Another day, another Villa

I stand on our terrace at the Munga Guest House in Taghazout for one last look. There is a thick mist and the beach below is stirring. A tractor hooks a small boat and ferries it across the sand to the water for a casual fisherman. Chaise lounges with umbrellas are being set up in groups of twos and threes just waiting for the sunbathers to appear. Soon the camel and it’s trainer will trek in. As will two horses, all saddled and ready for riders. A little later, a couple of guys will start kicking or throwing a ball around. A young kid will join, then others and it will turn into a sort of pseudo soccer game.

The last two nights, we’ve slept in a boat, the sound of waves extraordinarily loud. But we leave the terrace doors open anyway allowing the gentle coolness of the night to keep the room comfortable.  Lest you think it’s all wonderful (and it pretty much is), there is an odd squeak the toilet makes at random times all during the night, and there are three flights of steep, spiral stairs to climb to get to our room. But the room is full of charm.

Breakfast this morning includes a homemade yogurt that is out of this world delicious. I try to ask the manager whether it’s sheep, goat or camel yogurt but we don’t really understand each other and he is off before I can open google translate.

I stand corrected on my use of sweetbread to describe things which are cakier than bread but not cake. Sweet like pastry but not pastry. Sweetbread is an animal organ, usually thymus or pancreas, that is eaten as a delicacy. Not here though. At least, I’ve never seen it.

Ali picks us up at 10:30 as promised and we embark on the three hour drive to Essaouria. We begin along the coast, head inland at Banana Point. There is a long valley of banana plants. A blue mist hangs in the air. Someone is burning plastic Ali says. The odor forces Ali to close all the windows. 

We listen to Moroccan music. Ali likes to have music on continually. But I don’t mind as the beat is gentle. 

I request a stop at Carrefour, the supermarket, where I can buy a bottle of wine and Grubb can buy some sparkling water and nuts. It is illegal for a Muslim to buy wine. Ali does anyway, as many others do. He puts it out of sight in the car. If stopped, he can say it’s for the clients (us).

Now, in Essaouria proper, Ali pulls in close to Bab Sbaa (Gate Sbaa) where a porter is waiting to take us to Villa Maroc inside the Medina. We are on our own for the rest of today and tomorrow.

I think I will start a new post for our Suite at the Villa. And a bit about wandering the fish market and the grand promenade, unless Grubb does it first.