The Atlantic Coast Of Morocco

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Leaving the hustle and bustle of Marrakesh we drive through terribly poor, stony farms. Sparse shoots of wheat poke between the dirt and stones. Sheep and goats grazing on what I am not sure, but did find a group up a thorny tree. I kid you not. A local boy wanting some Dirams for that photo.

The country is flat, boring and stark. Not at all what I thought it would be between Marrakesh and the Coast.

Essoura ( I have no idea how to spell this town) is a white washed fishing village on the coast. Trying to become a tourist town I think. A big sandy beach sweeps up to the harbour full of blue wooden fishing boats. Battlements of stone walls surround the town, protecting it from the ocean and long ago the enemy. Nestled in the walls, decorated cannons peer out into the horizon. Sea gulls hover over the fisherman, fixing their nets, hoping for a stray morsel of fish to come their way.

We dine on calamari and fish, delicious of course, washed down with some beer snuck out to us in coffee mugs. Musicians play in the street while a boy shines my shoes. What a relaxing spot.

Travelling north we hug the coast, the ocean in view most of the way. Fields of wheat, sheep and goats, enclosed in rock walls run down to the ocean’s edge. The downside to this idyllic scene is the wind. It howls off the Atlantic Ocean at a ferocious pace trying to blow our car off the road. The shepherds, crouched behind the shrubs, must be a hardy breed. The fences are stone, the houses are stone and piles of white stone are spread around the fields.

At Safi, an ugly industrial port, we turn inland and take the main road for the rest of our journey up to El Jadida. Where we intend to stay the night only 100kms from Casablanca Airport. Betty has found us an Ibis Hotel for the night. A nice relief from the Dars, Riads and Kasbahs.

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