Leaving La Linea and Gibraltar in the chilly pre-dawn darkness, we were surrounded by constellations of colorful twinkling lights: lights on shore, on other vessels, and on navigational aids. SD puttered down the bay with the crew bundled up in hoodies, Ken at the helm and Katie nursing her second cup of coffee, as we passed the looming black hulls of anchored big ships, with their upper decks lit up like landed spacecraft.
At first light, we entered the Strait of Gibraltar, known for its erratic and sometimes violent conditions. Happily, we made our passage with only a few encounters with tide rips and patchy fog, and Ken quickly got wise to some wave patterns that he was able to use to give us a boost.
Once we were in the Atlantic Ocean, we were met with 9-12 foot swells from the NW, but with a calm sea state and a 12-second period between the swells, we weren’t uncomfortable.
Over the next three days, winds were for the most part light and variable. We saw little marine traffic other than an occasional ship or fishing boat, and one open fishing boat that came alongside SD, her crew smiling, waving, and asking for cigarettes. (No joy there, mates.)
The predicted northerlies were too light to overcome the big swell, although one brief period of a northerly breeze had us flying our spinnaker for a couple of hours. However, for most of the passage we ended up doing a lot of motor-sailing. So much so, in fact, that we realized that we were going to run out of fuel before we reached our destination. With no useable wind in the forecast, we set a course for the coast of Africa, and headed for Morocco and the port of Essaouira.
Essaouira was once the main port serving Marrakesh. From the mid-18th to the end of the 19th century, the caravan trade travelled from sub-Saharan Africa to Timbuktu, through the desert and over the mountains to Marrakesh. From Marrakesh to Essaouira, the road is a straight line.
We arrived at Essaouira at dawn, anchored in the big bay outside the harbor, and made some much-needed coffee while waiting for the daylight to fill in. At full light we dinghied into the “U”-shaped harbor, and were met with a scene the likes of which we’d never yet encountered.
Big 60-foot work-weary wooden trawlers and dredges were rafted 3-deep along one area of the concrete quay, while another section held several dozen small open wooden boats, all bunched up together like a flock of sheep. The quay was crowded with people buying and selling the just-off-the boat fish, and the fish were everywhere – some loaded in carts, some dumped on ice in coolers, some simply piled up on tarps on the ground. Nets lay here and there in lumpy mounds, and reefer trucks, motorbikes, and bicycles dodged the thongs of pedestrians. Over it all, a blizzard of seagulls filled the sky, diving and wheeling, crying and complaining. And pooping.
We tied up at a small dock and were immediately greeted by a port official, who directed us to Immigration. Enroute to the office, we met a policeman at the sentry post, who spoke excellent English and kindly escorted us to the proper door. Using a mix of French and English, we managed to get checked in, and followed up with Customs and the Port Police. The officials politely insisted that we move SD into the harbor, “for your security”. Never being ones to argue with foreign police, especially ones carrying side-arms, off we went to fetch her in. We rafted up to the only other yacht in the harbor, a local day-tripper boat crewed by Sayeed and English–speaking Omar, both of whom were all smiles and only too happy to be of assistance.
Our English-speaking policeman friend procured a taxi for us, which turned out to be a motorcycle with a pick-up truck-type bed on the back. Omar came along as translator, and somehow managed to sit beside the driver on the motorcycle, while we squatted in the back, with seven jerry jugs and the corpse of someone’s old outboard motor. After a stop at an ATM, we hit the fuel station, filled our jugs, and returned to SD to top up our tank. Easy peasy. As we were passing the sentry post on re-entry, “our” policeman halted us to inspect the success of our mission, and, nodding his approval, said to Ken, “You give him [the driver] five, and also give him [Omar] something”. Roger that.
We spent the afternoon catching up on the sleep we’d missed the night before, and in the evening took a stroll around the edge of the harbor. We were immediately adopted by a smiling older gentleman, who appointed himself as our tour guide, pointing out historical sites and offering tidbits of local color. Evidently this was once quite the draw as an exotic get-away for the “tune in, turn on, drop out” crowd, and sometime in the late 1960’s, Jimi Hendrix and Cat Stevens stayed here. (Although probably not together.) As we walked, we passed stall after stall of fish for sale, now all attractively arranged to tempt buyers. The sheer volume was astonishing: fin fish, sharks, conger eels, shrimp, squid, mussels, and thousands of sardines.
We bought a bowl of excellent spicy home-made soup from a Muslim lady tending a little food cart, and ate it sitting on the high wall that fronts the seaward side of the harbor, watching local teenagers swimming in the sea against a wicked current.
We thanked our guide (and greased his open palm) and went off to the open-air restaurant area a few meters inland, ready to treat ourselves to some of that super-fresh seafood. The fish at the restaurant were displayed on a bed of crushed ice, and we selected a small snapper, a dozen fresh sardines, and a handful of calamari rings. It all arrived at our table fifteen minutes later, grilled to perfection, with no breading, batter, dressing, or sauce, other than fresh lime wedges to squeeze over it all. Outstanding!
After our meal, we took a walk into the old town, wandering in the fading light through the rabbit warren of narrow streets as the wail of the muezzin began from the nearby mosque. Filled with tiny, colorful, bazaar-style shops, the maze of streets had a definite aura of the exotic images that come to mind with the names Morocco, Marrakesh, and Casablanca.
Returning home to SD, we gratefully settled in for a night of uninterrupted sleep. With a planned early-morning departure, we regretted being unable to spend more time in this remarkable town, but we will remember forever the magic of Morocco.
Cheers! Katie and Ken
To see where we are now, click on the YOTREPS gadget
Are you guys still afloat? Hope all is well.
ReplyDeleteWe made it safely to Lanzarotte Canary Islands. SD is on the hard waiting for our return from the USA in January. K&K
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