Category Archives: Morocco 2011

The crystal clear azure sky opened up, as if God was smiling down on us. Palm trees swayed in the light breeze, slightly dampened from the rain earlier that morning. Shrieking sea gulls soared high ahead, calling out to each other across a sleepy souq slowly awakened from its wet slumber.

That was how I remember my first (and only) morning in Essaouira, the wind city of Morocco.

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It has been a long time since I last blogged about my travel.

I couldn’t remember the turning point, when this blog changed from a random collection of my thoughts and writings into a string of food review. It is very “me-too”, isn’t it? I miss the therapeutic effect of blogging; of writing words, conjuring puns, crafting punchlines.

It’s like shopping, without money spent.

So I thought I’ll start with my behemoth collection of my travel photos. How about featuring shots which really spoke to me?

The photo above was taken at Fez, Morocco. When I saw the woman sitting there, carrying her baby, lost in her own thoughts while staring into the distance, I was enthralled. What could possibly be in her mind? What could have happened to her that motivated this trip all the way up to this vantage point?

Perhaps she was escaping from her day-to-day life. And it struck me that, at that very moment, I was, too.

Is it time already? Time just flew pass us when you are having a good time. It was our final day in Morocco, and since we did not have much on our itinerary, it was decided that we will be having an entirely laidback time. Not that we have been really taxing ourselves in the past couple of days. The girls will be heading back to the grind of work the day after tomorrow, and I will be starting my Europe leg of my journey, so it was a totally welcomed idea to take things a little slower:

– Had a late breakfast on the terrace. Late was relative; we were up basking under the winter sun at about 9 a.m., and already the busy worker bees were buzzing all around our food, so much so that we have divert our savoury items – jams, tarts and the likes – to the next table. Bees seemed to be a prenenial problems in Morocco, no thanks to the sweet tooth, but at least it wasn’t flies or other disease-carrying bugs
– Hit the street to make our way to the Koutoubia Mosque, which was located near to our riyad. The mosque was grand to Moroccan standard; all stones and archway and the tallest minaret in all of Marrakech (though truth to be told, after Aya Sofya in Istanbul with its six towering minarets, it was hard to be impressed)
– A long stroll through the edge of the medina, where Moroccans lived their daily lives amongst countless shops of carpets, pastries and electrical appliances. I came to realise that, without its touristy elements, Morocco was just another country stripped off its cultural and diversity identity. It was for the benefits of tourism that the country comes to life
– Up next was the Bahia Palace (10 dirham for admission). Its entryway was uninspriring. In fact, the top-to-bottom display of multi-coloured carpets across the street was far more interesting than the nondescript sign of the palace.
– That was until we walked in, pass its garden of orange trees (oranges were so abundant in this country, it was a wonder the people don’t look a bit like oranges themselves)
– The palace was indeed a showcase of Arabic and Moroccan best arts. The mosaics and carvings and waterworks were impressive, befitting for a king of old with his four wives and 39 concunbines. One do wonder of that specific number. I am sure 43 times’ the lucky for the Sultan
– Much of the large palace compounds were cordoned off from tourists, but that did not deter me from spending some two hours snapping away
– Had a totally Moroccan lunch at a nearby complex of metal work. It was possible to spend below 30 dirhams for a meal of tajines.
– We walked then into the medina and chanced upon the Pastrier de Princes, one of the recommended pastry shops recommended in Lonely Planet. In a dizzy from the array of sweet stuffs available in the shop (I had a box of fifteen savoury Moroccan snacks all by myself only earlier in the morning), it was the tasty choice of “Da Prince” – a combination of tasty-looking ice creams – which took my dirhams. The portion was too big; despite my best intention and capabilities I only managed to finish half the somewhat ordinary ice-cream
– And so we were back to the riyad, getting ready for the hammam and massage. To my surprise, the same man who served us breakfast in the morning was also tasked to do my hammam. It was unnerving to undress in front of your waiter and to see him almost naked. The hammam experience itself was tepid at best. It wasn’t hot enough and was a far cry from my Turkish experience. Half the time I was left lying/standing/sitting wet from soapy water and God knows what else
– The massage was satisfying, though not in a style that I could appreciate. The massage ingredients were touch notch – I particularly liked the almond clay used for my face – and coupled with some classifical Moroccan music, I relaxed deep under the piles of towels. The massuess, however, could do well with shorter nails and lesser bracelets
– Some two hours later, we gathered and headed into the medina for our last Moroccan meal. Seated at a terrace overlooking the entire Dj emna el-Fna, with the snake charmers bleating way on their oboes and the crowd bargaining their way through the best deals, I looked at my plate of couscous and wondered if I will ever visit Morocco again

The answer? Probably, but neither Fez nor Marrakesh will be on my list. I dream of an endless vacation at Essaouria.

Traveling to different places open up your eyes to the possible impossible, to the never ending delights the world has to offer. Once in a while, however, you come across some place so unexpected it took your breathe away and you wondered where you stood in God’s creation.

Essaouira was one of those places.

I am waxing lyrical about Essaouira. It has without a doubt took over the top position as my favourite beach town. Phuket has little to match up to this gorgeous town painted in white and blue.

The lyrical part would have to come at another time; but here’s are some experiences from Essaouira:
– Sometime less is more. The less carb they serve at breakfast, the happier we became
– I have never seen a girl who become so excited over a couple of hardboiled eggs
– The alleyways of Essaouira gave way to bright blue sky and wide roads. It was drizzling the night before, and this morning, but heaven seemed to have cleared up in time for us to soak in the atmosphere of the town
– We knew, because of the rainbow which spanned across the sky. We were so blessed
– Seagulls, seagulls, many seagulls. I would be lying if I don’t admit I was scared of them shitting on my head. But all they did was to soar majestically across the sky and called out to each other.
– Strays, strays, many strays. Cats and dogs everywhere, and they seemed to know how to pose for pictures.
– Even though the town seem to be bustling with tourists, there wasn’t that tense touristy feel to it. The locals went on with their life; fishermen continue to tend to their boats, children kicked balls in tiny alleyways, old women sat at corners waiting for a dirham or two. Even the touts seem to be subdued. It was a great place for tourists
– The beach. OMG the beach. It was gorgeous. The Atlantic Sea was relentlessly crashing to the shore, but as it was low tide there was plenty of sand to trod on. Imprints everywhere – of humans, of horses, of camels.
– Oh yes, camels. How can you describe the fright when it first rises onto its four feet, as you took in the smell and sound of these gentle animals, and how they prowled the beach, carrying you, as they and their ancestors have carried other human over thousands of years? It was so poignant I almost cried.
– Oh the city boy in me!
– Then the shopping. It was cheap (though I discovered I paid too much for my pair of Moroccan shoes). I wasn’t hassled – that much – and I bought stuff. Yay.
– The seafood lunch. Everything was grilled fresh, though I suppose the chef did overdid ours with salt. But what with the white building and blue table clothes and crashing waves and serenading street drummers, it was an experience, certainly.

We left Essaouira half wishing to cancel a night in Marrakesh and spend more time here.

Essaouira deserved more pages in travel guides. I will be back.

Exploring Fez was an assault to the senses.

Despite the popular advice that getting lost in the medina of Fez is half the fun, I would strongly suggest that you go against the conventional wisdom and hire yourself a (reputable and official) tour guide. Not only he can help you to navigate the most puzzling of mazes that was Fez Medina, you’ll be able to look at all the right spots in two sweeping routes across the centuries-old market.

And when you thought you are done with the endless unexpected alleyways and stalls selling everything from camel head to rainbow-coloured leather, there’s another excursion by car round the Royal Palace and up the vantage points to the south and north of the city.

Fez, in all senses of the word, is a living museum. Steeped in history and culture, the old and “new” Fez were bustling with some 60,000 inhabitants. Everything mentioned in my Lonely Planet came to life; traders riding donkeys while talking on mobile phones, children turned their corner of the medina into a makeshift soccer pitch, acrid-smelling tanneries with their rough workers, spiraling minarets jostled for space with countless satellite dishes and of course the infamous Moroccan touts.

It’s a feast for the senses you should indulge in, unhurried.