Let’s move this party to the beach. First let’s actually do that breakfast thing. Vicky and I went a-searching for warm, fresh sustenance while the others slept more and packed. Ramadan means slow starts, closed shops and street silence.
No bakeries and no information, we found ourselves in a quiet street. We walked in and straight out of a bubble of warm bread aroma, its source untraceable. An hotelier finally pointed us towards an unlit garage doorway. We stepped carefully over the threshold, blackness encompassing us. A steep decline seemed to lead to a warm tar pit, but as our eyes adjusted to the light we saw a half circle of people seated further down, looking at us. Using sign language and an Italian-French mish mash, we explained our bread desire. Of course they had bread. Just to their side was a man unloading out-of-the-oven baguettes into a huge bicycle-attached basket. Success. Breakfast back at the hotel, warm round loaves with Vegemite paste. It hits the spot. Packed up, taxi, bus station, tickets and wait. Jess felt dizzy.
THE SCENE
Street corner opposite bus station. A plastic table. We wait for departure. Three bad coffees. Two mint teas. Some books. A newspaper. One is weak. She lies on the pavement next to the table. Her bed a blanket provided by a caring cafe owner. A small tree provides unsatisfactory shade. Traffic. Noise. City smells. Heat.
A desert bus ride. Scatterings of donkeys, self-punishing as they avoid the shade. Arrival. Essouira. To the beach team! The ocean seams to relax people. Yes they want to sell you everything but “no” seems to be taken more seriously and sometimes you can even browse without a disturbance. Unheard of. The beach is long and soft, the water icy and still. Burka and bikini contrasts. Vendors walk the sands with trays of cookies.
With salty hair and sandy toes, we sat at Snack Relax, back in the Medina. Schwarmas, paninis, cokes and honey crepes. Sunset meant cold weather, so we retired to our apartment for home made mint tea and sun room activities.
