Monday, November 21, 2011

Agadir Day

First thing this morning, I noticed this decal under the glass on my desk. I assume the arrow points to Mecca.



Then I thought Iheard my neighbor showering butter the sound drew me into the hallway and I opened a window on to a courtyard filled with literally thousands of little swallow-like birds chirping like crazy and eating all the tiny dates.

Oh my God, I'm pretty sure that I have been cruised by a couple of women who have passed me here on the boardwalk of Agadir, or, as I now think of it, the Geriatric Centre of Age Inappropriate Dress and Visible Pubic Hair. Honestly, Speedos on your seventies? No matter how fit you are or how healthy your libido, it is just inappropriate to the owner of these eyes, especially in a Muslim country. And do you need all those accessories and make up at the beach? But there is a Club Med here and a lot of very high-end wrist band resorts (if you know what I mean).

Today is gorgeous—clear, bright and hot. Used to the rain, I forgot my sunscreen.... From one extreme to another. So I set off for the souk, but it is closed on Mondays. So, true to form, I started walking wherever my feet took me knowing eventually that I would make my way to the water.

Where there are flowers!












In 1960, this city was almost completely destroyed by an earthquake. The new city, where I am, is just six kilometers south of the epicenter of that quake. Consequently, the town got a fresh start and built a massive, and I mean MASSIVE boardwalk. It is huge and it is long, and as you walk along it, you almost see nothing but tourists and you hear every language of Europe. I am often mistaken for Dutch, German, English or French but never North American.









When I headed for the souk and did my walk, Agadir struck me as similar to a biggish city in Mexico or Central America, because i was in the "real" working city, but once you cross Boulevard Mohammed V, you are in the aforementioned Centre of Age Inappropriate Dress. It is like a separate community like Veradero in Cuba or Cabo in Mexico. Dull, sterile, pretentious and super clean and new, but what a delight to walk and walk along that boardwalk with the huge rolling crashing waves and a good stiff Atlantic breeze to keep me cool.

While walking through the town, my plan changed by the souk closure, I headed to the towers I could see. This spring, when I was in France, it was the cathedrals that really moved me, not the things I expected. And quel surprise, I am loving the mosque towers I am seeing. Not being a person of faith, it is hard for me to understand why our houses of worship are our highest architectural achievements. But boy, am I glad the faithful created these magnificent structures.



Click on them to make them larger.


And what a drag I was chicken to wander out to a nice local restaurant last night. Having seen the lay of the land today, I know where I am going to eat tonight!! Being in the tourist area, there are lots of places offering local specialties.

Later the same day....

I had a rest from my morning walk at the hotel. (Sometimes "daddy" hotels can be fun like a cruise or a trip to Vegas. The chaises longes were perfect and I was virtually alone. Then I went back to the beach to walk to the dunes at the south end, but when I got there, the military turned me away. Still, my first time putting my feet in the Atlantic I believe.






And this is weathered palm frond. If man had not invented weaving and saw this, he'd get the idea!



On the way home, with the sun hot on my back and tired from about five hours of walking today, I suddenly smelt olive oil and I was overtaken by a typical holiday feeling—that, "I want to be showered and sipping champagne on a comfortable chair with a gorgeous view, warm and fulfilled and relaxing before dinner. But instead, I walked home for a bath, some chillin' and then I will go the the restaurant I saw earlier today. What a day! And tomorrow: another bus ride, this time to Marakesh where I will stay for four nights.



Finally, as only friends are reading this, please write to me at my new email address and not at my Shaw address: chrisisinafrica at gmail dot com.(I am not typing it as a link so as to prevent phishers from writing to me.)






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