The Majestic’s Moroccan breakfast was so filling I didn’t eat for a full 24 hours – and even then I only ate because I felt I should probably have something before venturing to Taghazout rather than out of hunger.
Spotting three missed called from Sajid – literally no one calls me except in the case of emergencies as I’m really not a phone call person, and my phone’s therefore always on Do Not Disturb – I had to really make an conscious effort to call him back.
He told me he wouldn’t be able to make our agreed meeting time, as something had come up, and suggested we instead leave Anza at 2:30pm and catch sunset before returning. Alternatively, he said, we could explore Taghazout another day and I could meet him in Agadir later instead.
I was open to exploring a new place with company but I didn’t really feel like wandering around Agadir two days in a row – it’s not that big a city and I’d already seen a lot of it.
“Let’s meet at 2:30pm – that gives me time to work on my blog anyway,” I told him.
We agreed to meet by the dinosaur statue on the main road, as for some reason Sajid didn’t have a local SIM and so once he was away from WiFi he had no connectivity.
As a solo female I could never!
Sajid was waiting at the top of the steps opposite the dinosaur at exactly 2:30pm. I think he knew from which direction I’d come as we’d discussed how he was hoping to buy one of the flats in the complex in which I am staying. He was wearing a different baseball cap and carrying a bag.
A bus passed – filled to bursting with passengers – just as we met and so Sajid suggested we get into one of the ‘big taxis’ that carry multiple passengers.
We got into the very back seat of one, in what should have been the boot. The passengers in the back seat all had to vacate the vehicle so we could climb in as to access the back row they had to fold down the back seat. No one wore seatbelts.
Sajid spoke to the taxi driver in Darijan. I assumed he was negotiating the price and asked him how much it would be but he told me we’d know when we arrived. This didn’t worry me too much, as I knew to use a taxi like this to get to Agadir from Anza would be 5 MAD, so they’re typically a cost-effective method of travel.
Periodically, the taxi would pull over, the departing passenger would hand the driver money, and everyone would shuffle around so that people could get in/ out – the taxi seated up to seven passengers.
When we were moving, it felt like we were going incredibly fast and the driver would drive in a straight line down bendy roads. I found myself hoping we’d arrive soon.
At one point, the road began to look like the kind you’d find in the grounds of a fancy hotel, with manicured edges. We actually seemed to pass through, or past, several hotel complexes. Then the road began to wind fairly steeply downhill and, before long, we arrived in Taghazout.
The taxi pulled over on a busy high street and we all piled out.
I again asked Sajid how much and he shooed me away, saying he had this – and then complaining that the driver had ripped him off. No doubt as I was there.
We crossed the road and surveyed the town unfolding in front of us.
“It’s changed so much!” Sajid exclaimed.
The high street was lined on both sides with endless cafes, bars, restaurants and shops and, of everywhere I’d been, it was the most obviously tourist place.
Sajid let me down a series of narrow, winding, steps between some buildings and we emerged on the beach.
I’m definitely a bit of a beach snob, forever spoilt by Diani Beach in Kenya, along with my travels to places like Mauritius, Zanzibar and the Maldives, so I was once again underwhelmed by the beach.
Aside from the bright blue fishing boats, which gifted the bay with a pop of colour, the sand was dirty, strewn with rocks, litter and pieces of broken glass, and the water a muted blue. A lone camel sat, tethered to the ground. Over a decade ago, Taghazout was a simple fishing village and I suspect I’d have liked it better back then.
We stayed long enough for me to take some photos and then made our way back to the buildings, where we began to pick our way over uneven paving along the coastline, the waves crashing increasingly close to our feet as we walked.
In some places, the path disappeared entirely, and we had to walk back up towards the high street until we found another pathway. Sajid told me a lot of these buildings are relatively new, squeezed into any gaps between the original buildings. He also told me he’d heard there was talk of demolishing all of them to allow for new, tourist-focused, buildings.
Sajid asked if I’d like a drink or if I was happy to keep walking. I said I was happy to explore but that was clearly the wrong answer, as he led us to a section of the high street where there were some random goats and said, “Let’s have a drink first.”
He chose a cafe in a string of cafes and we climbed the steps and settled in a table Sajid chose that overlooked the street. Even here, there was a dog roaming around as well as several cats.
Sajid ordered an expresso for himself but I wanted a cold drink. I asked to see a menu and realised the prices were heavily inflated – the tourist tax Anna’s sister had referenced. Juices were extortionate, so I ordered a sparkling water. More than anything, I was craving something ice cold, plus it was one of the cheapest items on the menu.
When our drinks came, I was given a big bottle of sparkling water, which was warm, and a small glass.
I decided against asking for ice, just in case, and Sajid and I sat for a while, people-watching and talking.
He then suggested we leave, and before I could gather my stuff had handed the waiter the money for our drinks and was heading back down the steps.
We began walking back along the high street and Sajid told me if I was up for a swim he knew a place where the water would be more suitable for swimming. Given I’d been unable to swim since my arrival, and I absolutely love the sea, I told him that sounded like a good plan to me!
It was a clear, sunny day, and the sun beat down upon us as we walked along the side of the road; at times the pavement disappeared and we walked on the road itself. We were passed by two men on a moped, one carrying big containers for tea. Sajid remarked these sellers must make a lot of money each day, as they travel up and down the coastal areas selling tea to those on the beach.
After we’d been walking for some time – I’d estimate a mile or more – we began to approach some buildings. In the distance, we could see numerous teepee-esque tents and Sajid said he thought they were for an upcoming surf festival.
A couple had been walking with two dogs far ahead of us. I hadn’t taken my eyes off the dogs and was very much hoping the gap between us wouldn’t close.
To my dismay, once they reached the buildings they stopped.
We grew closer and saw their dogs being greeted by 4-6 additional dogs – basically a whole pack.
I froze.
Sajid asked what was wrong and he already knew about the dog bite and my struggles so I explained that the sheer number of dogs was causing me to panic.
He told me there was nothing to worry about and grabbed my arm in an attempt to get me past them, I think in his mind with his physical support.
I could feel the panic rising up my throat. My legs felt like they’d turned to jelly and my heart was hammering against my ribs. Passing the dogs felt impossible.
The more Sajid pulled on my arm, the more panicked I became.
“I can’t.” I stuttered.
I think at this point Sajid realised I was on the verge of a full on panic attack and he asked a random man standing in front of the buildings if there was any access to the beach through the buildings. The man nodded and gestured behind him.
We began to descend another winding set of steps and emerged on a series of dark, flat rocks against which the sea was crashing furiously.
In parts, the terrain was just rubble and we picked our way across carefully, Sajid way ahead of me as I was careful not to twist my already dodgy arthritic knees.
After what felt forever, we rounded a bend near the campsite and a bay opened up in front of us. It was completely surrounded by rocks, meaning access would be difficult – especially with my knees – but it, too, looked fairly dirty, the waves were high and, worst of all, there were several stray dogs running across it.
I told Sajid I was sorry but I definitely wouldn’t be swimming and I didn’t really want to risk navigating the rocks to get to the beach only to have to face the dogs. I told him I’d happily sit on one of the big rocks whilst he went for a swim.
He wouldn’t do that, and we carefully picked our way to a big rock together and sat down.
The waves were crashing so high I was convinced we were going to get wet but Sajid assured me the tide was going out.
By this point it was around 4pm. We sat on the rocks, barely speaking, looking out to sea.
I had an awful feeling I’d messed up Sajid’s day by not wanting to go to the beach: this is partly why I love travelling alone so much, as my choices never impact anyone else and I like the freedom that comes with being able to make decisions just for myself. It did briefly cross my mind that I may have enjoyed my time more had I gone alone as I didn’t really want to be sitting on these rocks for an extended period of time, but then I thought about how I collect experiences and that absolutely needs to include things I wouldn’t ordinarily choose to do. I decided just to embrace it.
As the tide started to go out, surfers started heading into the water. Sajid, a surfer himself, watched them intently.
I sat with my thoughts.
The rock did have a good view of the arc of the coastline, I think as far as Anza, and the mountains behind.
Two men behind us had a conversion in English and we both listened in; it was so unusual to hear anyone speaking English it was hard to resist.
The one man told the other he was Brazilian, and got “Obrigado” in response. It was then evident why they were speaking English!
Ahead of us, a bird limped across the rocks; it looked like it had hurt a wing or foot. I asked Sajid if there were any animal rescue organisations we could contact and he said no. As we watched, feeling helpless, two boys crossed the rocks and chased the bird, throwing water at it. I gave them my best Teacher Look™, as I can’t abide by cruelty.
Suddenly we heard mewing and a cat appeared, heading straight for us. It looked very unkempt, so I curbed my compulsion to pet it as I had a responsibility for the cats I was looking after; Sajid did give it lots of love…until we spotted fleas on my towel and Sajid made us shake it out and move away.
We settled in a new spot a little further down and watched several cats congregate on the rocks around some fishermen, and an influx of surfers heading for the waves.
Sajid took a little time to pray and then the sun began to hang low in the sky.
This wouldn’t have been my chosen spot for sunset, but the silhouette of the surfers congregating on the rocks with the setting sun behind them did make for some interesting photos.
Just as the sun was starting to set, Sajid suggested we head back to Taghazout. Well, I say ‘suggested’, but the decision was already made.
We made our way back up the steps and if I was religious I’d definitely have been praying the dogs had gone. They had.
I kept stealing glances of the setting sun behind us, wishing we’d been in a location where we could have actually watched the sunset; instead we walked the mile or so back to Taghazout on the road itself, trailing three women from the Home Counties who were doing nothing to dispel the conceptions of typical British tourists.
It was twilight by the time we arrived back in Taghazout. We passed a full on street basketball match, which seems popular here, and Sajid bought a bracelet from a child selling them in the street – then gave it straight back to her so that she could sell it to someone else.
We passed many people having conversations in English. It felt weird, and not in a good way.
I was pretty much ready to hop on a bus back to Anza but Sajid started asking if I was hungry. I told him not particularly, which was the truth – I hadn’t felt truly hungry since I’d had the Moroccan breakfast . Sajid told me he thought I should eat and started leading me to an area with lots of restaurants and street food places. I joked that it was like being out with my mother but had to backtrack as he did not seem amused by my humour.
He told me we couldn’t have fish as locals don’t eat fish, especially small fish, after 3pm as they lose their nutrients by then. I love random bits of local insight like this, but also the knowledge made me saf as I could totally have eaten fish.
I explained I have allergies and he led us into a place that mainly did tagines. He asked them in Darija if any didn’t have garlic, and there were none, so he ordered us both a chicken wrap. Here wraps are called tacos.
We sat at the back of the restaurant – every other customer was sitting outside. Behind us there was a hole in the wall and a man kept handing items to the proprietor over our heads. We both washed our hands in the sink at the back – like most places, including homes, it only had a cold water tap but also there was no soap or any way of drying your hands.
Sajid suggested I try an apple drink called Poms. It was good, but much sweeter than Appletizer.
I don’t really know what was in our wraps. They’d held the onion for me too but there were some random sauces. We also had been given a portion of chips each.
As we ate. Sajid mentioned how I’d rejected the idea of Friday cous cous.
“When did I do that?” I asked.
He told me when he’d suggested I come to Agadir today. Now, at no point had he mentioned cous cous, OR that cous cous is traditional food after the mosque on Fridays. And whilst with my allergies I probably couldn’t have eaten it (Sajid didn’t know what his sister puts in it), the realisation began to dawn on me that I’d missed not one, but two opportunities to experience a Moroccan tradition in a local home – the stall holder in the souk had also been inviting me for cous cous.
Gutted would be an understatement!
Eating quickly, as soon as he was done Sajid was up and paying – I was still eating – and I felt I needed to wolf down what I had left.
We arrived back at the high street just as a bus departed, so Sajid suggested we take a taxi back.
The first taxi we came to wanted an extortionate price, so we crossed the road to where there were several taxis. We were directed to one parked at the back of a group of them, furthest from the road, which made no sense to me. Again, we sat in the back seat and a man sat in the passenger seat. And there we waited for at least 20-30 minutes. I told Sajid I was happy to wait for the next bus but he said the driver shouldn’t be much longer; he was just waiting for more people.
Eventually, three more men bundled in and the taxis rearranged themselves so our driver could reach the road.
Before pulling off, he asked for money from each of us. Again, Sajid wouldn’t tell me how much it was and insisted on paying for both of us.
This driver drove relatively sedately but he did also stop periodically to drop passengers off or pick up new ones.
Once we reached Anza, he pulled to the side of the highway and I had to climb out. I thanked Sajid, wishing him a safe journey home, and waved as they drove off.
I barely made it back to the flat before I had to make a run for the toilet.
Across all my travels, no matter what – or how – I’ve eaten I’ve never been unwell. But this trip changed all that…