How long, Essaouira...
a place that seems always wrapped in a dreamy haze. A place where everything goes very very slowly.
You ordered a coffee or an orange juice in one of the town's trendiest cafes? well you have to wait. Call the waiter three times, remind him you are there, repeat your order, cause no, it's not a tea you wanted, and in the end maybe you'll get your coffee or you'll have to deal with a tea. You're coming from Europe where things go more or less fast and precise, normally you would complain, but when you get the tea that you never ordered and the waiter smiles at you as if the world was perfect, well you inhale the perfume of the fresh mint, taste your sweet tea, lay back and start to believe the world is perfect, indeed.
After a few days in town, nothing can bother you anymore, for you're so relaxed that you couldn't care less about the surrounding slow motion. You're probably smoking some dope, too, which helps.
I remember these times there, these were made of blinding sun, roofs - day and night views- , beach - not so much on the beach, for the water is always freezing and the wind would slap us with the sand it was raising - , wind, wind, wind blowing so strong and cold at night after the day heat, tiny streets, never ending shops with colorful everything-you-want-to-buy, a port with grilled fish, the smell of sardines, getting lost and finding new streets, nice people, loads but loads of laughter in a cloud of good quality smoke, laughter till the sunrise on the beach, on a roof, always looking at the sea.
I cherish these memories for I've been very happy everytime I was there.
I usually say that Essaouira is not Morocco, for it has an atmosphere of its own and her people are different.
Someone from there gave me the explanation once.
A friend of mine had invited us one evening to his rooftop that was overlooking the port, and we sat there, talked, smoked one spliff, another one, the stars were shining, and the boat lights in the distance were swaying, my friend was doing the talks and I was laughing my jaws off. We were also eating some biscuits and he was long commenting on their specific crick, crock, crick crock, sound. When I was totally stone I felt the need to confess my inner feeling about the town and whispered in the wind :
"You know, Essaouira is like a little South America (I had never been there by then but I was sure one would feel incredibly good overseas)" to which he answered just as solemnly "You know why the wind blows so strong inhere? It is to tear essaouira off Africa and have it drift away to South America."
Crick, crock, another biscuit was gone, with the wind...And the lights in the distance kept on swaying..
I'm not home-sick, I'm Essaouira-sick...
