enough for either of us, we stopped at a butcher's on the way back to Marrakech, bought some kefta, and had the fellow at the restaurant next-door grill it up for us. There is nothing quite so sublime as kefta dipped in cumin and salt with a mint tea. Whilst having one of the many feral cats clawing and yowling at your shins, begging for a morsel from your feast.