The bus from Marrakech to Agadir had ugly and cute. It seems bus terminals are just nexus points for poor tempers, and arriving early in the morning there was the parking attendant and an older gentlemen arguing. This went on and off as I waited the hour for the bus to arrive, and slowly but surely the old guy just lost it and grabbing a tin can he went to, um, can (?) the younger guy. This broke out into a scuffle, with others stepping in to separate the two, and after all the pushing and wrestling they came closer and closer to me, to the point I had to grab my backpack and move the hell away. 

On the bus, the ugliness of the earlier event changed to sheer cuteness. A family with two young girls, maybe around 3 years old, were sitting in front of me, and for about a good 20 minutes I played the waving game with them. This involved them looking back at me, waving, then hiding behind the seat. When they’d peak their heads back into view, I’d wave at them, which apparently was the height of comedy gold because they’d burst into laughter. It made for a good way to kill some time on the 3.5 hours bus journey.

Agadir is first and foremost a beach resort town, and a great one at that. While I wasn’t staying in one of the many lavish resorts flanking the entire eastern arm of the beach, it was still an interesting sight to walk past them all, and on the beach they staked out small pockets of sand where the resorts had their claim and only allowed their guests into the roped off “private beach”. 

Coupled with the whitewashed resorts were the seafood restaurants, always to be found when both beach and resort are present. The hardest thing to get over here was the return of alcohol. All the restaurants offered it, men and women sat in the morning sunshine with glasses of beer and white wine, and signs overhead announced pumping extreme night clubs. I had became sensitised in the past 3.5 weeks that booze wasn’t something readily available let alone publicly consumed. As a resort town, and one catering for Europeans, it makes a lot of sense the cultural hang up on alcohol would meet with an apathetic shrug, and just live and let live.
 

For the next 4 days, here in Agadir and following in Essaouria, I had some form of calamari everyday. Here I ordered the tangine calamari and damn was it amazing. Fresh calamari, perfectly cooked in the tangine, with a tomato and olive base. I had another two dishes of tangine cooked calamari in those days, and I swear I may have an addiction problem. On my last night in Essaouria I went back to one of the restaurants I had a brilliant tangine calamari the day before, and when I was told they’d run out of calamari (presumedly because some Australia guy was eating it all), I almost flipped the table and roared to the heavens Why has thou forsaken me!!!

Back in Marrakech I spent the day before leaving contemplating on dropping Adagir and spending the four nights in Essaouria. Obviously I ended up with my original plan to spend two nights in each, but in retrospect a part of me wishes I’d spent at least another night in Essaouria.

The medina of the town sits on the rocky coast, it’s ancient walls rising up from the rocks as wave after wave comes crashing down, with gusts of strong wind persuading and guiding the water in it’s assault of the walls. It’s such a beautiful medieval looking place, with the familar Moroccan medina only with more breathing room and less of a rat warren. 

To put basically, Essaouria is stunning and relaxed. The beach runs a good length from the port, and at the far end there are camels, horses, and dune buggies you can hire. Back in the medina tourists wander shop to shop, alcohol has mostly vanished again with a couple of places selling it ridiculously overpriced (a beer was 20dh in Agadir, but here they are charging 60dh).

The calendar had finally caught up with me and I found myself at 7:45am waiting for the bus back to Casablanca. One last night in Casa, then on to the flights back home.

Arriving at Hotel Central, the place I’d stayed at a month ago when I first arrived, the owner greeted me enthusiastically and welcomed me back. A movie set had taken over the area and their catering had taken over half the hotel. No matter, the cafe was still open and after dropping off my bags I ordered a coffee and sat and digested the last month of travel in Morocco.

Sipping the coffee I thought of no better way to finish this country with cheap delicious coffee. But the fates had decided it would also need to end on a bad point too. A gentleman sat next to me, received his coffee and whipped out his mobile phone. Moments later it all went to hell, as he began playing Celine Dion. Openly, for all to hear. Celine Dion!

Morocco is certainly an interesting country, with a lot of interesting characters, those characters not just people but the cities themselves. The medina’s have a certain life and personality to themselves. And I would have no problem spending just a few more days sitting in a Fez cafe, watching the world turn, sipping a glass of coffee.