More Morocco: Essaouira

Essaouira is colorful in a different way than Marrakech.  It is bright white and blue as opposed to Marrakech's rose.  From the ocean side it could almost be taken for a Greek island town.  There are surfers on the beach.  The camera is drawn to bright colors.

And to cute vignettes.

But although I felt freer in Essaouira than I had in Marrakech, I still felt as I had there: outside and unwelcome, as I had rarely felt anywhere else I traveled.  It's possible that the inwardness of the culture, the blank walls and closed shutters, contributed to this feeling, and the strictures of a Muslim culture underlying a tourist economy definitely did, but I felt uncomfortable in many ways.

 

I didn't feel free to hold Gene's hand in the streets or have his arm around my shoulders.  I didn't like seeing women bundled up as if their very existence were shameful, even if I assumed they didn't mind it themselves.  I didn't like the fact that nothing remained of a once large and vibrant Jewish community.  I didn't like the sense that, with only a few exceptions, I was viewed only as a source of income to most of the people I encountered, and not as a human being.   

To be fair I should say that Gene liked it much more than I did.  He didn't feel as excluded, or not to the same degree.  I wonder if being a man made him feel more comfortable.

I know others who have had different experiences, friends who love Morocco and return again and again, but my sense of otherness there was much different than the otherness I've felt in Asia, for example, where I never felt deliberately excluded. 

Of course I know that people living in a tourist destination must feel invaded and resent being seen as 'local color', but I wanted to feel that I could enter and learn about the place I was visiting.  Instead I felt that it was closed to me, and in some cases there was actual hostility, as when I turned down efforts to sell me something. 

 

I wanted to feel a welcome visitor and instead I felt locked out.  I'm glad I went but I doubt I'll return.

Essaouira

I'm sitting on the roof terrace of our maison d'hotes overlooking the beach, where the wings of kitesurfers and seagulls make graceful motions in the sky.  Behind me are the white walls and bright blue window frames of the houses in the medina, and in front of me the beachfront Chalet de la Plage, where I had fresh grilled shrimp for lunch yesterday.

Essaouira is much smaller than Marrakech. It's also quieter and, from an outsider's perspective, appears less strict in its customs.  I see some apparently Moroccan girls in short-sleeved shirts walking arm in arm (one dark-haired girl wearing a tee shirt proclaiming how proud she is to be blonde) and tourist couples holding hands without incurring the scowls of the residents.  Essaouira appears to be more used to decadent Westerners and more willing to tolerate them.

That's not to say we've left traditional Morocco behind.  This street singer is making the rounds of the cafés.

And these women are still veiled in the street, while carpets are still being sold to tourists.

There are cats everywhere, as there have been everywhere we've been.

  

We've been thrilled to be able to leave behind the inevitable tagines and couscous of the interior for the fresh fish of the coast.  Much as I love Moroccan food, it's become a bit boring to see the same offerings on every menu.  Last night we had excellent pasta at a strange little place called Elizir, a series of small rooms filled with an incredible mix of 1950's furniture, lamps and objets d'art.

Today we tried to buy our lunch from the line of fish stall grills near the beach, but even there one has to negotiate the price and we were too cranky from hunger to take part in the haggling.  Instead we walked up the beach to a more ordinary place where the clientele was a mix of French residents, tourists and surfers.

Tomorrow we leave for Paris, but I have so many more photos of our stay here I'll try to post some more on the next few days.  It's been quite a trip.