Essaouira is a strange mix, and I can't figure out exactly where the line between beauty and ugliness is anymore. Where exactly is the border between art and trash, rust and color?
We were up well past 1:00 last night, Gail is sleeping in, so I am out at 6:00 to wander the streets. There are art galleries all around the town, and the walls themselves are just a visual feast. Yet, there is trash everywhere. It's not that they don't clean. Early this morning everyone's trash is already bagged and in front of their home, the trash guys are collecting and the broom guys are sweeping the streets. Still, there is a lot of it.
There is the fresh ocean breeze... but it also carries a faint whiff of, well... feces. But only in certain closed in alleys during the heat of the day. You can't flush paper down here, so, like in Greece, you dispose of it in a trash can. If your can is set out for collection, and the day is warm... well, you get it.
While Essaouira has a young, fresh sense to it, parts of the town are crumbling and have seen better days. Is it charming, or just plain falling apart?
The colors are vivid, so much to contrast with the brown desert we drove through yesterday.
So, is all this beautiful and charming, or disgusting? Here there is a kind of a raw power, unrestrained energy, a sense something is happening. And when you come here, you find for yourself if it is barely tolerable, or one of those "memorable" experiences that burns itself into your memory.
I found an open cafe, and stopped by for a cappuccino. The thick coffee was loaded with cinnamon.
Then I spent the morning hours wandering the quiet streets: walking, walking, always looking.