The Hippies had it right

To me Morocco has always had some sort of romantic allure when compared to the rest of North Africa.  I think this has largely to do with the beat generation and the hippies after them.  The most well-worn book on my shelf is On The Road by Jack Kerouac, and his group of counter-culture writers from the 50’s (the beat generation) spent significant time in Morocco, especially Tangier.  The hippies then came after in the 60’s (think Kate Hudson’s final scene in Almost Famous) and a large number of them including Jimi Hendrix came to Essaouira, where we are right now, to chill.  Essaouira is a smaller, more laid-back town on the Atlantic, and it’s definitely our favourite place in Morocco.  It’s quite different than the circus-like atmosphere of Marrakesh and that’s what we were looking for.  This is an old walled city like the others, but it was designed by a French architect in the 1700’s so the layout is infinitely more orderly than the previous medinas.  However, the town is still distinctly Moroccon with its architecture, markets, aromas, spice shops, and daily minaret calls.  It’s a fusion in design that comes together nicely for its visitors and inhabitants.

We’ve been enjoying the food in Morocco so we decided to take a cooking class at L’atelier Madada.  It was a fun and educational experience.  We learnt about the plethora of Moroccan spices used and we cooked (or attempted to) a chicken tajine and some Moroccan pastries.  After eating they took us to the market to learn how to buy cookware and spices, pretty cool.  We met an American couple at the class who are currently living in the Netherlands, and we all decided to grab a few drinks on a terrace overlooking the ocean after.  She was an artist who loves Bikrams yoga, great match for Di.  He was a lawyer working at the Hague who likes martial arts and doesn’t like Bikrams yoga, similar thought process to me.  They both also love food and travel and are one year younger than us.  A few drinks turned into 4 bottles of wine and 5 hours of conversation.  We had a good time.

Di and I also tried a hammam here.  A hammam is basically a public Turkish bathhouse with a sauna and a massage.  The men and women go at different times to keep it segregated.  I’ll sum up my awesome experience here for those of you who don’t know how this works.  First you get down to your ginch and go into a sort of steam room where a bunch of the other patrons are sitting.  The lights are dim and the temperature is pretty damn hot.  One by one the bath attendants get you to lay down on the floor as they scrub all of you down (called the gommage) with a scouring pad and some sort of paste for exfoliation, it was painful.  Then they literally douse you with buckets of hot water to rinse it off.  After that they give you a massage with some sort of oil.  Lucky me, I had a massive 250 pound attendant (also in just his ginch) scrub me down and massage me.  He seriously was the biggest guy I’ve seen in all of Morocco.  After that, one by one you stand up in front of everyone while a different dude rubs bar soap all over you.  And then he douses you with a few more buckets of hot water to rinse.  You’re allowed to then sit in this steam room as long as you’d like to relax and watch other dudes get soaped.  I was outta there before the water from the last bucket thrown at me even touched the floor.  I could have sworn that while the hippo-sized attendant was looming over me and scrubbing, his sweat was dripping down on me.  It could have been condensation from the roof, but I had my eyes shut in fear the whole time so I can’t confirm where the drips came from.  In the back of my mind I could hear my buddy John Fenton advising me NOT to do the Turkish bath thing cuz he was sure I wouldn’t like it.  I should have listened.  Due to the behemoth’s dripping sweat, this was the only bath I’ve ever taken in my life where I felt dirtier after.  I ran home and took a shower, and that will be the last Turkish bath or hammam I will ever go to.

Here the wind (or alizee in local Berber language) is supremely strong, which attracts kite and windsurfers alike from all over the world.  The beach is long and wide, and there are innumerable soccer games being played on its sands once the sun begins to appear.  The port still hustles with the daily activity of fishermen, and you can buy your favourite part of his catch and grill it right there with a salad and some bread for a simple yet satisfying lunch.  The waves still smash against the cities’ ramparts as a multitude of seagulls circle above.  You take this in while overlooking the Atlantic and think, the hippies had it right coming here.  Though I don’t see any remnants of their being here, sometimes, when the wind rolls over your face at the right angle, you can still feel the peace and love they’ve left behind.