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.
