Slept like Lawrence of Sunderland in our Arabian tent.
The morning shone clear, offering stupendous snow-capped views of the Atlas mountains.
Heading due west, a straight road led us to Essouira, one of the coolest places around, our first stop on the Atlantic coast We all stopped off at a local fish 'restaurant'. Two Germans who were eating were deprived of their table as our group was bigger. They were given a minuscule replacement board to fit their lunch on. We stole their towels too (I made that up).
The fish lunch was ok, apparently, although yours truly was almost throwing up, and had to leave the building. Perhaps it was the raw fish slush on the floor, or the boy who fixed our salad, wet bread, and cut up the raw fish with the same knife on the same soggy table whilst picking his nose and attempting the famous 'Moroccan crotch lift'. Or maybe it was the soggier Gauloise hanging out of the owner's moustache...
Everyone else tucked in.
Time to explore the sea front and the huge fleet of fishing boats. Hot Whitby comes to mind.
Then the massive fortified walls with huge cannons facing ancient invading enemies from the sea. The medina, a magical, secret place, no hassling, fixed prices, brilliant value, friendly people. Vibrant colours, intricate wooden carving, henna salamanders, cool Tuareg music.
We finished with a Mojito each and an extra mortgage at Jimmy Hendrix's bar.
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