education

Sunday, June 26, 2011
Our days in Morocco are long and full and delightful. I miss our kids terribly and long to share so much of what we are seeing with them. Though we are only 2 hours by plane from them, I feel worlds away. I attempt to reassure myself with the confidence I have in Geninha and Filinto and the great value for Marcos and Jenna to enjoy Portuguese life without their parents. Duarte and I too are noticing that there are many things we are learning about one another. The moment Marcos was born cracked open a world of parenthood and work and negotiation and ultimately less time to tend to a relationship. The hours and hours of travel with Duarte have given us hours and hours to talk, to discover the new world around us, to laugh really hard, to be quiet and to reacquaint ourselves with the older versions of who we were when we stopped doting entirely on one another. Though my heart yearns for my children, I am enjoying this gift of time.
Arriving in Essaouira after a 3-hour ride upon the smelly “Marrakech express” last Thursday, Duarte and I looked around and within minutes thought and said aloud…”I’m not so sure about this place.” Neither of us understood the appeal of a place so ugly, so windy and so vacant. We decided to give it a day and then plan our next move. We have now been here four days and we are still marveling over each new discovery. Essaouira has many hidden charms.
A tradition that Duarte and I started during our honeymoon in Greece is to buy a piece of artwork as a long lasting souvenier to capture our travel. Our quest to find the perfect painting that we both agree upon that best captures our combined experience is part of the adventure we find in traveling together. Yesterday, we found our painting deep within the medina walls. We talked with artist and fell in love with our painting and returned to our hotel room entirely satisfied with our new treasure, the price we paid, the experience of finding it and ultimately the sense of relief that our quest had been fulfilled.
With our treasure found, we decided to enjoy an afternoon on the beach since the wind had calmed a bit. As a western woman, wearing a bathing suit on the beach is a bit uncomfortable – even if it is a more conservative tankini. Arab men swarm the scantily clad women and engage in creative tactics to start up conversation. While Duarte was completely engaged in his book, I spent my time on the beach watching men harass white women.
A western woman sat down on the beach beside us. She was wearing a full length skirt and a long sleeved shirt. Because she was by herself the muslim men on the beach decided she must want some company. Their tactics were interesting but not real convincing. “Hello…Alo…Ola…Bon Jour…” attempting to discern her origin. “Can I bum a cigarette, a drink of water?” For some reason the woman obliged one man’s request and told him he could sit and smoke one cigarette with her. He worked it hard with her while he smoked his cigarette as slowly as possible. To no avail and with cigarette no more, the woman dismissed the eager man. She sat quietly taking in the scene. Man after man swooped in with a variety of tactics. Finally, the woman apparently became fed up and walked away.
I made the mistake of walking more than five feet away from Duarte to take a picture. Within the 4 minutes that I was gone, I received more compliments and assurances of my beauty than can be imagined within such a limited time. I made a note to myself after that to put my shirt and pants on before standing up.
There were many muslim women on the beach. They were up and about playing volley ball with their husbands, chasing their children, swimming in the ocean – but fully clothed. What was striking to me is that many of the men were wearing only their underwear. Really. As I mentioned before, this weekend had attracted millions to attend the international music festival. Many people, I assume, didn’t plan on swimming and thus shed their pants and wore their underwear to sunbathe, to play soccer and to swim.
Duarte and I walked away from the crowd and down the beach, beyond the camels and the horses. There we found a more peaceful Essouira. We encountered a few surfers, kite surfers, and a very joyous exuberant drum circle.
This place is amazing – so colorful – so very different from any other place I have ever been before. Our first impression of Essaouira was entirely wrong. With each hour, with each step we take, we see and learn more and more. Travel is certainly the greatest education of all.