SEA YOU NEXT TIME
The next leg was a biggen – a solid 26 hours of straight sailing. We packed the boat up at sunrise and birthed her at the customs dock in Rabat Marina. The port officials went through all of our paper work, punched our passports whilst we had a quick breakfast on the back deck. As part of their procedure, they once again boarded the boat to ensure that we weren’t exporting any of their laughing grass or small children, this time with their most dangerous weapon we’ve seen to date… “Millus”, the black Labrador, who wouldn’t hesitate to lick offenders to death if they put a foot wrong. Or had a croissant on the breakfast table. Kez was most displeased when Millus had the officials convinced that her croissant was laced with illicit drugs and, in the best interest of her fellow countrymen, Millus hoovered it down before you could say “Moroccan Prison”. Lucky she was as cute as hell.
The paperwork finally got the ink required and we set sail – south bound. The standard farewell ensued as hundreds of locals lined the docks and waved hysterically that would have any chiropractor brimming with the prospects. By far the friendliest nation we’ve ever encountered – next to the Samoans (except the ones at King Street Hotel on a Friday night). It was another feel good start to the day with a pod of more than 100 dolphins accompanying us. The sun rose, as if almost on cue and the waves behaved themselves much more than we’d anticipated.
There was much sea life activity as we spotted a gazillion dolphins, swordfish, whales and even sharks. The day fell into late afternoon, which rolled into evening – bringing on the night shift watch. Us self-nominated amateurs were awarded the 9pm – midnight shift… By far the most preferable than the midnight-2am / 2am-4am /4am-6am alternatives. It was pure magic manning the deserted deck with the only accompaniment being the full moon, the cracking of the sail and the swirl of the waves. A few mega-ships crossed our otherwise independent paths which made the navigating a bit more exhilarating , however, the best bit was kicking back with the marital half under the clearest of night skies and playing “eye-spy”. Goes for hours in the dark.
We made it to our destination in great time – but it wasn’t a moment too soon. After a full day-full night-full day of ocean upon ocean, to see, touch and feel land – be it wreaking of human or animal waste – it was like coming across Xanadu.
Essouria was the cutest of villages that we’d encountered to date. Yes, a tad of a tourist haunt, but there was still a surging charm that had the locals become familiar with us and us with them. A particular favourite being Hassan – the cutest single toothed boat minder in the whole of the villáge. This became a handy little connection as we frequented the shores daily for a casual lunch of freshly caught lobster, perfectly executed cocktails over sunset and the “occasional” tangine. Regardless of when or what we came to shore, our little mate Hassan was always at the ready, in his red shirt (the very same he sported for the next week or more two we suspect) awaiting our bullion blocks of payment. AKA Marlboro Reds.
Fantastic locals, beautiful medina and local crafts, food and atmosphere. A brilliant place for our final port of call prior to setting sail for the Canary Islands. Before heading on our voyage, we went for another provisional shop in the local markets – incase we hadn’t embraced the way of life enough, this made sure of it… Skinned beasts being hauled up the street over little ol’ ladies’ bowing shoulders to catch the early butcher trade, chickens minus their apparently useless heads, goats heads on proud display (a Moroccan delicacy… there’s always one!) and weathered elderly men in equally weathered and soiled suits donning their fisty cuffs over the last stall opening to sell their six tomatoes and three twigs of mint.
There were mixed feelings as we put Morocco into our rear vision – those of joy and sadness, we would feel pleased to move on and peel of our several layers of clothing but also of emptiness knowing that we would no longer receive such genuine welcomes and kind smiles – a somewhat rarity at the many cafes in Darby Street. Grimace.
theflightclub 