Essaouira to Agadir

[Our hotel's Internet VPN is currently blocking all Flickr accounts.  Consequently, I'll be unable to post the accompanying photos for the eJournal posts for the remainder of our days in Agadir, unless tech support comes to the rescue and provides a work-around.  I will have to 'backfill' the missing photographic evidence later.]

Day 22 - Jay and I checked out of the Essaouira hotel room around 11:30 AM. We waited out the usual post-checkout lobby time before dragging our bags to Bab Doukkan to hail a petite blue taxi. This was followed by a solid stretch of pleasant waiting and observation at the tiny station until nearly 2:00 PM. That is when our bus finally arrived from Casablanca. Defying all known laws of transit, it departed precisely on schedule at 14:30.

​The three-and-a-half-hour journey south along the N1 quickly traded the flat landscape of argan trees for an inland detour through the dense banana plantations of the Tamri estuary. Approaching Taghazout, the geography finally decided to show off. The High Atlas Mountains abruptly crowded the coastline. This forced the highway up to trace the edge of high cliffs. We enjoyed excellent views of the Atlantic surf pounding the rocky shoreline below before the mountains finally yielded. The dramatic ridges smoothed out entirely as the bus descended onto the flat plain of the Souss Valley. Jay and I pulled into the Agadir station exactly on time at 5:45 PM.

​Upon disembarking, he and I went straight to the Supratours office tent to buy our Sunday tickets. We successfully locked in the 9:30 AM departure to Marrakech; this ensures the final leg of our return journey toward Casablanca is sorted. With those details handled, we simply walked out the station gate, flagged down a taxi, and made the final short drive to unpack at the Dominium Hivernage.

​Once settled, I opened Google Maps to locate the nearest block of dining options in the surrounding Founty district. A short walk led us to a brightly lit establishment claiming to be a Ajikol Pizzeria. Naturally, we ignored the pizza entirely and ended our transit day eating meat skewers off a stick.

​It is now nearing 10:00 PM. Considering I have compressed an entire day's worth of travel fatigue into a single afternoon, we are opting to simply go to sleep. The Atlantic Ocean has been sitting out there for roughly 200 million years. It can certainly wait for us to be adequately rested before we wander down to the beach to see it.

A Final Day in Essaouira

Day 21 - Jay and I treated our final day in this coastal city with the respect it deserved. For fifty-one weeks of the year, Essaouira is a quiet place that prioritizes a bohemian arts scene over the relentless hustle of a city like Marrakech.  I have to admit a certain fondness for the city's old colonial moniker, Mogador. It sounds exactly like a gritty, sun-blasted fortress straight out of Game of Thrones. As it turns out, HBO's location scouts entirely agreed; Essaouira's dramatic sea walls and ramparts were heavily utilized in Season 3 to stand in for the fictional slaver city of Astapor.

 

In reality, that imposing name is essentially a two-thousand-year game of colonial telephone. The Phoenicians called their tiny trading post migdol, meaning small fortress. Centuries later, Portuguese colonizers arrived, completely butchered the name of a local saint, Sidi Mogdoul, and slapped "Mogador" on the map. The city finally shed the typo in the 1760s when a Moroccan Sultan hired a French architect to construct a perfectly gridded seaport from scratch. Thrilled with the precise geometry, he officially renamed it Essaouira: classical Arabic for "the well-designed."

Jay and I eventually made our way out to the main beach. This stretch of sand borders the immediate coastline for a solid two kilometers before stretching up to ten kilometers further down the bay. It was genuinely pleasant to navigate the flat, easily walkable grid of the medina. Both of us discovered new alleyways lined with the usual array of tourist businesses, including argan oil boutiques, local art galleries, ceramic shops, and tiny cafes. After getting our fill of the sea breeze, we walked back toward the center of town and grabbed a satisfying lunch for two that managed to come in under 100 MAD, or roughly 13.50 CAD.

 

Tomorrow, we will board a CTM bus bound for Agadir. That destination will provide a stark contrast in Atlantic coastal living. Essaouira is defined by its ancient stone ramparts and an artsy atmosphere fueled by constant trade winds; Agadir is an entirely different product. Following a devastating earthquake in 1960, Agadir was completely rebuilt. The pair of us will trade these historic stone alleys for wide boulevards, concrete hotels, and a calm, wind-protected beach engineered primarily for package holidays and sunbathing.

 

Our departure tomorrow is perfectly timed. Next weekend, Essaouira will host the 27th annual Gnaoua and World Music Festival. For three days, the city transforms into a capital of musical fusion, drawing roughly half a million visitors to experience traditional, trance-inducing Moroccan heritage music. The typically quiet medina alleys and empty beaches we just enjoyed will be entirely consumed by open-air stages, large sound systems, and immense crowds. Neither of us has any desire to navigate that level of congestion. Slipping out to the calmer shores of Agadir a full week before the chaos begins feels like a brilliant move.

Another Day in Essaouira

​Day 20 - Jay and I took our breakfast upstairs at the hotel right at nine o'clock. The morning began looking rather grey. The ocean seemed to lack its usual enthusiasm, with the waves barely slapping the edge of the seawall. In all weather, I genuinely appreciate the morning meals here; they provide a perfectly civilized start to the day.

​As the morning progressed, the sky returned to its usual brilliant blue.  Our immediate priority after breakfast was hunting down the CTM bus station to secure our Thursday departure to Agadir, which will also serve as our final checkout day from Riad Mimouna. Neither of us likes to leave transit logistics to chance. Google Maps suggested it would be a brisk thirty-minute walk out of the medina and past the city hospital. Naturally, the algorithm wildly overestimated our pace, assuming everyone marches with unrealistic haste and never pauses for physical reality. It took us closer to forty-five minutes to cover the distance, but once we arrived, we instantly secured both tickets for a total of 220 MAD (29.70 CAD).

​Rather than trudge back through the unremarkable sprawl of the city, Jay and I flagged down a typical Moroccan petit taxi. They are painted red here. The driver asked for a mere 10 MAD (roughly 1.35 CAD) to deliver us straight to the gates of Bab Doukkala.

​From the gate, the two of us walked back through the Mellah, the city's historic Jewish quarter. It is a fascinating stretch of the medina, though undeniably melancholic. At its peak in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, the Jewish community actually constituted nearly half of Essaouira's population. However, following Moroccan independence and the geopolitical shifts of the 1950s and 60s, the area experienced a massive demographic collapse. Working-class families predominantly emigrated to Israel, while the wealthier merchant class largely relocated to France and Canada. Today, the original residents are essentially gone, leaving only architectural echoes and a few preserved sites behind.

​With our transit tickets officially secured, we were free to lock down our accommodations for the remainder of this journey. That endeavor kept both of us and the Expedia servers rather busy for a few minutes. From this point forward, the heavy lifting is over; we are simply connecting the dots on the map until our flight home on June 24th.

​We enjoyed a rather fine lunch tucked away in an undiscovered lane within the medina. Jay and I ordered the turkey skewers, which arrived flanked by French fries, assorted salads, and a blisteringly good hot tomato, rice, and pepper mixture straight from the grill. Washed down with a 1.5-litre bottle of water, the entire affair set us back a mere 70 MAD (roughly 9.45 CAD). It was an absolute steal, especially given the impeccably clean and pleasant setting.

​After a highly necessary afternoon nap, we are presently gearing up for our evening plans. The agenda includes securing dinner, logging some additional miles on foot, and watching the sun drop into the Atlantic. For the record, it is officially scheduled to vanish at exactly 20:45 tonight. All things considered, it has been a rather pleasant, slow-burn of a day.

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.