A Day in Essaouira

 

Day 19 - Our day did not begin with any particular urgency. We simply slept in. At a highly civilized 9:00 AM, we hiked upstairs for a spectacular buffet breakfast that boasted arguably the best coastal view in town. A thick pane of glass was all that separated our refined pastries from the relentless wind whipping off the Atlantic. Finally, we found a place that absolutely nailed every single Moroccan breakfast specialty. They did it with pure class.

Suitably fortified, we hit the streets to properly map the medina. We found the central mosque and walked straight toward the sea. Naturally, this deposited us right at the Supra Tours bus station where we had arrived yesterday. Then, reality hit. We discovered they do not run buses to Agadir. That southern coastal city has always been part of our grand master plan. Realizing our go-to bus company just abandons its passengers on the coast meant we had to pivot quickly.

We briefly considered a day trip. Basic math crushed that dream instantly. It is a three-hour drive there. It is another three hours back. Six hours staring at highway tarmac is not a vacation. We asked the hotel about a private driver, but the price tag was absurd. Plus, the sheer exhaustion made it a terrible idea. The day trip concept was axed without a second thought.

Instead, we sat down and ironed out the exact timeline for the rest of our Moroccan adventure. We are staying put. After tonight, we will hold our ground here in the medina for two more days. Our hotel is pressed right up against the historic sea wall, known as the Skala de la Ville. Back in the 18th century, a sultan hired a French military architect to build these massive stone ramparts to fend off sea invasions. Today, they are lined with vintage European brass cannons still stubbornly pointing at the ocean. It makes for a brilliantly dramatic home base.

Once we finally break camp, we will slide down the coast to Agadir for a three-night traditional beach holiday. The grand finale journey back to Casablanca will require a one-night transit stop in Marrakech. From there, we will catch the high-speed rail connection and position ourselves in our departure city for the final nights of the 22nd and 23rd. The logistical puzzle is officially solved.

Marrakech to Essaouira

 

 

Day 18 - Our three-hour westward journey from the inland heat of Marrakech to breezy Essaouira began today with us arriving at the Supra Tours bus station a full hour early. We left on the dot and first left the dusty plains. Once aboard, the transit toward the coast featured a highly accelerated lunch break. We had a mere twenty minutes to process some rest-stop poultry sandwiches, requiring us to chew with intent while keeping a paranoid eye on the driver to ensure we weren't left behind. 

Back on the road, we documented the undisputed global headquarters of the argan tree. Argania spinosa is endemic to this specific coastal strip. The orchards are a defining feature of the landscape. Alongside the argan, we reflected on the sheer ubiquity of Moroccan olives. They are an absolute cultural staple here. They are served reliably at breakfast, lunch, and dinner, with a dizzying variety of types for sale in every market we pass.

 

Upon arriving in Essaouira, we opted for a tactical luggage deployment. We dragged the bags ourselves along the length of the inner Medina walls. It was a fair distance, but not tiring. We welcomed the cooler breeze and the noticeable jump in humidity before arriving at our accommodation: a grand, fading old Riad situated exactly where the old Medina ends and the Atlantic Ocean begins.

After checking in to Riad Mimouna at a highly efficient quarter to four, we went out for a walk along the sea wall. We eventually ended up at the port. Here, we observed the local catch being aggressively hawked from makeshift shanty stalls, rather than fresh off the boats. Jay likes fish and admired the oceanic bounty. I, on the other hand, merely tolerated the pungent reality of the maritime spectacle.

We headed to the Essaouira equivalent of New West's Sixth and Sixth. We found a spot right beside the Souk Mosque. High-turnover places where the locals eat are our absolute go-to when travelling. They effectively minimize gastro-risk. Jay had the skewered chicken, and I went with a mixed shawarma. To walk off the high-velocity street meat, we navigated the main cross street all the way up to the Bab Doukkala gate before finally retreating to the hotel.

 

We are capping off the day sitting in a glass-enclosed room on the hotel roof, looking north along the coast. I deliberately wore a short-sleeved t-shirt to dinner out of pure bravado. Now, I am stubbornly ignoring the goosebumps. We kept an eye out for the sunset. However, in a classic coastal anticlimax, the sun dropped into some faraway clouds well before it ever reached the ocean.

Another Day in Marrakech

Day 17 - Jay and I had a properly relaxing second day in Marrakesh. I absolutely love that we are staying just meters from the famous Jemaa el-Fnaa square. People have been gathering in this exact dusty footprint to trade, gossip, and spectate for nearly a millennium. Today, it remains a relentless machine of commerce, completely refusing to power down even under the blistering midday heat.

 

Some travellers actively avoid this area because of the aggressive vendors, but you have to respect the hustle. They are simply trying to make a living. As an entirely uninterested customer, it is incredibly easy to just smile, offer a polite "no thanks," and keep walking. I genuinely appreciate the raw spirit and the sheer theatre of the constant exhibition.

 

The immediate perimeter offers a chaotic catalogue of merchandise and spectacle. You navigate past towering pyramids of cumin, mountains of sticky dates, glowing brass lanterns, and enough cured leather to upholster an entire fleet of Hyundai Konas. Throw in the ubiquitous snake charmers, the remarkably assertive Barbary macaques, and the aggressively cheerful orange juice vendors, and it feels less like a traditional market and more like a highly orchestrated sensory assault.

 

Before the true heat set in, we took a morning walk through the semi-covered pedestrian walkways from the square down to the Mellah, the historic Jewish quarter. We actively ignored the Bahia Palace, happily leaving the intricate tile work to the organized coach tours. Instead, we navigated a completely different route back into the thick of things. We were safely barricaded back inside the riad by 1:00 PM, giving us just enough time to scrub off the medina dust before heading out for lunch.

 

We also took the time to finalize our onward travel to the coast. We asked the hotel desk for the optimal route to Essaouira, and they successfully convinced us to bypass the physical queue and download an app to secure two Supratours bus tickets. Since we check out tomorrow, having our digital seats locked in for a noon departure is a massive relief. It ensures our transition from the desert heat to the ocean breezes will be entirely frictionless.

 

But the day is not quite over yet. We still have a proper Saturday night in the square to witness, an event that will inevitably kick into high gear the absolute second the sun finally sets around 20:40.

A Day in Marrakech

 

Day 16 -  We are in Marrakech, Morocco today and history surrounds us.

Between the years 1200 and 1600, your average European king was shivering in a damp stone castle and trying to pay his royal debts with wet grain. Meanwhile, Marrakesh was running the intercontinental economy. You have to remember the Americas were entirely off the ledger back then. Nobody was trading with the New World because Columbus had not even bumped into the Caribbean yet. 

The entire global market was a closed loop, and THIS dusty city held the keys to the vault. This is exactly why Jay and I drag ourselves across the globe. I stood in the middle of the medina today and realized that my history lessons completely missed an important center of the medieval world.

Back then, the Marrakesh skyline was a permanent, choking cloud of red dust kicked up by ten thousand irritable camels finishing a two-month slog across the Sahara. The air in Jemaa el-Fnaa was a heavy, gag-inducing cocktail of livestock sweat, unwashed traders, curing leather, and woodsmoke. It was a loud and viciously efficient boomtown baked under the Moroccan sun. Brokers used complex letters of credit to move vast fortunes. They traded massive slabs of desert salt for West African gold, alongside ivory, European brass, and tragically, thousands of enslaved humans auctioned right there in the dirt.

Every gold coin that financed a European war or built a fancy Italian cathedral during those four centuries passed through this exact gauntlet. Europe was never the master of the global economy. They were just the eager, broke customers waiting at the very end of the supply chain, inhaling none of the dust but paying whatever outrageous price the desert demanded.

Ouarzazate to Marrakech

Day 15 - ​We left Ouarzazate this morning and headed straight for Aït Benhaddou. We took an official guide to walk us through the ancient mud-brick kasbah. The tour took about an hour and a half. It is obvious why it frequently doubles as a movie set. We hiked through the narrow clay pathways all the way to the oldest section at the very top. Maintaining a multi-story fortress built entirely from river mud and straw takes serious engineering. The summit provided a clear, expansive view of the river valley below.​       

From the kasbah, the bus began the ascent into the High Atlas Mountains toward the Tizi n'Tichka pass. The road is a relentless series of twisting hairpin turns reaching an altitude of over twenty-two hundred meters. We had solid views of isolated Berber villages built directly into the red mountainsides. While still climbing, we stopped for lunch near the highest elevations. Snow was clearly visible on the nearby mountain peaks. We visited a women's cooperative network to learn about Argan oil production and ate our meal on site. The bus was predominantly filled with Italians, save for a Norwegian doctor and a Russian couple. The Italians naturally turned the lunch into a prolonged, lively social affair.

   

Once the meal concluded, we crossed the peak and began the drive down. The descent along the northern slopes brought the heat back as the mountains flattened into the plains. At exactly 4:30 pm, the entire bus exited near the entrance to Jemaa el-Fnaa square. We said goodbye to the driver with a selfie and a combined gift of tips. He then turned the vehicle around to start a grueling seven-hour drive all the way back to Fes. We continued on foot into the medina to find the Hotel Riad Marraplace.

Merzouga to Ouarzazate

Day 14 - Leaving the desert camp turned out to be a lesson in typical Saharan logistical theater. The morning began predictably enough with breakfast, but the actual departure to the main road required a bit of patience. The entire place seemed to be moving at once, with luggage vans stacked high with bags—complete with a few adventurous souls riding casually on the roof—and various supply trucks maneuvering through the dust. Once back at the staging area, a waiting game began. A massive contingent of the tour group was catching vehicles heading north back toward Fes, creating the usual flurry of sorting, swapping, and tracking down drivers. It took some time for our specific bus to sort through the crowd, but eventually, the chaos cleared and the wheels finally turned toward the west.  Before we got out of the valley, we looked inside one of the many 'fossil shops' along the highway.

​The first major stop of the drive came upon reaching Tinghir, where the route paused to overlook a massive palm grove. Standing at the viewpoint, the contrast is stark. A thick ribbon of thousands of green date palms snakes along the valley floor, cutting sharply through the otherwise barren, sun-baked rock of the high plateau. It is a striking visual reminder of how water completely dictates life in this environment.

​While taking in the view, a local vendor hawking souvenirs struck up a casual conversation. It turned out we shared a bit of common ground regarding Dubai. He pulled out his phone to show off photos of his old Sri Lankan buddies from his days working at Carrefour. He looked back on that time as a fun chapter, but explained that he had returned to the oasis because the pace of life here is deeply relaxing, and he needed to take care of his elderly father. It was a pleasant, unexpected encounter that proved once again how small the world can be.

​Just beyond the palms, the road led directly into Gorges du Todgha. The bus parked, allowing for a proper walk along the canyon floor where a shallow, icy river cuts through the landscape. The scale here is solid, with limestone cliff faces rising up over three hundred meters on either side, narrowing down to a tight pass that blocks out most of the midday sun. Walking between these giant rock walls provided a cool, breezy break from the afternoon heat. After exploring the canyon, the bus pushed onward into Ouarzazate. 

The city is well-known as a desert film capital, but it proved slightly less accomplished in the realm of modern technology. The hotel for the night offered a comfortable bed but suffered from a severe case of temperamental Wi-Fi, proving that a stable internet connection can be the hardest illusion to find in Morocco.

The Erg Chebbi Dunes Up Close

Day 13 (Continued) - We did not actually mount our designated ships of the desert until 7:00 this evening. We intentionally delayed our departure by a full hour because the temperature was still stuck at a thoroughly unreasonable 42°C at our originally scheduled start time. When we finally braved the heat, we simply stepped right out the front door of the hotel to find them waiting like very stubborn, very fragrant taxis. Our sole handler for the trek was a genuinely fantastic local named Mubarak. He informed us he was somewhere in his fifties. Given that he looked noticeably older than both Jay and me, I can only conclude that a lifetime under the brutal Moroccan sun prematurely ages a man.

​For those without a map handy, we were navigating Erg Chebbi. These are the massive mountains of wind blown sand that loom right on the edge of Merzouga. They are exactly what you picture when someone says the word, "Sahara." Some of these orange beasts reach a hundred and fifty meters into the sky. You crest one ridge and suddenly the entire world is just a terrifyingly beautiful ocean of apricot colored dust. It is the sort of overwhelming, geographic scale that reminds you exactly how insignificant you are, which is frankly half the point of leaving your living room in the first place.

​Regardless of his actual vintage, Mubarak was an absolute professional. He was incredibly friendly, deeply invested in hearing our story, and provided us with exclusive, undivided attention for the entire journey. We rode out into those stunning dunes just in time to catch the sunset, eventually plodding our way to the new camp accommodations under the fading light. 

As a bonus, it turns out our guide is also an impromptu cinematographer. He shot a large chunk of the 48 photos now sitting in a special album on my Flickr account and even recorded some video for us. He casually mentioned that he may have done some work with Atlas Studios, the Moroccan movie production powerhouse, which completely explains his excellent eye for framing a shot. Having Mubarak direct our trek elevated the whole affair from a simple desert commute into a genuine once in a lifetime experience.

​I have committed to simply adding one dozen of the spectacular images taken that evening as we headed to the desert camp.