Showing posts with label Essaouira. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Essaouira. Show all posts
Travelling: inspirations #1
Octopus hanging out to dry. There aren't many images that scream summer more than this for me. While I'm most reminded of Greece, I took my picture in southern Thailand late one steamy midsummer afternoon before it rained. I was admiring some summer images taken in my favorite Moroccan seaside town when I stumbled across a blog I've now become smitten with, an especially inspiring journal about a young woman's journey as she builds a magical guesthouse in Marrakesh that is as much about 'place' as it is about 'travel'. The author is Maryam who seems lovely but her blog is irresistible. She's a kindred spirit who loves Essaouira as much as I do and I adore her enchanting writing about everyday moments and her poetry about places. Read her 'rickshaw reveries' in Dhaka:Give me the open air!
Give me the wind in my hair!
Give me the color, give me the kitsch,
give me the one-of-a-kind!
But what I most love are her musings about her dying summer holiday in Essaouira.
Our Summer in Essaouira. It came and then it was a-snap-of-the-fingers over.
Did we spend it as we should have? Did we rest enough? Did we play enough?
The picnics - should there have been more?
Did we skip enough stones?
Did we collect enough shells?
Did we jump enough waves?
Don't we ask ourselves if we did enough at the end of every summer vacation? Did we dry enough octopus? Does she inspire you to go to Dhaka or Essaouira? Don't you just want to pack your bags right now?
Essaouira: backstreet barbershop
I've said enough about enchanting Essaouira. I wonder, have I really? For now, I just want to show you this picture of a backstreet barbershop in the medina. I'm not sure what appeals to me most, the old-fashioned charm of the interior - take a look at those curtains! - the groovy Arabic type on the glass, the peeling blue paint on the window rim, the intensity of the barber cutting hair inside, or the bouffant on the handsome bloke in the black and white picture. Do you think there's ever been a man who has sat down in that chair and pointed to that picture and said "I'll have one of those"?
Essaouira, the beautifully designed
Now that I've started, I can't stop dreaming about the medina of old Mogador now known as Essaouira, 'the beautifully designed'. It's one of those enchanting towns where everything about it is bewitching. Close your eyes. Now, imagine a whitewashed walled town trimmed with sky blue. Its stone buildings are entered through arches that lead to tranquil courtyards with trickling fountains, balconies above, and stairs that take you to a secret terrace from where you can gaze at the eternally blue sky. Picture a bustling main pedestrian 'street' with stalls selling aromatic herbs and spices alongside lingerie stores displaying mannequins clad in bras and headscarves. In the back streets are labyrinthine narrow alleys and charming squares lined with Aladdin cave-like shops strewn with colorful striped kilims, Oriental lamps, prettily painted tables, silver Moroccan tea pots, delicate coloured glasses, and beautiful trays and boxes handcrafted from Essaouira's famous polished thuya wood. On one side of the town waves crash against its walls and you can walk along the ramparts to see the sea and Mogador island. On the other side of the town's terracotta walls are the shadows of swaying palm trees and art galleries selling the vibrant naive art of Essaouira's many talented artists. There's a busy little harbour of blue boats, fishermen repairing their nets, scrawny cats scrutinizing their catch of the day, and stalls serving up fried sardines. Nearby is Essaouira's beautiful creamy sand beach, windsurfers taking advantage of the wild trade winds, kids playing soccer on the sand, and camels offering up their humps for rides. Ah, Essaouira.
Travelling: scents and sentimentality
Thinking about our Moroccan road trip, I'm reminded of Essaouira. Ah, Essaouira. One of my favourite places to be in this world. Enchanting blue and white walled town on the sea it may be, but it's the smells of the place that most remind me of Essaouira. Obviously the scent of the sea (and the sting of the wind on my cheeks, and the taste of salt on my tongue). But mostly the smell of fish. Fresh fish untangled from nets on the decks of the blue and white boats. Fried fish cooked at the makeshift wooden kitchen-stalls by the harbour. The putrid smell of raw sewage in the ramshackle old Jewish quarter (picture blue and whitewashed buildings once again). The aromas of fresh herbs and heady spices at the bustling souq in town. Ah, the scent of fresh mint is the scent I remember most. You know how it is when you squeeze a bunch between your hands? When you sniff the damp scent on your hands afterwards? Ah, for me, that's the smell I most associate with Essaouira. The scent that most drives my nostalgia. Ah, Essaouira.
Morocco: the people you meet, part 4
I've shared with you my love of the road trip and the people you meet along the way. Nowhere is a road trip more satisfying than in Morocco. Syria comes a close second and Western Australia follows not far behind. But our road trips in Morocco have brought us the most pleasure. Like the time we drove from Marrakesh to Essaouira. We must have stopped a dozen times. The first was to snap some pics of goats standing in an Argan tree eating its leaves. (Have you ever tasted the nutty Argan oil? Dip some bread in it - it's delicious.) Our second stop is still the most vivid of the trip for me. We pulled over to admire the artful loading of blue and yellow sacks of golden hay on the back of a couple of unhappy beasts of burden, a rather handsome long-lashed camel and his less attractive donkey friend. Their young master seemed to take much amusement from their groans. And even more amusement from our interest. That's what I love about travel, that the pleasure of people meeting on the road is often two way.