Morocco - Essaoiura

21Apr15-25Apr15

Marrakech to Essaouria 2:35hr

Feeling in need of a bit of peace and quite and some good internet connection too, we headed to the Essaouria on Morocco's coast to spend the next four nights.
Driving through the argan forest we suspected that the short spiny trees we could see in all directions were probably the famed argan trees. Here in the argan forest stretching from Essaouria to the south of Agadir these trees grow the 'best' in the world. "Berber Gold" appears to be everywhere here, but the government tries to control it somewhat to maintain it's quality, supply and hence price. With this industry has come the opportunity to support rural women, so I eagerly stop at a co-operative, assuming it is a genuine one, to buy. After demonstrations we exit from the store with much more than intended, multiple bottles of argan oil (I worked hard to escape leaving without the 'pushed' $$$ 1 litre bottle), soaps, lotions and amlou or "Berber Nutella", a paste made from toasted almonds, argan oil and honey from the region.
We don't travel too much further before we locate our accommodations, the Sofitel Essaouria Mogador Golf & Spa.  Not quite sure how a gated entry works in Morocco, we blunder our entry. We are in unaccustomed luxury, quite a disconnected experience in Morocco.
We enter the vast, modern and artistic foyer. We try to checkin but are politely asked to take a seat. A staff member approached us, we weren't sure why but after some fumbled communications realize that this is the method of check in, relaxed as we sit in the highly designed chairs and are fed fancy biscuits and mint tea. The children frolic everywhere and take an inappropriate number of biscuits, more than one, but the man has a big smile on his face.
Multiple hands grabbed our bags and lead us to our room, actually two rooms to accommodate us all. Most of the time five just doesn't fit in!

We ordered room service dinner, the first and probably only time on this trip.
We ate this overlooking  the pools and a massive golf coastal golf course. I still haven't quite figured out the logic of situating this huge golf course in the coastal wind , named alizee or taros in Berber. Essaouria has been named the "Wind City of Africa". While it boasts a scenic stretch of beach, it is impossible to sit on it without sand blowing on your face. Sun, sand and beach tourists head south to agadir, saving Essaouria from the tourism takeover. Instead it has become popular with the windsurfing scene.

We spent a day 'chilling' as the boys say.  Just a bit of pool swimming and scoping out the expansive grounds of the golf course while failing to locate the nearby coast.
I located the kid's club and enthusiastically signed the boys up for a Moroccan cooking class. In my head I fantasized the boys managing to feed me something rather tasty in the future, I picture the lovely couscous that has been described on the enrolment form. Maybe the boys will even learn to roll the semolina and flour into couscous from scratch, how amazing.

Sadly disappointed by the reality, the boys returned with stories a lot different then what I had envisaged.
"I was told where to place the carrot on top of the already cooked couscous. Then they moved it anyway." Ollie said. Even so, I was quite impressed that they stuck it out. Sadly they will not be preparing couscous from scratch or from any kind for me at home.

On a postive note, the daycare did attract a bit of 'separation' time for Lachlan. He seemed more than happy to be left there for a couple of two hour sessions to just paint, play ball with the donkey who kept trying to come inside, and eat.
Yep, it was a mighty fine afternoon tea spread that they provided.  Probably all the leftover pastries and cakes from the morning buffet that we partook of only once. It was one of the best I've had, as many coffees of any type that you wished to order, beautiful fruits, anything cooked, pretty much anything you could think you would want and more.

The temptations of 'designer' shaped furniture
proves too much.

Another league of daycare.

Views out over pool, golf course and coast.

In search of the coast we never found.

We drove to the fishing harbour, 3 kms from the hotel.
As we entered Essaouria's promenade we were distracted by young men waving keys at us. "What are they doing" Chris asked me. I felt a little smug because I knew why, I had just read about this such incidence. They were 'key touts', waving keys to apartments for rent in Essaouria.

Closer to the Medina we noticed the camels on the beach and their advertised trips. I felt they would be pushing it to convince us on this after our awesome camel experience in the Sahara.

Out of the car the seagulls scream and soar above us as we make our way through a little of the port. I look back into the face of the wind at the fortified ramparts and the blue and white washed medina walls, it reminds me of something. The light here is beautiful, it is a photographers paradise. I point and click away with my tiny whippy snappy nikon, hoping to capture something. 

We wander through the central action of the fishing port, past the traditional wooden fishing boats, past the mounds of fishing nets and the stalls of fresh seafood. The damp air smells heavily of fish, we turn and head back towards the medina. 

At the entrance of the medina the boys stop for crepes, all quite unsurprisingly French given Essaouria was designed by the Frenchman who designed 'Saint-Malo', Brittany's most famous port town.  We view a few art galleries, the artists of Essaouria known for their naive, colourful painting style. The open description of  'naive' art seemed a little too accurate for the likes of Chris and I. We purchase a couple of Moroccan woven fabric pillowcases as gifts, vivid horizontal bands of colour. There are numerous thuya woodworking co-operatives, we visit one. The thuya wood smell is very Moroccan, the woodwork is beautiful, some of it inlaid with intricate patterns or shaped into perfect spheres, much of it polished to a magpie enticing shine. We then decide to call it quits with the boys growing restlessness. Maybe the wind, reputed to do so, was simply driving us all crazy.

The Medina of Essaouria, a UNESCO world heritage site from 2001.

Swirling seagulls and an orange juice.

We return the next day to partake of the recommended fishing harbour lunch. We order the fresh charcoal-grilled sardines, it seems to be the thing considering Morocco is the sardine capital of the world. We cover ourselves by ordering omelet  vegetable tagine and pasta too. "How do you eat these" I say to the waiter who places the plate of sardines down. He demonstrates with a little too much involvement. Scrapping off the flesh from the sardines' bones with his blackened fingernails,  "like that", he says. "OK" I nod, we all pause a little amused and a little startled. Eventually Chris and Ollie get stuck into them, the rest of us opted out. The cats pace the sea cliff wall beside our  table, eagerly awaiting to thief a taste. The boys respond positively, fighting at turns to 'discreetly' toss the sardine remains to them.

No takers for this windy beach.

Time for the adventure of the ramparts. We access them from Skala , climbing up a small tower for a scenic view out to sea and to the Île de Mogador and then downwards again for a run and frolic over a collection of European brass cannons from the 18th-19th centuries. Further towards the medina you can see the medina's labyrinth of streets. Orson Welles bought some fame to these ramparts using them for the opening scene of 'Othello'.

Ile de Mogador

I returned the following afternoon for a couple of hours on my own, catching the complimenatry shuttle bus from the hotel. 
Wandering through the medina was absolute pleasure for me. I loved simply taking the time to meander in and out of lanes and souks, up and down the ramparts again, to observe locals at their food market, to have conversations with shop owners, to negotiate some purchases.
I came away with babouches(leather slippers), thuya wood boxes and local silver jewelery. 
As I return to the foyer of the hotel it seemed that I was not 'expected' to carry my light shopping bag. I follow behind my helper to my room feeling rather spoilt.

Thuya Co-operative.

It was easy to sneek away for the final night's dinner at one of the Hotel's restaurants. The kids seemed more than happy with room service and movies.

Dinner was a completely detached Moroccan experience. Us and only two other couples in the whole restaurant. And the cuisine at L'Ateliers Aux Aromes, it was French gastronomic cuisine - Incroyable!!

Sofitel Foyer

Leaving Essaouria.

Morocco - Marrakech

18Apr15-21Apr15

Ait Ben Haddou to Marrakech 2:30hr

For many travellers to Morocco, Marrakech is the first stop on their must-see list.

We felt pretty 'traveled'  by the time we reached Marrakech, not our first stop. Maybe this is why I felt a little of Marrakech's impact was lost on us, certainly the wild nightlife was. While intoxicating, it did not quite have the same impact as Fez.

The instructions we had to locate the carpark on the outside of the medina walls were pretty nonspecific. We ended up having to stop and ask someone for directions who then had to lead us to the car park, which was really just supervised street parking. All this came at quite a price. But the nice thing about arrival into Marrakech is like Fez, people are eagerly waiting with their luggage trolleys to rush you and your baggage through the medina to the expectant tranquility of your riad or Dal.

We didn't have far to walk through to our Dal, one of the 800 located within the medina(old part of the city). We were already parked inside the rampart walls which run approximately 19 kms around the medina outside. Made of orange-red clay they were built as fortifications by the Almoravids in the 12th century.

Arriving into Marrakech.

The Dar at which we were staying, 'Dar al Kournouz'  was run by a very nice but quite particular man who greeted us warmly but with some apprehension. I think we threw caution to the wind regarding the concept of 'tranquility' that the Dar strived to meet. This Dar was particularly 'pretty', with intricate ornamentation and large palm trees in it's central open-topped space. A welcomed rooftop awaited were we could escape to have a drink, even an alcoholic one was allowed. Our two rooms plus bathroom were quite beautiful, they opened onto the second floor balcony surrounding the internal courtyard below.

After: Boys Room

Before: Boys Room

After 'initiation' we made haste towards the famed 'Jemaa-el-Fnaa' (Djema el-Fna or Djemaa el-Fnaa). In Marrakech they say that all roads lead there, but this isn't quite true, you are easily lost. I had seen this sight many times on TV, the scene of a crazy market square where senses are overloaded and your world disappears. I held Lachlan's hand tightly and instructed Jarvis and Ollie to keep within touch of Chris and I. We braced ourselves for the impact and pushed through the streets leading to it finally plunging ourselves in. Bang, we were there, there was no doubting it, but strangely it seemed more managable then expected. I could see ahead of me, I had some space, I could see the sky.
I was initially enticed by the multiple juice stalls I saw ahead of me. I pass the dried fruit and nut stalls first, covered with bees, so many of them all the same. I tried to quickly shuffle around the juice stalls to see what looked the best but it was difficult to ignore the constant calls from the owners. Eventually I stopped and we decided on one. Now what do you do about the plastic glass thing. It seemed that some were reused and some weren't. A lack of hygenie was more than obvious, so we choose a new plastic cup we could take with us. This only set us back 4 dirhams( 65cents) for the best large orange juice, freshly squeezed in front of us, that you could possibly imagine. Six dirhams($1) for a mixed juice. After a few attempts, Lachlan realised that orange and lemon was his favourite mix, the rest of us simply prefered pure orange.
We strayed into the line of the stalls at the side of the square. Drawn in by the soccer paraphernalia , we came out with a copied outfit for Jarvis and Lachlan. We had a pretty decent go at haggling, but realised later that we didn't do very well.

Looking out at this bustling happy bazaar it was difficult to imagine that it was here that the public viewed the severed heads of Christians, criminals and sinners. The name Djemaa el-Fna actually translates to something like "meeting place at the end of the world".

Now with dusk upon us it was time to get back into our search for real food. With over a hundred stalls serving a variety of anything from snails to french fries it was a little difficult to choose.
As we jostled through hands held tightly there were many distractions, lights, sounds, noise, smells.

Smoke and smells of this exuberant marketplace.

Huge bowls of escargoes.

We tried to make a researched decision by peeking through the food stalls, searching for where the Moroccans ate, but ended up lured by one of the many people calling to us. Why not, there were pictures of celebrities hanging from their stall, mmm? Well I think the meal was actually alright but what was more interesting was just observing and immersing into the atmosphere. Even the boys seemed quite enchanted, strangely subdued amongst the stimulation. We were passed free bread which I noted others used to weigh down their paper place settings. We ordered a selection of chicken and beef brochettes, couscous and grilled vegetables.

Multiple trolleys of little sweet treats keep passing by me. One vendor asked what we would like, but I reply please not now but after dinner. He continuously circulated the food stalls and was soon back again awaiting my order.  I choose from a huge selection of minature moroccan biscuits, only a couple of dollars for twelve.

Off we headed the next morning, map in hand, we had decided to not try to attempt too much.
We must firstly try to make it through some of the souks to reach Medersa Ben Youseef (Ben Youssef Madrasa). Unlike Fez, we must navigate the motorbikes constantly dashing past us, it makes us all a little on edge. This stops once we enter the souks, a vast area where Berber tribes once traded slaves, ivory, leather and gold. It was not a place we could quickly or easily navigate. There are distractions both wanted and unwanted. We stop to buy some metal light shades and then again to look at the minature wooden chess sets. The difference in sales techniques was pronounced. The first souk owner only gave us the advice we needed, the second, a young boy perhaps Jarvis's age, talked sells pitch to us constantly as if he was near my age. This somewhat amused the boys, that such a young child could have such a sales technique, but mostly annoyed us all. We did however negotiate a purchase using the time honored haggling technique.

Alluring lanes of the Souks.

In need of refreshment after the hustle of the souks.

We initially walk straight past Medersa Ben Youseef, but soon backtrack to it's unassuming entrance. We are greeted with a reasonably non-appropriate inscription for the boys, "You who enter my doors, may your highest hopes be exceeded". Once inside, I feel it,  the sense of spirituality and quiet that comes from within it's high thick walls. Much like a church in the sense that you feel you can slow down and breathe again. 

The vast central courtyard becomes a temporary playground for Lachlan as he throws himself in and out of the shallow jade-tiled pool at its center. From this courtyard we could admire the craftsmanship of the walls covered in zeillij tiling, the stucco work of the archways, the wood carved windows with carved vines. We peek in the domed prayer hall at the back, renowned for it's echo generating features.

Probably 'doing the wrong thing'.

We head upstairs to take a look at some of the 132 dormitory cells that housed around 90 boys. The lack of any ornamentation here is a huge contrast to the extravagance below. How unimaginable live here now seems.

Your comfy bed awaits.

For over 500 years the Quran, sciences and Islamic law were taught here to students from all over the world. In the 1960s it's doors closed after it lost its position to the Merdersea Bou Inania in Fez. It re-opened after restoration works in 1982 as an historical site.

Happily we returned for a second dinner at Djemaa el-Fna. The comedy of vendors impersonating accents at me was beginning to run thin. Classic English and Australian phrases were their pick for us, aggravatingly both wrong. 
More orange juice requirements were first on the list for the boys, plus I purchase a huge bag of delicious dried apricots and another of deliciously fresh salted almonds. We are handed samples of sugared peanuts, dates, dried banana ...

An unimpressed Ollie, orange juice in hand.

Not really that appetizing
despite the number of locals.

We decided to follow the Morroccans and join the huge gatherings at the soup kitchen. Moving hastily we secured five sets and ordered, well, 'soup'.  Trying not to draw the kids attention I ushered to Chris the washing technique I could view. With the lack of any running water in Jemaa-el-Fnaa, all bowls were briefly dunked into one large pot of presumable not hot nor clean water to then be quickly reused again. We were pretty committed by then and I comforted myself with the fact that soup is pretty hot. I choose not to think about the utensils.

On the agenda the following morning was a walk to the tanneries. Well we didn't quite make it but it was still memorable.

Our riad host had warned us that there were many harrassments on the way and I guess this left the kids with a few vivid memories. It was a pretty simple path to the tanneries so when someone started to lead us we were pretty disinterested. After a few words he failed to give up and kept trying to lead us on our known route. Eventually we turned back, so frustrated by this man zig zagging his way in front of us, tripping us up. The final words from Chris of  'no money' provoked an explosion of expletives from the man, the likes of which the boys are not used to hearing.  I must say this was the only case of verbal agression we encountered in Morocco. 

On the positive side, the path to the tanneries lead us past the hidden 'Maison de la Photographie'. From over 5000 photographs a small selection were displayed. Mostly black and white, they dated from 1870-1950 showing scenes of daily Moroccan life from renowned and unknown artists. The evolving of Moroccan life unraveled before us as we moved from room to room.

Leaving the kids with devices and Chris immersed into work, I decided to take the opportunity to venture alone into the souks.

Chris's Office.

With my newly founded confidence from previous medina explorations I fast paced myself into the souks taking a few bearings to secure my return. It recalled Hansel and Gretal but I knew that a trail of breadcrumbs wouldn't suffice. Plus bearings seemed a little easier here than the likes of Fez, or so I thought. Alone is another senario altogether in the souks, a lot of eyes are on you waiting for you to pause or show a lack of confidence. Many more calls and harrassment came then when accompanied by my male 'protector'. I decided to not falter and look as if I had a purpose but soon discovered that I was actually quite lost - oops. I resisted the temptation to ask any directions but decided instead to retrace anything I could remember. A few more obvious wrong turns and then a few correct ones brought me to a souk corner I could recall. I make the right decision choosing the left lane and then I was on track again. A little surprised at the ease of my complete disorientation I ventured out of the souks into the larger lanes where I could now see the sky and stop without harassment.

Open-air stalls

Early evening came and we decided to venture to the other end of medina for our last dinner, past the Palais Royal and the famed Saadian Tombs. The walk was longer than expected but we were quite excited about our destination, the 'Marrakech' Cafe Clock, we had previously visited the Fez branch and enjoyed the relief of something a little more 'international' to eat.

Yippie, Ice-cream!

Leaving Marrakech

Secure luggage storage.

One stop left on our list was 'Majorelle Gardens'. Located in the "new city" (ville nouvelle) , often refered to as Gueliz , the gardens were originally constructed by the French artist Jaques Majorelle and later purchased by the fashion designer Yves Saint-Laurent. Yves Saint Laurent spent the latter half of his life in Marrakech, his ashes scattered in the garden after his death. It was certainly a nice reprieve to walk through these gardens full of exotic bamboo, palms and cactuses. Yes, this was a lovely garden, but I couldn't quite understand the hype, people flood here, maybe to see the Islamic Art Museum which with disinterested children we skipped. Maybe my expectations are unrealistic given my mother's gardening talents.