Rotten Fish and Hot Chips

I spent today in Essaouira, a fishing village on Morocco’s Atlantic coast. It has a seedy beach town vibe with Muslim influence, if you can image that. The beach is long but it is sparsely populated since Moroccan women are fully covered. A lot of the men here are creeps and Essaouira is fairly ugly for a beach town; lots of smog and dirt. There is, however, a bit more flexibility in the dress code, and for the first time I felt fairly comfortable wearing shorts in public. See racy attire below (also an attempt to satisfy David G.’s photo request).




That guy seemed to be doing sit-ups, but I’m not entirely sure.

Anyway, as I mentioned, Essaouira is a fishing village and its main income comes from, guess what, fish! Every day at about four in the afternoon fisherman come up to the dock in their dinky boats and suddenly fish is everywhere. It absolutely stinks; one of the worst things I have ever smelled. It is a sight to see and an odor I hope to never smell again. What struck me as interesting was the fact that the exact same routine has probably existed for centuries; nothing progresses very quickly here. Unfortunately, I don’t have great action shots because most people won’t allow their photo to be taken without payment, if at all.




I had decent swordfish for dinner but my experimental meal was lunch – a meatball sandwich topped with hot chips (fries) and some Moroccan pastries for dessert. The sandwich was satisfying to some extent but also sort of bland. The pastries included a pistachio cookie, a baclava-like bite made with almonds, a honey-coated crisp wonton-shaped pastry filled with something that resembled the filling in pecan pie (not that good), and, my favorite, a crispy, probably fried, sesame cookie-type-thing coated in honey. They were ok, but nothing compared to their Turkish counterparts.




Clearly I have recovered from my upset stomach (as mentioned, probably thanks to the walnuts that I cracked open with a dirty rock), but now I think I have indigestion. Tough life.

Tomorrow I am off to Marrakech and on Sunday to Italy. I have had enough of Morocco.


1 thought on “Rotten Fish and Hot Chips

  1. Looks a little like playing Russian Roulette with your food choices! I think the situp chappie has a relative who often does the same spontaneous movement in Central Park when I am running!

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