Today is the perfect example of why you should rent a car sometimes, as opposed to taking the bus or train.
We are heading to Agadir, to pick up a rental car, ironically enough. The bus leaves Essaouira at 14:00 and arrives about 17:30 in Agadir; so it leaves early enough to disrupt any plans in Essaouira, but arrives late enough at the destination to make it impossible to do much more than go to dinner.
It is kind of a lost day.
So we got up, and it was a cloudy day. After a small breakfast we packed up, and left our packs at the road while we set out for one last look around. First stop was a cappuccino. It started to sprinkle while we were sitting there, so we just spent time watching the passing scene. As it rained off and on, I was thinking about all the things that are the same in Morocco and the USA. I saw the following:
The kid doing the fake cry, as in “I am gonna pitch a fit until you give up and buy me the candy” cry.
Teenage boys playing “snap the butt” like you do with a wet towel.
Three little girls playing; one is on the “outs” with the other two. Threes don’t cut it in the 8 year old world.
The kid with the training wheels on his bike, and he can’t get up and over the manhole cover, so the bike tips over.
Everybody is walking around talking on their cell phone.
Kids love astro pops.
People here work hard to make a living, just as we do. The difference is that everything here, I mean every - damn - little - damn - thing is just soooo labor intensive. That, and you learn that life is a cheap commodity.
So that leads me to tell you about this guy, chipping away at the concrete facade of a building. He was on a scaffold, well, actually, a couple boards held up by two ropes over the roof of this building. No safety harness, no tie-ins, no railing behind him. The scaffold was tipped at about a 25 degree angle, and he would just hang there, one hand on the rope and “chink! chink! chink!” the rock. I kept waiting for him to take a two story dive.
Another example is how they use push carts to transport everything from luggage to trash to concrete to water. Hand carts.
Well, we stopped by the docks, then walked back into town and found a secret kind of archway opening that lead back to a series of passageways that emptied into a street we had never been on before. Even with all our walking and exploring, there are still new places to find.
We stopped for a mint tea. I mean, hey! This is Morocco, we need to try it sometime. So we ordered one and sat as it once again began to rain. Good timing. The mint tea is made by just throwing actual stems of mint into boiling water. They must add sugar, as it was very sweet and not at all bitter.
We watched as a lady walked by dressed in her robes (but no head covering). So what? you ask. Well, her robe was a “Hello Kitty” robe, and she seemed to find no irony in that at all. It was just a robe.
I wanted to go back and see the thread spinner at work one more time, and sure enough, they were working on several new threads.
We caught the 14:00 bus to Agadir, and it was another SupraTour bus, run by the Moroccan State Railway. It was nice enough, but not a “Confort” bus. The bus ride was three and a half hours long, and it was going good enough. The countryside was interesting a beautiful, except for the plastic bags everywhere. I sweartogod, every plastic bag made anywhere in the world ends up here, blown into a brush fence. So much plastic it spoiled the view.
I can see now why most European countries and progressive places like San Francisco are starting to ban those bags.
Morocco. Desert. Far far away, and totally trashed.
But, we kept on, and bus would around around, up and over the mountains, and around around down into the valley, around around to the coast, and then with about an hour to go…
The kid two rows up puked.
I mean, it was full on blowing your lunch, and in the loud, crying way.
As the stench drifted back, the lady behind me couldn’t stand it and she gave a new meaning to the words, “Up Chuck” as in, “Pick your feet up off the floor, Chuck.” Two more rows back and Ralph joined in and blew chunks down the stairwell.
Yup. We were rocking and rolling now.
Gail and I managed to hold it together as more and more people bought the store, and when the bus lurched into Agadir everyone stumbled off, either with relief or with horrified looks on the faces as the gingerly picked their way down the aisle.
We were the horrified ones. Also relieved.
We found a cab and caught a quick hop over to our riad.
Is this a time to mention that it is also a handy thing to carry your own toilet paper in Morocco? Or should that be a separate topic? Oh hell, I’ll just tell you. And it is easier to go on the stand-up toilet (holes) if you are wearing a skirt, ladies. Gail adds, “A short skirt."
Back to the riad. Riad Les Chtis d’ Agadir.
So, when I booked this place, I knew we would just be passing through. Agadir is a fancy, pricy beach resort, the largest city in the region, and not really our kind of place. We are here to pick up a rental car and leave. That’s it. But because of the late hour and so on, we were going to stay a night. So I got us a cheaper place, rated well but still on the edge of town away from the beach, and I remember I had very low expectations for the night, you know? A wasted night in transit.
Well, the Riad turned out to be a real nice place, with very nice tile work and a huge room with excellent shower. The owner is named Didier, and he is from France and we hit it right off with him. The next thing you know we are up on the roof, drinking wine, Gail smoking, and watching Belgium beat Chile 2-0 in football. We found out all about the riad, and how he rebuilt it over two years. We learned he moved to Morocco because his wife is from Morocco, how he misses France, but loves the sun and warmth here. He has had people from almost every country stay here, including several from New York, Utah and Nebraska, but NO ONE, not a damn person ever from California.
So he pulled out his camera and insisted on photos.
I kid you not. We are celebrities now.
He gave us a recommendation for a great meal at Le Jardin d’Eau, French of course, and sure enough, for under $80 USD we had a wonderful meal including a great bottle of French Burgundy and water.
I ordered Briouattes de la mer a la Marocaine (Fish spring roll in Moroccan style) and sliced chicken with mushroom sauce. Gail got a delicious Salade de chèvre chaud (organic goat cheese salad) and the fresh sole. The meal was perfect: well priced, normal serving sizes and exquisite tastes. We wrapped it up with tiramisu and espressos.
Did I mention the food was great? Probably the best chicken I have had in a couple years.
We are really surprised at this food in Morocco the past three nights, but we think we figured out the common thread:
French.
They are both French restaurants. As in, France used to occupy Morocco, and there are still a lot of ties. And one good tie to France is the food.
I can’t believe how lucky we are, and all in a town I had written off as a transit point.
Tomorrow: get the car at the airport, then head to Mirleft for two days on the beach!
Today in the bus, about 30 kilometers out of Essaouira, I was horrified, just totally appalled by the utter and abject poverty I saw. I mean living conditions not fit for an animal, yet there were the people. It literally made me sick to my stomach.
You know, we are so rich in so many ways and I know I just take it for granted. Not that I am not thankful. But when you see things like people sitting by the side of the road selling jars of ? Honey? and the half built stone houses, with trash all around and erosion so deep if you fall in you could break your neck. I just cannot believe it.
And yet…
And yet. Here I am, eating a fine meal and drinking wine, on a vacation that, while cheap by US standards, is probably more than two year’s earnings for these people… Here I am and what exactly am I willing to do or change about anything?
And the truth is, I don’t really want to change anything.
Yet, somehow I know that something needs to be done.
I don’t know.