I am feeling a lot better today, perhaps I should eat camel more often. For now *fingers crossed* my stomach has returned to normal, praise allah.
We ate breakfast with Sally, then after hugs and kisses she sent us on our way south. Today we hit the most southern and western part of our trip; after this we are heading north.
Our first stop today is Legzira Plage (Beach), about 20KM south of Mirleft.
The beach is wide and sandy, with waves crashing over jagged rocks at one end. About 2KM down at the other end of the beach are three red rock arches. In the early morning sun and mist it is all very dramatic. We spent a lot of time here, walking the beach, then later sitting up on the covered patio of Chez Abdoul eating chips and drinking a beer.
I wish we had been here yesterday. This is the kind of beach I love, and I am trying to figure out why.
Maybe it is the dramatic scenery. The pounding of the waves breaking over the rocks. The warm sun and wide smooth fine gold sand. Maybe it is the beer and snacks on the patio. Whatever the difference is, this is a great place.
There are little guest houses and rooms for let here, right on the water, and three surf schools, a little general store and probably four cafes. You could just get a room here and skip Mirleft all together. In fact, that is what I would recommend looking back.
But I don’t know if the cafe serves dromedary chops.
After noon we finally pull up stakes and head into Sidi Ifni. At this point we are about an hour, hour and a half north of the Western Sahara border. There is a police check point, the sign says “Halt” but the policeman is making a labored point of ignoring me. I stop anyway. He gives me a sideways grin out from under the brim of his hat, and waves me on.
You see, I have been warned, twice now. The police will act like they are ignoring you, but the minute you don’t stop you are busted; a big fine. More if you don’t have on seat belts. But $100 or $200 will bribe you out of the ticket.
“They want money for Ramadan…” is what I was told.
So I am stopping.
Sidi Ifni is a bigger town than Mirleft. It was held by the Spanish until the 1960s and the town has a kind of different “feel” to it. The women come out more, and wear the most colorful robes we have seen. Walking around today it was almost a fifty - fifty mix of women to men who were just hanging out and walking in tight little groups, and there were girls outside playing. It is just unusual to see so many women and girls around, everywhere else they have been mostly hidden away. The colorful robes are what do it, however. I wish I could just photograph the women, walking rainbows set against the white and mud colored buildings.
The town center has a park and some white, colonial style buildings, and there are more Moroccan flags, along the roads, on buildings, than we we have seen in any other city. There is even a working lighthouse, right on the edge of the cliff, downtown. The sidewalks are wider, there are a few parks with trees, which really stand out in this dry brown landscape, and the homes and buildings seem in better shape overall.
We see billboards all through town with King Mohammed VI on them, doing kingly things. There is a main souk street, and we still can’t find regular type stores.
There is a huge outdoor market, under tents and tarps, on the edge of town. It goes on and on, hundreds of people have driven in for it. As close as we can tell, the vendors drove in, cars packed with goods, claimed a spot, set up tarps and threw their things out, and they are just camped, living right there for several days. It is just an amazing, semi-organized mess of a place, kind of like a giant garage sale with all sorts of new and used knock-off brands, food swarmed by flies and wasps, fabrics and pots and plastic knick - knacks; children running around playing tag and people swarming all over everything. Interesting to walk through, but I just could not take too much of it. And the flies and wasps on the food... I would starve to death, but that is my American upbringing. They think nothing of it at all.
On the outside edge of the market there is a small kids' carnival with rides that no one is riding. Probably can't afford them, I figure. There is some huge, ridiculous looking blow up, happy face thing, a tippy, off balance Titanic blow up slide, and a merry - go - round featuring zebras and ostriches.
There must be a million tagine pots for sale, I guess they must break pretty regularly.
It is less windy here at the beach, and a little warmer. The waves are really crashing in, huge breakers, and only a couple people are surfing, no one is out swimming. The lifeguard just blows his whistle constantly, three times a minute, all day long.
Our guesthouse owners are Belgian, we are their only guests tonight and the last of the season. They are closing up and getting out of town for the month of Ramadan, going back home. They greet us with a cold beer, olives and nuts, and we have a nice talk. Our room is smaller, but on a cliff overlooking the ocean and beach, and we have the run of the place. The sea is rough and loud, the waves crash below us; they tell us the fishing boats have not been out for three days now.
We agree to dinner here as everyone else has quit serving wine with meals now. Even today as we walked around, we noticed the only two hotel bars in town were closed (we tried to stop in for a glass of wine and
We had a chicken tagine for dinner, with some hot stone heated bread and a salad, and a chilled white wine.
The normal table wine everyone serves here, white or red is Cuvee du President. It is OK. Not great or memorable, not bad, just an acceptable dinner wine. It costs about $120 MAD or $14 US a bottle. I am looking forward to the Spanish wines.
After dinner we go out for a walk. The Spanish buildings are lit up, the blue and white colonial cliffside walk is packed wall to wall with young adults all sitting on or leaning against the railing; clumps of women here, knots of men there, more people, mostly older, walking. The one cafe showing the current world cup soccer match is packed, standing room only; it is a men only crowd and the TV screen is so small I can't tell who is playing, let alone the score.
It is curious how few tourists there are. This is the third night we have been the only patrons in a restaurant, third night running as the only guests in our guesthouse. We don’t see anyone else who looks like a tourist while we are out walking around. It is just odd.
Another thing we just picked up on: we have not had a TV in any room on the trip so far, and only one place, in Agadir, had a TV and it was only on for soccer, then covered right up.