When lounging in a beach bar, people gossiping around you and music playing soft lobby-like tunes, it isn’t without curiosity you see the bartender turn down the volume of the music. In the middle of the day? High season, with the bar packed full of guests? But then you hear the minaret call out, and the call to prayer echoes all through town. And then you remember – we are in Morocco. Islam is all around, here.
After the two-minute prayer call is done, the bartender turns up the music again – and you could well think yourself to be in any, random, beach town.
We’ve finally reached the shoreline of Morocco again, not having seen it since Casablanca. The quiet village of Essaouira turns a bit more lively at night, but still – this is a haven of sorts, where the worn traveler can put their backpack down and feet up. We’ve focused on the latter for a day, and are now off to taste the specialties of this place – fish in all of it’s varieties.
