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From Essaouira to Marrakech, one is constantly struck by the contrasts in the way of life and living.
At the edge of the Atlantic Ocean, in the fishing port, the streets of the medina are swept by the wind. The wind brings with it fresh air. Here time is not marked in hours, but in the coming and going of the fishing vessels and their masters. The flurry of the fishermen’s hands as they sort out the fresh fillets. The fishmongers pass by with their well-kept punnets of sardines. The waters of Essouira are a haven of tranquillity in stark contrast to the teaming anthill that is the waterfront.
In Marrakech, one already notices the difference in temperature. In Djemaa el Fna Place the snake charmers swoop down on the tourists. This “plaza” is the first lock through which one must pass to enter the “canals” that make up the souks’s universe.
There, in the half-light, one can see the hive of active artists. Two steps further on the skyline is dominated by the minaret of Koutoubi, which inspires both respect and serenity. Among all the carts, bicycles, and cars, a slalom taxi extracts you from this lively milieu: “Mouss” is much more than a taxi driver in Marrakech. He is a guardian angle who will always drive you to your correct destination before giving you a friendly smile.
Morocco is and will always be to me, the country in which I had my first great adventure. It was there that I saw the desert and walked among the sand dunes for the first time. Where only the whistling of the wind broke the utter silence of the desert that filled that space so untainted by pollution. The desert helps me to see myself clearly, and it is where I return to frequently to rediscover myself.
A country where “Welcome” is not an empty expression.
Autor : Vincent Hilaire