Essaouira - April 8-9, 1999
We didn’t know a heck of a lot about Essaouira (pronounced Ess-wahr-a) when we
decided to go there, other than it was a beach town reknowned for its wind surfing. We
figured there had to be less people, cars, and trucks driving around, so it sounded really
good to us. But before we go on about what we did and saw, we have to start with how we
got there. Since the only way to get there was by bus, we booked a ticket at the public
bus station. We were a bit surprised the cost of each ticket was only $3 but we figured it
was just Morocco. When we arrived at the bus station, a very friendly Moroccan man ran up
to us and started to play "twenty questions" on where we were going. We figured
he was either a kind local who cared a lot about helping people or a swindler who was
trying to rip-off tourists with some sort of scheme. As we were the experienced travelers
now (10 days), we figured it was the latter and tried to ignore him. He constantly
followed us trying to find out where we were going so he can escort us to our bus. After
repeated "No Merci’s", we arrived at our bus. But that’s when he
aggressively tried to help us get our bag on the bus. Of course we wanted no part of that
and were able to get it on ourselves and send him off to the next unsuspecting tourist.
This is when it got really weird. The bus resembled an old city bus much more than the
comfy Greyhound-like ones commonly used for long distance travel. Once we found our seats
and kept our eyes on where our luggage was stored, we soon experienced a constant stream
of beggars, children selling everything you could imagine, and severely disfigured people
seeking donations. One guy missing both his arms came down the aisle and then an elderly
man followed mumbling something about a donation. It seemed they went from bus to bus and
made an entire day out of it. After this, we finally began the non-stop trip to
Essaouira…well, not exactly. On our three-and-a-half hour trip there, we must have
stopped about 50 times picking up and dropping off people along the road. No bus stops. It
seemed anyone just standing by the side of the road waving was picked up and then dropped
off at another location. At times, every seat and the entire aisle was full of people.
After this very interesting bus trip and a 20 minute walk into the town from the bus
station, we found the recommended hostal from Lonely Planet. Although many people stopped
us to ask if we wanted a room in their home (that could have been another story), we
wanted to check out the Hostal Smara. Luckily we scored the last room they had, located on
the roof right by a huge outdoor deck. Note this was a $12/night room, and the room itself
was nothing to write about, but the view from the deck was worth ten times this. It
overlooked the rocky shoreline of the ocean and fortification ramparts that still sported
dozens of old canons. It was simply incredible. Plus, the outdoor deck was a great place
to meet many other travelers. The view and fresh, salty, diesel fuel-free air made up for
the questionable cleanliness of the room and trying to find the bathroom at night in pitch
darkness (but we got to use our flashlights for the first time).
There is one word to describe what we did for two days…relaxation. We could really
see why this place was so popular with independent travelers. There were beaches, a very
quaint old town, lots of seagulls, and a fishing port that took one back 100 years. We
were not sure if we were supposed to wander around the docks, but no one stopped us, so we
did. We felt like we stepped back in time. Fishermen were sorting fish, adding bait to
their fishing lines, repainting the sides of their boats, and repairing their huge fishing
nets. Entire families were involved in the process. There was an area of the dock where
you could have an inexpensive meal cooked with freshly-caught fish. We fell in love with
the timelessness of the town and had a difficult time selecting which photos to show here.
Other highlights include meeting Cous Cous, a man of 25 who got his nickname because it
was the only meal he would cook for his roommates in college. He worked for an attorney in
town and invited us for tea. He worked the typical Moroccan hours of 8-12 and then 4-7.
Everyone there gets the afternoon off to relax..what a country. We talked with a Camel Man
on the beach. To clarify: he roamed the beach riding on his camel seeking tourists
who might want to ride it for money. We opted not to ride the camel (we had to save something
for Egypt) but it stood inches away from us as we sat on a ledge near the beach. It
was quite cute but covered us with sand every time it moved. It's owner had recently been
to Las Vegas and when we told him we had no money to ride his camel that day, he repeated
the commonly-used Moroccan phrase "No money, no honey!" We could only imagine
where the phrase came from. We also met several people from the UK who were part of a
"hitchhike for Africa" campaign. Hundreds of students spent their holiday
hitchhiking from the UK all the way down to Morocco to raise money for Africa. We
couldn’t imagine an organization in the US prompting students to hitchhike across the
country with truckers and strange men in vans to raise money.
Although we enjoyed our experience getting to Essaouira, we opted to take a bus owned
by a private company back to Marrakech--for $3 more. It took an hour less…imagine
that. Then we hopped on a train to Fes.
