Essaouira - Day 3

La plage. This afternoon we finally made it to Essaouira’s famed beach, which stretches in a broad, brown crescent for miles. Driving into town the other day, we’d noted people riding camels and horses along the shore with kite-surfers hovering above like giant dragonflies, but today there are only a few windsurfers catching some late-afternoon gusts. The beach itself is a crush of people, mostly young boys, running bare-chested and hollering as they pass soccer balls back and forth. They’ve got great “ball feel” Samuel notes with envy. Most of the women, except for the tourists, of course, are still swathed in djellabas. The sand is the brown of tanned skin and fine, fine, fine. Running it through my fingers, I can’t help but think how unfortunate it would be to be caught in a sandstorm in this stuff; it sticks to every bit of skin and cloth and gets into every wrinkle like powdered sugar might.

Okay, does it seem like we’re chronicling our lives here in Morocco according to our meals? Well, we are the Dowe-Sandes, after all, and the promised culinary treats of Morocco were certainly part of its draw. So, ce soir after a rather scary amble in the Mellah; we set off during the photographic witching hour – just past seven as the sun is making its descent – and wander into a scene that looks more like Beirut with houses crumbling and blown out and shadowy figures relieving themselves in dark, gloomy alleys. Anyway, frazzled, we declare it a night for a cocktail. Taros, right on the edge of Mulley Hassan square, with a great panoramic view of the plaza and ocean beyond, is our spot. We climb three floors up to the multi-level terrace which has intimate groupings of chairs and low benches in a fantastic midnight blue shade with blue and white striped upholstery. A band plays almost unrecognizable songs by Coldplay and Eric Clapton, to name a few. But our Pastis is poured with flourish and we sit and relax as the sky goes from cerulean to nocturne’s blue-black.

After drinks, we head down to the second floor for dinner in Taros’ small library, which boasts mainly tomes in Arabic and Old French, however, there is an impressive collection of Cote-Sud magazines. I have a steak au poivre and Sam a mixed grill – both are excellent, which can’t be said of the rot-gut red we quaff. We finish off with a chocolate crepe and mint tea. And tonight, at last, we sleep well.