Essaouira Sky

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Magic Carpets

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Marrakech rooftop

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The Market

I like the decorative detail on the tower - click the image to get a better view.

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Open Door

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Camel Train by the Sea

Those camels can be very uncomfortable !

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Shady courtyard

It's essential to have somewhere to escape the heat.

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Don't touch my country

This sign implies that no interference is required in Morocco......if you have a more accurate explanation please leave a comment - I have since discovered that it refers to avoiding terrorism.

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Essaouira

It always appears there are far more gulls flying round a Moroccan harbour town than in England.


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We all need to find an Oasis

This picture shows the oasis not far from Taroudannt, Morocco. Water is a rare and precious resource in a country of little rain, which makes such a location all the more miraculous.


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Dog with henna eyebrows

This is a friendly little dog roaming the castle ramparts of Essaouira, Morocco, with some make-up applied by the animal's owner !

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Number 2

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Twenty-sixth

In York the police were now dealing with a suspected murder, they were absolutely clueless in the case of the missing University librarian, which implied they were failing substantially, but it was simply that there were no clues whatsoever. The strain on her family had become unbearable, there seemed to be no hope of any closure in the matter, and even closest relatives feared the worst. I couldn’t understand why the police had to use old-fashioned expressions like ‘come to harm’, why couldn’t they just use plain English and say she’d most likely been harmed by a man ?

In some ways it would have been a relief to find her body floating in the Ouse or Foss, yet there was always that glimmer of hope while no physical evidence was found. Despite TV appeals and some calls from the public hardly anything other than vague reports of suspicious-looking characters around the University emerged.

The students came back from yet another long holiday, and in all those thousands of young people there was nothing significant to help the official investigation. They were mostly concerned with getting on with academic life, which consisted of drinking, plenty of sex, sleeping into the afternoon, and the minimum amount of work.

Jess continued to take the whole thing very personally, as if she was somehow directly involved in the woman’s disappearance just because she worked on the campus. I had learned to limit any questions about her day to the most banal details only, struggling at times to maintain a cheerful and optimistic atmosphere.
‘I was attacked a few years ago’ she blurted out eventually.

‘What ?!’

‘Near the Central Hall.’

‘What do you mean ? Were you hurt ?’

‘I screamed and kicked so much he ran off.’

‘But isn’t it a busy area round there anyway ?’

‘Not at two in the morning.’

‘You were OK then ?’

‘Of course I bloody wasn’t’ she screamed.

‘I’m sorry, I don’t...’

‘I only had a few scratches, he probably came off worse, but you can’t just forget about something like that.’

‘Did you report it ?’

‘I did, but I’d had quite a bit to drink, and they didn’t take my story too seriously; I couldn’t give much of a description.’

She started crying, and I tried to comfort her, but she pulled away.

Twenty-third

While Jess performed her daily duty as a wage slave, I continued my almost daily explorations of the small city of my birth. The spring in particular was a lovely time, if you could utilise the brief window in time before tourists overwhelm our narrow streets and snickleways, with names like Whip-Ma-Whop-Ma-Gate, The Shambles and Mad Alice Lane.

I always seemed to end-up in the compact and delightful garden of the Treasurer’s House, which was free to go into, unlike the house itself, unless going to the cafe in the haunted basement. There are few better places outdoors to munch on a large pasty or substantial baguette filled with real Yorkshire ham.

I like to watch other visitors, so long as they don’t come to close, because some are lovely young women, or so they seem on the surface. Just because you’re in a genuine love relationship doesn’t mean you can ignore female beauty, it would be an uncomfortable denial of the reproductive impulses we all share.

Yet it’s also good to have a non-human experience of pure solitude, when you’re the only soul amidst all the plants and crumbling stonework. The massive east end of the Minster looms so very close, and often concealed behind scaffolding and plastic covers.

Sometimes the fountain is working, and the sound of water gently falling into the pool of colourful fish can allow you to imagine it’s a Japanese Zen garden, where it’s possible to exist in an exalted state removed from shadows of the past or worries about the future.

‘Are you a local ?’ an American woman asked.

‘No, but it’s a lovely place’ I replied.

‘You sound like you might be from here.’

‘I’ve always had the unconscious ability to adopt the accent of any place I visit, unless it’s abroad.’

‘How fascinating.’

‘Not really, it only brings confusion in my conversations with others.’

‘I suppose it would.’

‘Where are you from ?’

‘Los Angeles.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that.’

‘Why ?’

‘I’ve been told it has no centre, no heart.’

‘That’s not entirely true.’

‘Don’t be offended. Anyway how are you enjoying old York ?’

‘It’s wonderful ! And the weather is great.’

‘Just like L.A. then, but with an ancient heart.’

Twenty-second

It was a surprise at breakfast the following morning to see the other Australian girl at one of the few tables; Jess immediately went over to speak to her, which was typically brave and bold, and not the kind of thing I’m able to do with any sense of ease. I had only expected they’d exchange a few polite words, because the young woman was naturally in quite a state of grief and distress. After about twenty minutes of intense conversation Jess finally returned to the seat next to me.

‘What was all that about ?’

‘She hasn’t been able to leave yet because she’s run out of money and is waiting for funds from her parents.’

‘And that took all those minutes to explain ?’

‘No, the more disturbing news was that she had been followed by a man in Essaouira, and her description is very similar to the person I saw in the medina.’

‘The one you thought you saw.’

‘She’s also convinced that her friend didn’t drown.’

‘Does she think this man is involved ?’

‘The poor lass is not really thinking logically at all; but like ourselves she didn’t want to remain in Essaouira.’

‘I’m amazed she’s still in the country.’

‘Apparently she has a friend working in Taroudannt for some UK charity, something to do with agricultural development.’

‘So why isn’t she staying with the friend ?’

‘The chap is out in one of the Berber villages at the moment, but he’s expected back tonight or tomorrow.’

‘The poor lass looks in a right state.’

‘I asked if she wanted any help, but she said this bloke would be back soon.’

Jess didn’t touch any of her breakfast, but it would have taken something really momentous to prevent me from tucking-in, though I wasn’t too sure about the local ‘pancakes’ that looked more like the inside of a cow’s stomach. I decided to opt for the safety of croissants and coffee, and also daubed some Laughing Cow cheese on a couple of bread slices.

‘I bet you eat all the buffet at funerals’ Jess said sarcastically.

‘I’ve got a larger frame to sustain than you.’

‘I won’t argue with that.’

Twenty-first

We did have a brief stop in the tourist resort of Agadir for some ice cream, but the driver seemed rather unimpressed with the place, and only laughed when I asked if there was an older part of town. It was not far inland to the much more historic settlement of Taroudannt, and yet again we encountered a couple of police road blocks, presumably only dealing with routine driving infringements, rather than the death of an Australian tourist.

Our initial impressions of the small walled town were good, with long palm-fringed boulevards running in front of crumbling fortifications, and in the distance the inspiring sight of the western High Atlas Mountains. There was plenty of motorised traffic, but also quite a few horse-drawn carriages waiting patiently in the heat and dust for tourists or more affluent locals.

After the romantic riad of Essaouira it was slightly disappointing to find that our next pre-booked accommodation was more like a drab English bed and breakfast, and set in an uninspiring residential area; but after the unfortunate events involving our camel trekking companion we were relieved to move on to a new place for a few days. One excellent feature of our hotel in Taroudannt was the high roof terrace, which offered 360-degree views of the town and surrounding countryside, though we often found the mountains were obscured by dust storms. Locals were acutely aware there had been no rain in the last few years, which inevitably had an impact on the fertile soil of the Souss Valley, and the produce traded at the lively markets.

‘This room is rather modern and tacky.’

‘It seems clean enough’ Jess replied.

Our assessment of the facilities was interrupted by an invitation to ascend the narrow metal stairway for some coffee and a variety of small cakes; we were close to at least two mosques, which suddenly commenced the deafening call to prayer.

‘It’s great to be so high above the town’ Jess shouted.

‘I’m not so sure about the quality of construction - that wall is very thin considering there’s a hundred foot drop.’

‘Don’t lean on it then.’

Jess was happy to close her eyes and sit back after the long taxi ride, but I was keen to look at the view from every angle, despite all the dirt and sand that was being whipped-up and gradually suffocating the town in a wall of swirling particles.

Twentieth

It would have been good to experience a massive thunderstorm in Morocco, like the one’s we sometimes get in North Yorkshire, and the aftermath when all the plants seem so much greener and the roads are flooded right across.

There was that time we were sheltering in the Netto supermarket, with the rain beating down so hard on the metal roof, and the unexpected boom of thunder that caused an old woman to drop a packet of cornflakes. By the time we’d bought a few bargain items the rain had stopped and the car park was steaming with the evaporation that had already started.

Though there might have been a chance of being struck by lightning, I recall another time when Jess and I ran out at the peak of a storm wearing only t-shirts. There was nobody else down by the river, and the Ouse looked extraordinary as the brief monsoon rain danced madly on the water’s surface.

‘We’re going to die !’ I shouted above the noise of such heavy rain.

‘Don’t be a baby !’ Jess shouted back.

I couldn’t help noticing her lovely breasts and firm nipples beneath the sodden t-shirt, even though my glasses were virtually useless in the wet conditions. We went back to the flat and ripped-off our clothes, making love on the lounge floor as the lightning and thunder continued for what seemed like hours.

‘Does my hair look a mess ?’ she asked when things had calmed down.

‘Yes, a lovely mess.’

‘I need a hot shower.’

I was left to gaze out of the window, as people emerged from the shelter of shop doorways, and normality resumed for a while until the next violent cloudburst. If we’d been smokers I suppose we’d have lit cigarettes, but instead I made some hot tea for when my lady emerged in her dressing gown. I tried putting my hand between her open thighs, hoping for a resumption of our recent activity, but she pulled away with a little smile.

‘You men are never satisfied.’

‘If we were, the human race would die out.’

‘Not now we’ve got test tubes and all those clever scientists; men are more or less redundant.’

‘Thanks a lot !’

‘Not you, you’re special.’

We both chuckled, enjoying the strong tea and watching the sun come out over the Bonding Warehouse.

Eighteenth

I don’t know why dead people are so often found in the water; it was the same with the missing University worker in York, except the woman’s body found in the Ouse wasn’t her. It was an apparently less significant lady from the Doncaster area, but the whole episode was inevitably agonising for the family and friends of the disappeared library assistant, for whom hope was uncomfortably vanishing.

Despite having some inclination towards Tibetan Buddhism I have grown more into the view that when we die that’s it, unless you’re buried and literally rot away, forming an elaborate human compost in the lonely earth of the graveyard. But we can never really know, and I hate these people who are so certain that any kind of afterlife is a load of nonsense; at least we should keep our minds open – unlike those that are so definite about global warming, or that all fat people should be mercilessly ridiculed.

In our so-called ‘advanced’ societies we try not to talk about death, and even pretend that life can be extended almost indefinitely with the help of medical science. In many other cultures they still retain an awareness that life and death are all part of the same process, and humans should simply make the most of what they have in the here and now. For some this means pure selfish indulgence, forgetting that the most important aspects of our lives cannot be bought at Tesco.

‘It wasn’t the lass from the Uni. then’ I commented, reading the local paper.

‘Not this time’ Jess replied.

‘You don’t hold out much hope then ?’

‘I’d like to believe she’d gone off with some bloke for romantic reasons, but she didn’t seem the type to withhold that kind of information from family and friends.’

‘She appeared to be quite sociable for a library assistant.’

‘What does that mean ?!’

‘She liked going to pubs.’

‘I don’t think libraries are the silent tombs they used to be, and some of the people working there are quite bubbly.’

‘I’ve always preferred buying books.’

‘Not everybody has your wealth.’

‘My inheritance is fast diminishing.’

‘And then what will you do ?’

Jess would ask me this question from time to time, implying that I was nothing more than a lazy, rudderless child; and I would always reply with silence.

Sixteenth

It was a real shock to wake up after a good night’s sleep in the tent and find that she was missing; at first the other Australian nurse thought her friend had simply wandered down to the ocean, or gone the other way to quietly undertake an essential bodily function.

But when she hadn’t returned for breakfast, the remaining girl was starting to become hysterical, and was not listening to our attempts at offering some rational explanation. The guides were fairly calm, and simply suggested she might have strolled back along the beach to Essaouira.

The English family were keen on calling the police, but those that had mobile phones couldn’t get a signal or were out of battery; our guides told us we should all return to the ranch and stables where we set-off, and telephone the local bobbies from there. The Australian girl just wouldn’t stop crying, and refused to leave the camp, so one of the guides and the mother from the family stayed with her, promising they would make a thorough search of the surrounding area.

There was a sombre mood in the camel train returning the last few miles to the ranch, though still the possibility she had been so fed-up with roughing it that a longish walk back to a cafe or her riad felt like the best option on a beautiful and cool morning.

‘What do you reckon, Jess ?’

‘I’m not sure, but it seems odd just to take-off without speaking to her friend.’

‘Yes.’

‘They both appeared to be thoroughly enjoying themselves last night.’

‘No sign of any problems at all.’

It was strange now we were almost back to feel that we’d finally mastered the art of being a camel jockey, or at least learned how to minimise the discomfort of having your legs spread so widely, accompanied by continuous jolting. What should have been an occasion to celebrate the small triumph of a successfully completed trek was completely overshadowed by the unexpected development, and the continued uncertainty about the seriousness of the situation.

‘I’ll be glad to get back to the bloody riad’ I said.

‘The police might want to question us.’

‘Well, they’ll know exactly where we are.’

‘If English coppers are anything to go by, they won’t do anything much for at least twenty-four hours.’

‘The stupid bitch is probably sat in some cafe enjoying a nice, big breakfast.’

Fifteenth

Even if it had been possible to drink a barrel of red wine every night at home, we still could not escape reality or ourselves, yet there is always the element of addiction that can creep up on you like the most sinister stalker. We tried to confine our drinking to the weekend period only and not in ridiculous quantities, which ought to give the body time to recuperate – from Monday to Thursday.

I do worry about people who will not even have the occasional glass of alcohol, and their lives have almost a religious fervour surrounding them. I suppose there is some kind of balance to be found between excess and abstinence, but it is not an easy place to find.

Living in the flat near the river in York, not far from Jess’s original place, the only unwelcome caller we can regularly expect is flood water, particularly, though not exclusively, during the winter months. This last winter has been exceptionally dry, apart from some brief interludes of snowy weather, which would probably bring a smug smile to the face of Al Gore and other climate change activists, but are humans really more powerful than nature itself ? They should try living by the River Ouse when the brown water is almost up to the road deck on Skeldergate Bridge !

Our water companies are pushing for all older properties to have meters (matching new-builds), yet in many parts of the United Kingdom there is an abundance of water; if they are experiencing problems in the densely-populated London area and wider Southeast, then it must of course be the same everywhere. Our utilities have become too dominated by the profit motive, and a distorted picture is sometimes presented using global warming arguments.

When the floods do come in historic York, Wales, Carlisle, Gloucestershire or wherever - if all that water was harnessed, rather than left to cause misery then dissipate, we’d have plenty for all to enjoy, using a better network of reservoirs and long-distance pipes. Jess always tells me to get off my bloody soapbox when I start to get into another argument with myself on the subject of weather, transport or health.

It’s a joy to have a window looking over the river, and not to have a property on the ground floor ! Jess loves to throw open these barriers of thin glass and let the fresh air replace any damp and staleness that has accumulated over the winter months. This is our own moment of renewal after all the months of darkness; to see her face glowing, and more radiant than all the golden daffodils on the city walls.

‘I’m glad we chose this place’ she would say.

‘It’s good, and cheap.’

‘Always counting the pennies.’

‘What else would you expect from a true Yorkshireman ?’

‘Romance.’

This would be my cue to embrace her, like gathering-up a large bouquet of spring flowers from the wilderness meadows near Wheldrake Ings, as the roaming Derwent finally finds its way to the Ouse, Humber, and the sea.