The charming sense of Morocco’s seaside town Essaouira has little changed in half a century since Jimi Hendrix, and the Stones rocked up the Medina.  Roof top terraces (with endless sea views and lay-back vibe) and a perfect year round temperature.

There are these days however…
It all starts with the wind coming from the South…a warm wind, no more than a breeze that seems to be o so innocent. Until one suddenly notices the surrounding countryside steaming like a boiling kettle. And in a matter of minutes the fog is rolling in over the Medina!  Smoothly like soft milky raib the main streets and little alleys get saturated.  A mysterious silence gets the port and the old town in its grip.

And in this silence you can hear him…Essaouira’s mistery man, the sailor with the wooden leg!

At first he seems far away, and the faster one walks, the closer he seems to come…Your heart is beating faster for every closed door you pass and you feel the drops of mist on your forehead, or is it sweat?!
Then, the moment of confrontation when your mind has convinced you that you’re running in to him while taking that last corner out of the dark alley …
you scream…
The sun peeps through and…
you realize you’re in Morocco. Where stories are told and magic can happen and you smile.
Time for a coffee at Café de France.

Moroccan storytelling is fascinating and the last real storytellers are old. A cultural heritage that threatens to perish. There are several initiatives trying to engage and learn young Moroccans the noble arts of it. Who wouldn’t like the stories of a 1001 nights to last for ever?

Until we meet on our rooftop

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