The Recap - Morocco

In a country where a dressing gown is a legitimate cold weather attire option, when a bus stops you get out, take your shoes off and pat some water on your socks, burn your rubbish to dispose of it, see goats in trees and a sheep's head is a Saturday night dinner treat, we've had the most interesting, testing, travel hardening, enjoyable time of our lives.

It goes without saying that Morocco is hard work.  It will take weeks to get over arriving in a new place and thinking "shit, here we go again".  The threat of waking up and having a freezing cold shower is a very real, daily possibility.  You get sick of carrying emergency toilet paper but it's your best friend when you're out and caught short - I still can't actually envisage "sloshing" with my left hand.  Being able to open your mouth again in a shower is heavenly.  My few day test on the Meknes water had, umm, loose results.   However it was all worth it and we would do it again in a heartbeat.  Maybe I wouldn't do the water thing again.

The Ticks

• Eating everything with your hands.  There's a unique type of pleasure associated with slowly tearing your bread into pieces to then mop up meat juices along with picking up a chunk of meat and jamming it in your mouth shortly after.
• The pace of life.  People talk about 'dropping down a gear or two '.  In Morocco you're driving an automatic car and it's in Drive however you haven't actually engaged the accelerator pedal and the car is just slowly moving along.
• So many cats!  Kittens, pregnant cats, cats with balls (!).  So.  Many.  Cats.
• It's a meat lovers paradise.  Meat at every turn.  What's not to love.
• Buying the food that you want to eat then taking it to the cafe whose coffee you want to drink.  Simplistic genius.
• The warm appreciation associated with using just a few basic Arabic words.  Anyone who tells you you can get by with just French is correct.  However you will win absolutely no respect.

The Crosses

• Cat penises.
• The constant threat of being ripped off and the very blurred line between genuine, just being a nice guy assistance and assistance with ulterior motif.
• Every Moroccan had way too many "friends".
• Cold showers.  I hate those guys.
• Hocking up oysters/coughing/snorting/sniffing/general unpleasant bodily sounds.
• Moroccan travel sickness.  Not a fun thing to bear witness to.

The Food

This is ridiculously difficult so I've split it into three categories.

The Highest Deliciousness to Price Ratio

The 10 dirham stuffed pancreas and spleen sandwiches in Fes are hard to beat.  Buying these was one of the few times in Morocco where we went, "surely it can't be that cheap" and it actually was that cheap.

The Tastiest

The tanjia from Stall 13 in Marrakesh.  One of those situations where your expectations are high and then the final product blows those expectations out of the water.

The Most Adventurous

Definitely the Ball.  Acquiring it, having it prepared and eating it is still all a bit too surreal.

The Drink

It has to be tea.  It's everywhere, you can't escape it, but why would you want to?

Maroc whiskey isn't just about what's in the cup it's everything else that comes with drinking a cup that makes it what it is.  The care that it's made with, pouring it back and forth between cup and teapot to carbonate it and to ensure that the sugar is mixed through evenly is ceremonious and immensely therapeutic in itself, and the best bit is yet to come.

Sitting there, slowly sipping your tea and watching whatever interesting scene your mind can conjure up unfold in front of you is easily one of the world's most pleasurable experiences.  We will sorely miss Moroccan tea and the joy it brought it us on the daily.

The Final Port of Call: Tangier

Our time in Tangier was brief but good.  It consisted of lazing about in some of its world famous cafes, watching daily Moroccan life slowly drift by and one fabulous, eccentric meal.

I've got to say our hopes for Tangier weren't high given it was our final Moroccan stop and the final steeping stone back to one of our oldest and greatest friends.  We expected to view it as a roadblock back to our old friend but instead it was the perfect end to a long, very dry, stretch of road.

The Cafe Scene 

Tangier had the best westerner friendly cafe scene that we came across in Morocco.  It's been given a helpful little kick by various well known writers drifting through, the Stones rolling (so bad) through a couple of them and scenes from the Bourne Ultimatum being shot in one of them.  But that all pales in comparison now that a hungry traveller (+ lady friend) has graced them with his presence.

Cafe Tingis 

Probably our pick of the bunch.  We outstayed our welcome on more than one occasion here but sitting and watching Moroccan life slowly meander along was just too bloody enjoyable.  And the coffee is spot on too.

Cafe Central 

Similar to Cafe Tingis, Cafe Central sits on the Petite Soco.  A square that's been around since the beginning of time.  Maybe that's not entirely true but it's seen various empires rise and fall and has had millions of coffees served on it.

Back to Cafe Central.  We dropped in for a tea late one night and whilst very posh (by Moroccan standards anyway) and very nice the vantage point on the square isn't as good as Cafe Tingis and the tea was one of our worst of Morocco.  Back to Tingis the following morning.

Cafe de Paris

This one is outside of the medina walls and looks out over the Place de France.  To me it has the feel of the Maroc version of a Viennese coffee house.  It was also a bit like Cafe Central but without the hint of pretence, less westerners, better prices and great coffee and tea.

Cafe Hafa

This one's a bit out of the box compared the the previous three.  It's well away from the medina, set on the beach and there are no waiters in waistcoats here.

The view is impeccable, the coffee and tea v good and the atmosphere is very local and very relaxed.  A little bit of kif assists with that evidently.

Le Saveur du Poisson

Whilst steadfastly embedded into a very well worn tourist trail you feel that this place has managed to maintain the authenticity and eccentricity that it initially set out with.

We wandered outside of the medina walls in what we thought was the right direction, up a set of stairs that we'd read about somewhere that you have to take and then hesitated out of the front of what we believed to be the restaurant until the owner ushered us in whilst patting us both on the head and laughing as he did so.

Shark teeth hang from the walls, there's a life size cut out of Popeye in the corner and the roof is ringed with what look like years upon years of old ceramic cooking pots that don't go anymore.  This place is random at best.

Before we knew it we had a simple fish broth with a few squid rings in it and a glass of juice made with more then ten different fruits in front of us.  And that was to go with the massive bowls of nuts and olives that had already been plonked down.

This is not the place to come to if you have allergies or foods that you don't particularly like.  The dishes come out thick and fast and there's no opportunity for "ahhh I actually don't like fish" or "do you have a vegetarian menu?".

Whilst we were only half way through the broth out came a tagine of baby shark (oo so adventurous), squid and spinach.  Bloody beautiful.

And without us noticing there were two whole sole and two grilled baby shark brochettes placed before our already bulging stomachs.  The sole was my highlight of the meal.  It was cooked to the exacting standards I've only before seen under the roof of H+P Brimson.

The sucked dry plates were cleared and out came not one but two completely unnecessary desserts.  One was strawberries, raspberries and crushed nuts with a glob of honey over the top and the other was what we believed to be dessert couscous.  Both were great but only put further pressure on those ever expanding waists lines.

We rolled down the street unbelievably full but feeling extremely satisfied.

Stay tuned for the catch up with our good mate.

Goodbye Morocco.

Blue All Over Chefchaouen

The blue-est place in the world?  Quite possibly.  It's certainly one of the most scenically situated cities on this planet.

A city framed by the imposing Rif Mountains with a medina bordered by a waterfall and filled with buildings, doors, trees, everything painted calming shades of blue, and with enough hash to go round for everyone.  A truly magnificently relaxed and beautiful place.

We lost a week here.  The following set of photos will make it very easy for you to understand why.

Restaurant Populaire Bab Ssour

Aside from Hassan's tagines in Mirleft, this was the only restaurant that we returned to again and again and again.  And again.  Yes, we went there four times.

Calamari, anchovy, prawn and wild mushroom tagines to die for and tanjia like beef that rivals that of Marrakech (albeit that was lamb) lured us back time and time again.

Oh, and tea that was brewed with what we believed to be tarragon was more than enough for dessert.

Orange Juice 

Sitting up next to the waterfall having the best OJ of the trip was a daily highlight of Chefchaouen too.  When we could pry the man away from his kif pipe to press it for us that is.

Feasting Like a Fassi in Fes

Fes is an eater's dream.  If you stay in the right areas there's great, cheap food at every turn.

We'd lost a bit of weight prior to Fes.  Too many pastries and too much magnificent bread quickly reversed that.

Here are the highs and lows.

The Bread Man Cometh 

Our first night in Fes we sat on the balcony of our "hotel" and watched these guys sell enough bread to feed the entirety of Fes twice over.  This was clearly where you got the good stuff from.

During the following week we worked our way through each of their offerings over our morning coffees and then most afternoons went back for a top up on their sensationally more-ish onion mssamen.  The highlight however was an interesting flat bread made from what tasted and looked like broken rice.  When smothered in honey this was heaven in bread form.

However our greatest ever rapport failing unfolded here.  Everyday the same serious man would serve us and everyday he would seemingly get grumpier and grumpier at having to serve the two foreigners whose only method of ordering was pointing and then indicating the wedge size that they would like with their hands.

This man did not crack, not once.

I think deep down he loved us.  Even after I dropped some coins in the rest of the bread.

And that's not him in the photo by the way.  He would never smile or laugh like that.

The Khlii Fear

After watching a man who makes his living out of eating strange food react to Khlii like this...  4 minutes 30 second in

...we had to hunt it down.

Khlii is sort of like the Maroc equivalent of beef jerky that's been cooked and then preserved in animal fat, oil and water.  And after four weeks in Southern Morocco without any luck it was suddenly everywhere once we'd hit the North.

After a couple of days in Fes we finally plucked up the courage to try it and ordered a Khlii omelette tagine for breakfast.  It was sensational.

It's cooked in all of its preserving concoction and the result is an omelette that's drowning in fatty, oily goodnees and punching through it are the amazing, salty little bits of meat.  How Zimmern didn't like this we're not sure.  It is very nearly our food highlight of Morocco.  We had it a second time for good measure and it certainly doesn't get any worse.

Sexy Pancakes 

These are cool.  Light, eggy pancakes that are cooked on that strange, oblong, football shaped thing.  Like a thin, silky blouse laid upon a buxom breast.  Now that's food porn.  LOLZ

The Failure

The much vaunted camel burger at Clock Cafe.  Having heard and read a heap about this "monstrous" camel burger, the "gigantic" camel burger, we were v excited.  Oh how we'd waited for this.

We entered a place filled with way more westerners than our instincts would normally allow and ordered an item from the menu that was more than half of our daily spending budget in Morocco.  But.  BUT!  It was going to be worth it.  This thing was going to taste great and two of us were going to struggle to get through it.

Needless to say our expectations were high.  So when a burger was presented to us that would qualify as a kid's burger in Australia my hopes quickly diminished.

The burger itself was just OK.  However it would just be considered a decent burger back home.

There are reasons why we have instincts. We felt like average western turds for the hour that we were in that cafe.  And they were just feelings.

The Redemption

Let's head in the complete opposite direction following the failure above.  During our first night in Fes we headed to a little non-descript sandwich shop and squeezed in with the 'in the know' Moroccans for two sandwiches loaded with stuffed spleen and stuffed pancreas, that were absolute taste and flavour explosions and cost just one fifth of the cost of one of those pathetic little burgers at Clock Cafe.

I write this in the hope that people (like us) who search the interweb for good things to eat in Fes stumble across this blog and skip the Clock Cafe Camel Con and instead spend their hard earned dollars on food that is five times the quality and a tenth of the cost of other more well known options.

Harira Heaven

We have a new best harira of Morocco.  Sorry guys - the second best harira in Morocco...

Tucked into a little side street off Tala Saghira (down the Bab Boujeloud end) is a man serving up bowls of this Moroccan staple that coat your ribs in the cold Fassi nights.  Great stuff!

Yoghurt Things 

Homemade, slightly soured Moroccan yoghurts that are similar in texture to silken tofu.  Good but not entirely to our tastes.  However at 30 cents a pop you can't really go wrong.

Various Random Pastries

There was a lot of pointing and hoping when it came to ordering pastries in Fes.  The best came from a man with a pram loaded with triangle shaped pastries filled with almond meal paste or rice and covered in honey.  The rice ones were unexpectedly the best.  V good.

Fes, the Stuff that Happened in Between the Eating

So once again we rocked up in a Moroccan city with our shackles up prepared for war.  No, we don't want a cheap hotel, we don't want hash, we don't want to eat at your restaurant, we don't need you to show us the way, we don't want to go to the f*cking tannery.  We had round upon round of "la shukran" loaded up ready for the onslaught of hassle that was about to head our way.  Instead, I directed us from where the grand taxi dropped us to our hotel (the term hotel being used very loosely) with greater skill, awareness and balance in traffic than Israel Folau could ever hope to attain.

And the only thing that was said to us on our way?  "It's a beautiful day, thank you for bringing beautiful weather with you".  Hmm, are we in the right place?  Is this still Morocco?

This was a theme that seemed to continue over our week and a bit in Fes.  People were genuinely friendly without ulterior motive unlike what we'd come to expect elsewhere in Morocco and bar one incidence where we let our guard down a bit and were charged well overs for a couple of plates of food, the price generally seemed to be the actual price and there was no bullshitting around trying to rip us off.

Epic and intimidating are the two words that come to mind when I think about the Fes medina.  It's the biggest car-free urban environment in the world and the largest living Islamic medieval city in the world.  It's easy to get lost in any Moroccan medina but this one is at a whole new level.  Its few main arteries are a tourist's best friend but even with the safety of those, a couple of wrong turns and you'll soon be very, very lost.

That's tourists though, as I said before my sense of direction is impeccable so there were no worries here.  My only issues arise when Nicola tries to lead the way or suggests that we've taken a wrong turn.  Things tend to quickly go south from there.  Hmmmmm.......

Anyway, enough about how great I am and more about how great Fes is.

The Tanneries

Fes' number one tourist attraction.  Sorry, we didn't make it.

The Snail Shop

All around Morocco we've seen people with carts of snails but this guy had an entire shop that was literally crawling with them.  There were snails in every crevice, all on the move in hope of not becoming that night's dinner.

Bou Jeloud Garden

This is a true oasis in a very busy city.  And best of all it's a freeby.

Borj Nord

Another nice little escape from the hustle and bustle (I promise to never use that phrase again) is plonking yourself up on this hill for a while.  Very little hassle, shining sun and a lovely contrast between the busyness of the highway and medina and the simplicity of the piles of leather skins drying on the embankment and the donkeys and sheep grazing beyond.

Dar el-Makhzen

We thought Meknes' gates were grand.  These are the gates to the Fes Royal Palace and are the epitome of grandeur.  Simple stunning.

And this is the seriously good black market shit right here.  Nix started taking photos of this palace gate that's off to the left of the main one to be very lackadaisically advised that photos of it aren't permitted.  So enjoy that one, Nicola has been jailed for your viewing pleasure.

The Hammam Experience 

If you missed this post you've missed the greatest artistic collaboration since Kenny Rogers and Dolly Parton sung 'Islands in the Steam' together - I'll rub yours if you rub mine...

Barrie-ometer of "Feel" - you know you want to...

I'll rub yours if you rub mine...

There are four key elements around which a Moroccan community is built.  A bakery, a school, a mosque and a hammam.  The latter being the communal bathhouse where it's not inconceivable that the saying 'I'll scratch your back if you scratch mine' could have originated and is quite possibly the most crucial element in strengthening the social fabric of each Moroccan community.

So, myself and fellow blogger extraordinaire Mike Mikeson (I urge you to follow his travels at www.katenmike.wordpress.com) thought that it was time to see what all the fuss was about.

Nicola and Kate (our blogging better halves) have provided us the following set of questions.  So this is where the relative highbrow tone of the conversation ends and the lowbrow begins.

How did you prepare yourself for the experience?  Were there any reservations?

Clint - After five weeks of should I shouldn't I, meeting Mike provided a hand to hold and all of the impetus I required to step outside of my comfort zone and give it a go.  And I felt as though I was fairly well prepared until we met Mike and Kate the night before and the girls proceeded to giggle and laugh at all possible awkward and culturally unacceptable events that may unfold the following morning.

With that came not the greatest night's sleep and a dream that involved my sperm being cultivated and provided to other men to give theirs a little boost.  Part of the dream involved me sitting around with a group of men whilst sharing said sperm, which upon waking up I hoped wasn't symbolic of a similar sort of process at the hammam.  I was wondering if maybe the guidebooks don't tell you about that part.

Mike - I was also only too happy to find a willing comrade to share the experience with, and possibly share a Fassi cell with in the event we violated any hammam protocols too badly.

I was feeling OK about the whole thing up until Clint's extended monologue on exactly how coarse the scrubbing gloves he'd acquired were. "It's like sandpaper... no no, like shark-skin... no, it's like Bigfoot's arse crack." (OK I made that last one up but you get the picture).  This did trigger a rather vivid dream of a giant glove chasing me through dark medina alleyways.  Thankfully my sperm remained unharvested so it sounds like I got off *ahem* pretty lightly.

What were your initial thoughts upon entering the hammam?

C - The previous day I'd been for a walk to scope out our hammam of choice and decided that it must be the place with a sign in Arabic and what sort of resembled opening hours.

Mike and I set off the following morning, found what I'd believed to be the entry and sort of slowly shuffled over each other down a dark corridor and were soon stood in front of two very stern looking men.  At which point we both just hung there like deer in headlights until one of the men finally said "hammam?", to which we over enthusiastically nodded yes and he then motioned towards a changing area.  For a moment we knew what we were doing, we knew that we were capable of stripping down to our jocks without assistance.

M - I confess I'd settled on a "get Clint to go in first" plan which I executed with aplomb.  If things went south too quickly I was going to disappear on him quicker than a Big Mango.  #topicalhumour :)

Talk us through the process, in particular the scrubbing/rubbing elements

C - After stripping down to our jocks, the Maroc version of Prince insisted that we hand him money for a massage.

M - We initially rebuffed Prince's enthusiastic offers of a massage; he seemed a little too keen.  Having caught our breath a few seconds later, we conferred and agreed that given he was the only one offering we might as well take him up on it.  Otherwise we'd just be scrubbing each other's backs, a prospect which at the time seemed potentially weirder than an excitable little Moroccan stranger doing the honours.  For some reason.

C - One of the stern looking men pointed us towards a door that just looked as though it would lead us to a toilet.  Alas, it was the entry to the beginning of the rabbit warren where once again we slowly shuffled along together until a little boy popped up saying "come, come".  He led us through the small 'cold room', past a couple of people in the 'warm room' and into the hammam's hive of activity, the 'hot room'.

This place was madness, buckets of water were flying everywhere, people were getting scrubbed so hard that you wouldn't be surprised if they walked out without skin and then there was Mike and I in the thick of it without a f*cking clue what we were doing.  Someone motioned towards a gap along the wall so down we sat hoping we'd get further instructions.

Fortunately Prince appeared out of the steam, filled a couple of buckets with water and began to pour them over us whilst we gave ourselves a bit of a superficial clean.  Then after only about five minutes he dragged us back into the warm room.  It was rub and scrub time.

You know those times in life where you choose to do the easier thing before the harder one?  Well this was one of those times for Prince.  Given Mike has about a foot on me (height that is) I was first cab off the rank.

M - It took us some time to react given Prince's only method of communication was wild gesticulating, pointing and clapping.  To be fair, he spoke pretty good French but sadly my translator (Kate) was nowhere to be seen.  Sticking to my strategy, I quickly and authoritatively deciphered Prince's first instructions as "You're up Clint" and sat back to watch the show.

C - Prince began by pulling, twisting and bending my body in every imaginable direction which at times involved moves that seemed like they were out of Karma Sutra and not really out of any massage textbook.  All the while making a soothing "ktssssshhhhh" like sound.

M - Specifically, within about 10 seconds our man had folded up my new Perthian friend like a cheap banana lounge.  As long as I live, I'll never forget both the speed in which Prince executed a move I can only describe as The Human Pretzel, and the look of absolute bewilderment on Clint's face.  My delight at this development faded significantly when I realised I had to endure this next.

C - I think it was at this point that I noticed Mike rolling around on the skin flake covered floor in an attempt to limber up seeing as he now knew what he was in for.

Next began the scrub.  We'd picked up some traditional olive oil soap the day before along with a couple of pairs of gloves - those shark skin ones.  I was under the impression that the soap would go on before the scrubbing to provide a bit of lubrication.  Nope, the scrub began and Prince proceeded to work off flakes of skin that he proudly showed off to Mike.  At one point I looked down and sat in a pool in my jocks was a pile of skin flakes that would've filed your palm.

M - The ferocity of the scrubbing itself is hard to describe.  The action was like swabbing the decks of a ship; Prince was putting his full body weight into each stroke.  No spot of skin was missed save the nether regions.  Clearly we westerners were filthy; he was delighted at the results.  "Oh, no massage, no massage" he cried gleefully, mimicking our initial reluctance whilst holding up the fruits of his labours: a glove full of dead skin.  I think he enjoyed it so much he should have paid us.

C - Following the scrub it was time for the rub.  The olive oil soap finally made an appearance and Prince rubbed it all over my now smoothened body where my only role was to clean my bits.  Prince and I weren't that friendly.

I received a final wash off and then it was Mike's turn, much to my great enjoyment, knowing what was coming his way.

M - By the time he got nearly through with me, Prince was so exhausted from the intensive effort he had to sit down and take a few draughts of cold water from one of the buckets.

Was the key cultural no-no of 'don't show your balls' adhered to?

C - I managed not to however there is the possibility that Mike did.  At one point Prince pointed near Mike's arse, looked at me and had a bit of a chuckle.  Or maybe he was just pointing out that Mike had decided to wear Calvin Klein jocks to the hammam.  Fancy lawyer types hey.

M - I feel compelled to state that I retained my honour.  Same as for Clint, Prince did pour a few buckets of water into my jocks after this but kept his eyes tastefully averted.  And the CKs were chosen not for their brand but their colour (dark - to avoid a Wet T-shirt effect) and length.  Clint's decision to go with a leopard print g-banger seemed brave, but I just figured things are done differently out West?

Finally, rate your experience and would you return to a hammam?

C - The experience could not have been any more enjoyable.  There was a point following my rub and scrub, sitting on the floor, quite possibly in amongst someone else's skin flakes, that it dawned on me to take in the moment as this experience would more than likely never again be replicated for me.

Would I return?  Probably not.  My first experience was a ripper and if I was to go back and it wasn't the same as the first, my memory would never again be as fond.  And without Mike I wouldn't have someone equally as awkward but twice as tall to divert the gaze away from me.

M - It went from somewhat nerve racking, to hilarious, to slightly painful, to extremely relaxing.  All up it was absolutely fantastic.  I can say without qualification that I've never been cleaner in my life. I think I'd definitely go back - but I agree it wouldn't ever be quite as new and exciting.

C - Mike's and my bond following the experience?  Now that we've shared skin flakes I think you can safely assume that it's been upgraded to brotherhood.

M - Absolutely, brothers in (Prince's) arms.

As we left, Prince gave us the traditional Maroc farewell of one air kiss.  Was it my imagination but did he also give Clint's arse a friendly squeeze at the same time?  Perhaps that's the Berber farewell.

Barrie-ometer of "Feel" - watch me...

According to Nicola - Majestic Meknes

Meknes Meknes Meknes....  What an incredible place!  The smallest of the four imperial cities, Meknes sees an undeservedly low amount of tourists (mostly in the form of day trips) which allows it to maintain complete authenticity.

A very brief history of Meknes - back in 1672 when Moulay Ismail was Sultan, he decided to make Meknes his capital and subsequently had many extravagant things built in order to establish this claim and his position.

Then when he died an impressive mausoleum was built in his honour, which only added to Meknes' grandeur.

The cafe culture in Meknes is unbelievable.  Each road is pretty much full of coffee shops, that spew their solely male clientele onto the streets.  Every hour of the day they had a good crowd, but come 5pm until late they were taken to a new level, with zero available seats and being completely enshrouded within clouds of smoke.  Now it must be said that whilst we pride ourselves on finding the cafes/food stalls etc. that only locals would visit and throwing ourselves in the deep end, these cafes were mostly too intimidating for us!  Just walking past the cafes created an audible hush...  So we managed to find ourselves a local joint tucked into the corner of the main square as a compromise.  Whilst being completely local, this cafe (a half tent with chairs and a coffee machine) was on its own and not on the road so we didn't draw too much attention to ourselves...  A perfect place for people watching and mint tea.

We also found a great place for our morning nous nous with the milk being poured at the table which we thought was very fancy (but that turns out to be the norm in the North).  And surprisingly it was the cheapest so far.

On the walk there we discovered a new kind of fried semolina bread called harsha which proved to be the perfect breakfast given we could eat it at the cafe with our nous nous.  It's made in giant slabs and cut to the size you want before being weighed and smothered in honey.  The price to deliciousness ratio here was ridiculous!

Something we had yet to fall victim to in Morocco was the old carpet shop trick.  Apparently Brim subconsciously thought that now was as good a time as ever so when a man in the souks told us "No no no... Not that way, much more interesting things this way!" he obediently followed, to have us promptly plonked in a carpet shop.  Don't get me wrong, some of them were extremely beautiful, but we aren't really the carpet buying types.  Nor were we interested in "just a small one" after we explained we were carrying all our worldly possessions on our backs!

Meknes is to thank for providing us with another tick on our Moroccan eating list - stuffed camel pancreas.  Having seen the raw versions of this in the meat markets (read about these here!) earlier I knew we were in for a treat!  We found a hole in the wall (quite literally) grill man who had a gigantic sausage looking thing in his cabinet and after some sign language confirmed it was the delicious treat we were looking for.  A thick slab was cut off, grilled and shoved in some bread - pure meaty goodness.  It tasted like a Moroccan version of haggis as there was heaps of semolina through the mince, giving it a light, fluffy texture.

We finally sampled Bastilla (a pigeon and chicken mix with cinnamon and almonds wrapped in layers of filo-like pastry) and the local tagine speciality Kamama (lamb with sultanas, sweet onions, cinnamon and ginger) however have once again proved to ourselves that nothing can beat street food - a bowl of chickpeas in broth with a shake of cumin and chilli was far more memorable (we could have eaten about 60 serves for the price of those two dishes!).

Now just to bring this post back down to my level I thought I'd share with you the 'poo man incident'.  Pretty much literally that...  On our way to see some of the sights we had to cross a very small, manicured park.  This park is surrounded by roads, is a taxi hub, has mandarin vendors all around it and is the only way through to a certain area of Meknes - the point I'm making is that it's not a quiet, private or isolated place.  Stood in front of us as we came around a corner was a bare arsed man, casually wiping his bits whilst standing upright after laying a turd on the middle of the pavement.  Enough said!

In case you missed it - Significant Insight from the Significant Other - Madness at the Meknes Meat Market

Significant Insight from the Significant Other - Madness at the Meknes Meat Market

For its size, the meat market in Meknes is amazing.  Taking only five minutes to cruise through, your senses are bombarded with a million different sensations and I saw some of the most incredible and most disturbing things I've seen so far in Morocco.

There were guts and bits all over the floor, headless chickens with blood dripping on your feet if you weren't careful, smells that prevented me from moving until I pulled myself together...  I love a good meat market but boy did this one push me to my limit.  Apologies for the lack of the photos (although I think you will be thanking me), but when you're trying to dodge miscellaneous meat bits on the ground and at head height, getting the camera out is the last thing you think about.  Here are my highlights...

The Automated Chicken Plucking Machines

I knew what these were, we'd gone through the chicken market in Marrakech where you kind of got what was going on but couldn't quite see because of so much happening, but I heard the familiar bzzzzzz sound identical to a wood chipper and just couldn't stop myself from looking... I don't think I really need to explain what I saw!

The Acrobatic Butcher

Whilst wandering in my state of bewilderment, I absent mindedly decided to look at an unmanned stall and saw the most incredible thing.  The butcher who worked there made a run towards his counter, hurdled over it with the assistance of a meat hook acting as a swing and landed perfectly back inside his hut, to then look at me with an almighty grin.  I had to pick my jaw off the (scarily colourful) floor and scurried after Brim to try and explain what he had just missed out on.

The Hanging Animal Heads

Pretty self explanatory however there were an awful lot of them and we had finally hit the North where camel is eaten more regularly.  I came face to face with a poor dead-eyed camel at one stall but it must be said that the hunks of meat on offer looked divine.  Around the corner were rows of freshly decapitated sheep and goat heads hanging on hooks, amongst hind cuts with tails intact and rings of intestines.

The Hacking Axe Man

This one still makes me shudder.  I don't know what was being hacked up other than it contained a lot of bone and the sound it made was horrifying.  I was petrified walking past that a shard of bone was going to come flying at me.

The Massacred Meat Mess

Hrm.   Going past a stall I saw a bloody pile of some cut of meat.  It was huge, like 20-30kg huge and I couldn't work out where or what it belonged to.  I was leaning towards it being some weird cut of beef where a hip was still intact and then some organs as well. As I got closer I realised that there was hair still on some on the meat where it hit the ground and a huge pair of lips...  This poor meat mess was a gigantic camel head where the skin had mostly been peeled away, leaving behind an almost unidentifiable meaty mound.

Aren't you glad there were no photos!

Read about the rest of Meknes here - According to Nicola - Majestic Meknes

Fishy Business in Essaouira

Essaouira.  The Wind City of Africa, a place that's perennially popular with hippies after Hendrix dropped in for a while, a place that's "quite chill", bla bla bla bla bla bla bla.  I've heard and read way too many iterations of and extensions on these phrases in relation to Essaouira so this post won't bore you with that tripe.  What I will bore you with is fish, glorious fish, the sole (ho ho ho) reason that we visited the city.

Wind city?  Pfft.  They obviously haven't been to Geraldton.  Way more interesting.

Hendrix?  Well it seems as though he's been all along the Moroccan coast.

Hippies.  Really?  That's a positive?

And "quite chill".  Who comes up with this shit?

With that out of the way let's talk about the fish, or seafood to be more accurate.

The Dock

Our Australian brain told us to wake up early one morning and we'd be right in the thick of the action as the boats came in.  Who were we kidding, this is Morocco.  Some boats were only just going out as we got down to the dock.

After a couple of hours down at the dock a few big boats came in with mainly just crate upon crate of sardines.  It was around 11ish when things really got interesting.

There are three main places in Essaouira to source your seafood.  From one of the sanitised seafood stalls between the medina and dock, from the fish market within the medina and fresh as fresh, laid out in all its glory, on the dock itself.

Here you find your standard fare - squid, mullet, bream, prawns, cuttlefish, sardines.  And also your not so standard - moray eel, monkfish, stingray, baby leopard shark looking things.

The stench of fish guts and the threat of gull poop (of which I fell victim twice) did not deter, this experience was a highlight of Morocco.  It's difficult to find places that are as raw and interesting as fish and meat markets in countries like Morocco and this one did not disappoint.  You get a strong feeling of gentrification throughout the Essaouira medina however tradition remains intact down at the dock.

We had a crack at buying some fish at the dock but were a bit too frugal for our own good.  Instead we headed for the fish market.

The Fish Market (on Avenue de I'Istiqlal)

This place is slightly less raw than the dock itself.  Still a lot of fun though.

Over a couple of meals here, where to get the best price you barter for your seafood of choice then take it to one of grills at the end of the market, we had bream, pink snapper, goatfish, sardines, sole and stingray.  All gutted and cooked with bread, salad, spicy sauce and wedges of lemon for 110dh in total (about $15 for two lunches).

The setting is a little more (hmm) rough and ready than the fish stalls but what more can you ask for for that price.

And the verdict?  Everything was cooked to perfection and each of the fish were lovely in their own way.  The sole and snapper in particular were v good.

 

The stingray however?  Dad had always told me that you don't eat stingray.  He was right.  It was the ocean equivalent of something from a river being 'muddy'.  It's actually difficult to see how you could possibly make something of it.  We will not be revisiting stingray.

I just wish we had more time to work our way through the rest of the market's offerings.

The Fish Stalls (Place Moulay Hassan)

These are sort of reflective of the sanitisation that's taken place within the medina walls.  Here people hustle you like you've never been hustled before to either go with one of their set menus or pick some things from the "fresh" fish displays, have it weighed and then cooked at their grill to then be brought to you with bread and salad.  Cloudy peepers on some fish suggested that they weren't as fresh as promised.

For 90dh (a bartered price that caused the tout to crack the shits) we had a red mullet, a serving of baby cuttlefish and six scampi.  The mullet was good, the cuttlefish a touch overcooked and four of the six scampi were mushy.  In hindsight we should've only eaten at the fish market but we had to give the stalls a crack.

What did give us a wee bit of joy was watching a couple of Asian girls next to us eat roughly the same amount but instead pay 320dh for the privilege!

Overall

Essaouira is a seafood lover's dream and an adventurous eater's dream too.  You could spend an infinite amount of time there trawling (oh stop) though the fish markets and never get bored but we only had a few nights and I believe made the most of the spread available to us.

A couple of other fun facts about Essaouira:

• The ratio of cats to people here is off the charts!  And they are the finest, healthiest, shiniest looking cats that you've ever seen 
• We were asked "hashish?", "good smoke?", "you want spacecake?" a ridiculous number of times

Barrie-ometer of "Feel" - eels up inside ya...