Essaouira
lessons from the field

Ramadan in Essaouira       My first trip to Essaouira- late December, hazy skies, rough winds: a real taste of "Atlantic" climates. My French guide-book (the one I hold clenched in my fists) tells me this city is not unlike St Malo, Breton city of my childhood. Standing atop a cannon, with the salty wind blowing past my face I find it easy to pretend I am on the English Channel, looking away from Brittany towards Great Britain. But the narrow streets a few meters below me, bustling with handcrafts, prayer mats and men in djellabas (long robes) remind me of how Moroccan the landscape still is.     This first taste of Essaouria was too brief- just a few hours to ramble around the town, before we crowd back into our rental car and drive back to Agadir. Ramadan gave the city a rather quiet feel- shops and restaurants closed, people huddled in the back of their stalls, waiting for the sun to set, and life to start again.

On the Essaouira 'ramparts'- fortified walls

I lead Mom, Dad and Alex through souk craziness- hearing their feet drag with doubt. Do I know where I am going? I wish I had the medina-scope: a periscope of my invention, enabling you to see above the street medley of your average medina. But I left that idea (along with its high tech counterpart, the medina GSM) with the rest of my papers in Rabat.
     Somehow we arrive at our destination- the most charming of all restaurants, unfortunately closed. Ramadan, Ramadan....The friendly owners show us around- from one white and blue room to another: ribbons, cloth covered chairs and roses for every table. We sigh and leave- happy to have seen the coziness we cannot taste. I suppose we are doing Ramadan in our own way. After all is it not about living as the poor do- feeling hunger, scarcity and absence? Well, we drooled before a meal we could not have. And hit the streets on an empty stomach. (For more on Ramadan, go here)