Essaouira

The last couple of days in Essaouira have been great. It's a very relaxed beach resort town with a beautiful shore and a lovely, well-preserved medina. I've walked the whole medina and learned how to get around without getting lost. I've found my favorite (so far) bookstore in Morocco, poked around all the stores bursting with local handicrafts, petted all the stray dogs, practiced my very halting Arabic, and made several friends.

I also found a shockingly good Italian restaurant two nights ago, and I liked it so much that I returned last night too. (Don't hate: I've been eating tagine and couscous until they've practically come out of my ears, and I was desperate for something different. It could have been worse--my first day here I saw a restaurant with a sign out front that said "Voted Best Burgers in North Africa" and I nearly cracked and went in, but I think I'll save that particular delicacy for another time.) The Italian place is run by three guys and is called, hilariously, La Mama. Last night they made me a dish of fusili pasta with a red sauce made from tomatoes, lamb, eggplant, and almonds, garnished with fresh herbs. It sounds bizarre, but it was out of this world. Seriously, it would have stood up just fine to any fine Italian restaurant in DC. Total cost of the meal including tax, tip, and beverage was the equivalent of $8. It was so delicious I almost hugged the chef on the way out, but he was smoking a cigarette over a pot of boiling pasta, so we settled for a friendly wave instead. I love Morocco.

I just walked to the bus stop to purchase my ticket to Agadir, another beach town south of here, and I was thrilled to be able to conduct the entire transaction in Arabic, including asking about whether I could travel today or if I had to wait until tomorrow. It wasn't much of a conversation, but it was perfectly effective, and being able to do it gives me such a great (if fleeting) sense of self-sufficiency. In general, my ability to talk with people here is disappointingly limited after two and a half years of fairly hard work learning the language, but it's teaching me to be patient and to celebrate small victories like the ticket conversation. And even though my words are halting and often much more formal than what people use here, they have been indispensable on a number of occasions. Not speaking French is a problem in Morocco, and not speaking Arabic or French would be harder still. But ultimately I get where I need to go and do the things I need to do.

Anyway, I need to quickly reserve a room in Agadir for tonight and then head to the bus. Onward!