Agadir, Morocco

We were all last week in Agadir, our first trip to Africa and we didn't see a single camel!

Saturday, July 26
Our flight left late on Saturday out of Orly Airport in the south of Paris. The first leg was a four hour jaunt to Casablanca, followed by a hop to Agadir.

By the time we arrived in Casablanca it was around midnight. We pulled into one of the airport's shadier terminals (the return flight proved that the Casablanca airport has some very nice parts) and shuffled to the gate for our flight to Agadir. We were surprised to find people smoking in the airport, and flight times scrawled on a dry-erase board.

Finally we left Casablanca and landed in Agadir around 1:30 a.m. local time, which was 2:30 for us. Dead tired, we trudged into the airport, where Morocco's grumpy border control guards grunted over our passports and waved us through. We retrieved our luggage, then dropped into a cab for the hotel.

In the cab I sat behind the driver and stared drowsily out the window. I noticed that Agadir looked stark and run down in the dark, and impassively watched a dog chase the car for a while. Half an hour later at the hotel steps, David told me that the taxi's gas gauge was on E for the entire ride, and that the dogs on his side were growling and snapping. We wondered what we'd gotten ourselves into.

Well, it seems we at least got ourselves into a good hotel. At the hotel steps a sympathetic doorman helped us inside, and roused the front desk clerk from his nap. The clerk showed us a couple of registration forms, then changed his mind and decided he'd fill them in for us later. Then he informed us that our room included a full breakfast and dinner every night. David and I exchanged glances and tried to act like we weren't surprised. Did I miss that detail when I booked the trip? The clerk grabbed our luggage and beckoned us through a door to a hallway and our room.

Our room was spacious, complete with a nice balcony overlooking the pool. Although we barely noticed the details, because there on the coffee table were two plates of food, wrapped in plastic. "For you," the clerk said smiling, and bowed out of the room. It was certainly a warmer welcome than the one we received from the border control.

Sunday
I was disappointed to awake on Sunday morning to a cloudy sky. Not only cloudy, but a little bit on the cool side. We decided to take it all in stride and walked down to breakfast in good spirits. In the restaurant we were given a tour of the buffet and grill, and met a cheery waiter named Jawed. Throughout the course of our stay, Jawed would drop by our table at every meal and teach us a bit of Arabic. Which, despite our best efforts, we would immediately forget.

Arabic, of course, is the first language of Morocco, and French is the second. Although almost everyone we came upon also spoke excellent English. David and I did our best to stick to French, but many times people would cut us off and politely ask "Do you prefer English?"

After breakfast we decided to visit the beach. The hotel was located in a dry bit of hill, surrounded by other hotels - or hotels in the process of being built - and about a 10 minute walk from the beach. The beach itself was wide and the sand was soft, and we were happy to see more Moroccans than tourists playing in the water. It was still too cold for us, so we walked along the water for a while, then turned back through town and spent the rest of the afternoon at the poolside. The clouds cleared around 6 pm, and I had high hopes for the next day.

Monday
Monday morning started cloudy. I pouted over this for a while, until David prodded me into visiting the town center. Cabs are frequent and a little tourist train runs into the town regularly, but we decided to walk. It took about 30 minutes, but at least the weather was perfect for a hike.
Once into town, we happened upon a sign for the Valley of the Birds. We had nothing better to do, so we decided to pay the 5 dirhams for a visit. 5 dirhams is about 50 cents, and I can't remember the last time 50 cents got me into anything.

The Valley of the Birds was a sad little bird zoo with some extra animals thrown in. A herd of mountain goats, a few monkeys, a pair of llamas. The only thing that amused us enough to photograph was a stray kitten on a colorful bench.
After exiting the bird zoo, we found ourselves at the foot of a small indoor market. We took a walk through and got our first taste of Moroccan retail; hassling. Every time we passed a booth, the owner would launch himself at us, trying to get our attention. Sometimes he would insist on a handshake and a bonjour, then drag us into his shop. We couldn't stop to look at anything without being attacked.

Eventually I stopped to admire a bracelet and wound up in a negotiation with a "no-hassle" guy over the price. To proof the authenticity of the silver, he went through a complicated science experiment to prove that it was real. When I doubted the jade stone, he frantically lit a lighter under my nose and said "No plastic! You want me to try to burn it?" In the end, I'm sure I still paid too much, but we finally settled on a price.

Since we were on the merchant's good side, I decided to push it a bit further and ask if I could take some photos of his booth. He responded by jumping up and promptly dressing David for a pose. I could barely stop laughing long enough to snap the photo.

After leaving the market with a big sigh of relief, we found ourselves a traditional Moroccan restaurant for lunch. I had chicken tagine and David had couscous, which were both really good, but quite heavy. After the meal we tried to walk some of it off by hoofing back to the hotel, where we flopped by the poolside.

Again, the clouds departed about 6 p.m., and again I was cautiously optimistic for the next day.

Tuesday
However, Tuesday morning started cloudy. With no plans or idea for what to do, we started the day at the pool, then finally packed our things and walked to the beach. At the seaside the weather was lighter and I was happy to see some sun. However, after an hour and a half, David started worrying about burning, so we decided to go back to the hotel.

We spent the rest of the afternoon at the poolside and burned.

Wednesday
Wednesday also started cloudy. At this point I figured we'd made some kind of mistake and booked our trip during Morocco's cloudy season. Although I still had a sunburn from the day before, so at least I had some proof of the sun.

One of my Moroccan colleagues had recommended the Agadir port for good fish restaurants, so we decided to visit that. We jumped on the tourist train and took it to the other side of town, then walked through some dodgy areas to the port.

As we closed in on the area, a scrawny local started walking beside us and telling us about the fish market. When we stopped to look at something or talk, he'd stop and wait for us. No matter what we did, we couldn't shake him.

Finally, he led us past the restaurant stalls and through the fish market, which was little more than a round room with a dozen vendors. We walked around and exited back at the restaurants, where he guided us to his brother's place for lunch. The "restaurants" were little more than a line of booths along a wall, with long picnic tables seating about 20 in front of each. The men cooked and hassled people into coming to their booths, and the women carried food and cleaned.

We'd been planning on eating at the port anyway, so we figured that eating at this guy's place was as good as any other. He brought out a plate of fresh fish and we pointed to more or less indicate what we wanted. To be honest, regardless of what we pointed at, I think he would have brought us whatever he felt like.

We received a large platter of fish, shrimp, and squid, all in some state of fried or grilled. Admittedly, it was tasty. It was also a lot of food, and we didn't even finish it. I slipped bits of fish to a scrappy stray cat under the table, who clearly hit the jackpot sitting near me.

And then the bill came. Squeezed between other diners at the table, we were able to discreetly see what they had paid. The couple on one side paid the equivalent of about 18 euros, the others paid about 20. So you can imagine our surprise when our bill came out to 52 euros for pretty much the same food that our neighbors had. Let me mention here that our table companions had been Moroccan.

We started to argue with the waitress, who beckoned over our "guide", who appeared out of nowhere to point to the sign on the wall with the listed prices. "You see, langoustines: 300 dirham (30 euros)".

"Yes" I argued, "but 300 dirham for six?"

In the end, what could we do but pay and move on with our lives. We did make a bit of noise in the process, though, and I do believe the waitress looked a bit sorry.

We stormed away from the market, and in a sense, from Agadir as a whole. We had been planning taking an excursion the next day, a camel ride or a trip to the Sahara, but the fish market was proof to us that we were marked.

"I guess they don't have to worry about repeat customers" David remarked bitterly.

We still had the rest of the afternoon ahead of us, so decided to visit the souk, or the big marketplace outside of town. After walking for a while through the barren outskirts of Agadir, we flagged a cab for the rest of the journey.

David and I learned early that in cabs, women sit in the back and men sit in the front. The men talk to the driver and negotiate the price, and the women stay silent. I accepted my lot and took the backseat, but I found it hard to not jump into whatever conversation the driver wanted to have with David. Most of the time the driver just ignored me.

At the souk we walked amongst the aisles and aisles of stalls that seemed to stretch on for blocks in every direction. The most fascinating things to see were the spice sellers, sitting in the center of square booths, surrounded on all sides by mountains of spices. We saw women crouched on the ground, working simple stone grinding tools to make nut butter or sauce. Everywhere I wanted to take pictures, but I learned quickly that photos where allowed unless you bought something. And I wasn't in any humor to start a negotiation war for something I didn't need just for the chance to take a photo.

Finally David got tired of the hassling and went outside to wait for me. I did a bit more walking and saw a basket full of goat's heads and held a baby chameleon. A little girl next to me placed another chameleon on her skirt and demanded "pink!" to no avail.

When I exited the souk, I found David leaned against a tree in the shade. He told me that he had just seen a cattle truck roll by, the kind with aluminum sides and little slits where you can see the animals. But instead of animals, the truck was packed full of women.

Soufiane, another waiter at the hotel, later told us that these women were on their way to a fish factory for work. This didn't make me feel any better.

We took another cab back to the hotel. I considered sitting in the front seat as a kind of social experiment, but in the end I decided not to cause any trouble.

Thursday
Thursday finally started sunny, and after the previous day's adventures we decided to lay low. Although after some hours at the pool, we got restless and decided to visit one of the local mosques.

Another cab ride later and we were standing at the foot of a rather unimpressive building. There was a tall tower with speakers at the top, but overall the whole thing was quite unassuming. David reminded me that much of Agadir was wrecked by an earthquake in 1960, so most buildings, like the mosque, were relatively new and probably not as traditional. We learned later that the more cultural and traditional buildings are in places like Marrakesh, which was a 4 hour bus ride away.

So the mosque wasn't so interesting, but we did a bit of walking and finally hiked back to the hotel.

Friday
We didn't have anything in particular planned for Friday, but at breakfast Soufiane invited us to the beach when he and Jawed got off for the afternoon. So we spent the morning at the pool, then sauntered out to the front steps of the hotel in the early afternoon. There we met up with an English couple who had also been invited, and when the Moroccan boys showed up together we walked down to the beach.

On the beach, Soufiane and Jawed were as cheerful and enthusiastic as they are at work. They immediately egged the four of us to play games and have a good time. When I went swimming, Soufiane tagged along and made sure I was ok after every wave. When I sat on the beach to watch David and Soufiane play soccer, Jawed taught me how to write Arabic in the sand. It was nice, really, but we couldn't help wondering if this was part of their job, hanging out with the tourists in their free time. They were just so nice about it.
That night the restaurant served Moroccan food and a traditional dancer came in to do a little show with a lot of twirling. Soufiane came around and wrote an entire postcard for me in Arabic, and if the recipient can get it translated, I'll be impressed.

Saturday
Saturday morning we woke up relatively early, had a quick breakfast, said goodbye to our waiter friends, and hailed a cab. I sat alone in the backseat for the last time.
So that was our trip to Morocco. We made it back to France without incident and settled in for the second half of our vacation, a week as tourists in Paris. More on that later, with fewer words.