“The use of travelling is to regulate imagination by reality, and instead of thinking how things may be, to see them as they are.” – Samuel Johnson
Taroudant is another walled city, older than Marrakech to the south. We reached here after a long drive from Essaouira, through rolling winding hills. Wide surf beaches, goats in argan oil trees, donkeys, camels, buying bananas, oranges, apricots in the markets of a town in a fertile river valley, seeing sugar cane grown in this valley, the Sous, near Taroudant, were all highlights.
Tomorrow we drive the Tizt-n-Test Pass through the Atlas Mountains to Marrakech. Can’t wait.
It’s windy here. The seagulls even have trouble flying in it . In fact it is so windy that Sharon had her knickers blown completely away today. No, it is not what you are thinking. Her modesty was kept intact at all times. She had done some washing and put things out on our rooftop terrace overlooking the square and when she came back, two pair of her underwear had flown away in the breeze, lost.. Lots of people wear funny hats here. Don’t get me wrong. I like them. I’ve even bought two of them myself. But when we were looking for her knickers, I’m sure that fellow down in the square had a hat that looked suspiciously like a pair of target briefs on his head.
There’s a lot to like about this windy little town on the coast and we’ll take away some good memories for our short stay. A talented young man who showed us his timber workshop at the back of his shop where he gave us a demonstration of how he makes inlaid timber boxes; the two fishermen sitting in their small blue boat who chatted to me about their town and how it was for them to be fishermen of many generations; the happy hawkers harassing us with their hash cookies, “These ones, Sir, are Ha! Ha! cookies but these dark ones are stronger, “Haa-aaaaaaah! Haa-aaaaaaah! cookies”; the old white-coated barber in the market who gave me a haircut and shaved my neck with a cut throat razor, inserting a new blade before making a couple of nicks around my hairline, the blue boats in the harbour; watching the sun set from Taros’ rooftop drinking beers, listening to the band wrapped in thick woollen ponchos waiters hand out to keep patrons warm.
We spend too short a time in some places. Tomorrow, a drive down the coast to Taroundannt.
Butcher shops we saw in Marrakech and now Essaouria have all been outdoors. Today was offal day in the market with just kidneys, stomach linings, goat heads and the like hanging from hooks in the street. We saw this shop a couple of days ago in a back street in Marrakech. We passed by the cow’s head in the morning and by the afternoon when we returned, it was hanging on a hook devoid of skin and most meat. Surprisingly, no flies hang around the meat which is all in the open. Most insects we see are wasps or bees which swarm around the sweets and biscuits on sale.