Getting down with locals

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I decided that it was time to leave Marrakech. I knew that I was coming back, so it wasnt leaving out of spite in a huffy strop, I just thought that was the best way to do things... After breakfast I headed off the the bus station to head to Essaouira. I knew that I would be hassled by touts, and I knew I would pay a markup if i used their services but time was so tight that I decided to do so just to make sure I caught the bus. I overpaid by about 20 DH... quite a lot on the cost of the ticket but when converted back into the pound, however weak, it was worth saving a 2 hour wait in the bus station.

I found myself sat next to a very snotty Moroccan girl on the bus journey who I think, through a number of hand gestures and broken spanish was called helen, was 20, and had been living in spain illegally before being deported. Or something like that.

There is little comfort in local busses, but they can offer a lot of fun. They tend to start their journies full, and smelling bad and get fuller and smellier as time goes on. Drivers tend to be doped up on either speed or ganja, and which of those it happens to be dictates whether you get to your journey in half the slated time (but with your stomach in your throat) or in double time, and no less safely. Or theres the third option when the driver develops some sort of narcotic schitsophrenia and alternates between the two. Thats what we had. The other constant on these journeys are the breaks. Irrespective of the journey duration there will be a break. And there will be a toilet. This will always be dire. If it is not dire it will be just a ditch. And there will be food. And the food is the real excitement, as it varies between dire and fantastic. And today it was truly fantastic. Never before have i tasted such delicious kebabs, tender and moist and seasoned with just a subtle sprinkling of cumin and salt served in a split flatbread - divine!

On arrival in Essaouira I found a lovely little riad with 3 internal floors and a beautiful split level roof terrace. The interior was a little dark but the whole place oozed with character and was a lot better than my marrkech dive for the same money (including breakfast). I spent the afternoon and eveing just wandering, photographing and joking with the now far less aggresive stallholders. I was walkign through the spice Souk when one stallholder invited me in for tea. There is nothing unusual about this.. I must have had half a dozen teas yesterday, but what was less usual is the fact that I stayed there for about 5 hours. The shop was like a cave in the back with high ceilings and a library of spices all reached by a rickety stepladder. It was far bigger than the generic pyramids of spice out front let on. After a while of sitting we popped out and bought half a chicken, vegatables and bread and the stallholder cooked a tagine on his stove. It was delicious eaten straight from the communal tagine, the olives and preserved lemon mixing fantastically with the chicken, courgette tomatoes, potatoes and peas. After dinner we sat and played some music both on the hi fi and on the drums and morrocan 3 stringed guitar like instrument, while the stallholders (I politely refused) enjoyed variations of Moroccos most famous herbs. By the time I finally left it was so late the nightwatchman had to let me out of the now locked market. I was exhausted, and fell straight asleep.

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