I’m starting to get into a bit of a rhythm.
It was another relaxed morning, writing in my PJs. I had the remaining khobz with butter and honey with my coffee and spent until mid afternoon pottering about doing bits of work.
I can feel an inner tension between the desire to explore and the real need to get the things I need to do done.
Reflecting on it as I cleaned the flat, I realised that my core goal is to have as LOCAL an experience as I can. And that IS what I’m doing.
The beauty of solo travel is you can do what you want, when you want: that freedom means whatever I decide is okay for how I spend my time is okay. The only opinion that matters is mine.
Which is liberating.
A Kizomba friend is also in the country and I think her insta-perfect pictures had made me feel I wasn’t doing this trip right – there are almost no photos of me here yet and as Agadir was rebuilt after the earthquake it also doesn’t have the aesthetics of the other, more commonly-visited, destinations in Morocco.
But I’m here for the experiences, not for insta-perfect pictures. And for me, not for others.
I’m still having to make a real effort to get out and walk past stray dogs, so also had to battle my mind to actually leave the flat rather than just cuddle up with the cats. I swear their purrs are healing me and the temptation to just spend all my time with them is very real.
But I do want to face my fears, so that I am not limited by them.
I therefore decided that, as a minimum, I will aim to have one small experience, or adventure, per day as a minimum and today my small adventure for the day would be to try an avocado juice, as I keep seeing these on menus but I’ve never had one.
Anna doesn’t have a washing machine here and though she’d told me her sister would wash clothes for me, I did a small hand wash, mainly of underwear, as I don’t want to impose on her too much.
Chores complete, I exhaled my fear and set off for a late afternoon walk.
After walking around Anza for a little while, I settled upon a cafe/ juice bar that I already had saved on Google maps and which had good reviews. The menu is also pictured and so I knew in advance the prices and as I don’t like to carry cash about, even though I feel perfectly safe here, I’d taken enough cash to cover my smoothie on my walk in the pocket of my dress.
The blinds were half down over the juice bar, so I couldn’t see inside from the street but I could see some men sitting directly outside the window, smoking, and the door was open, so I stepped inside.
Rather than the normal arrangement of tables and chairs, chairs were arranged in horizontal rows, the lighting was dim and I realised that in front of the window two large projector screens were showing football.
There were only a handful of customers, all men.
This made me hesitate, but as I’d only brought enough cash for this particular place I decided to stick with my choice rather than risk finding another.
I walked directly to the counter, greeted the waitress and man standing behind the counter and asked in French for an avocado juice. I didn’t think to check the price, as I already had the recent menu saved.
The waitress told me to take a seat, so I took one in the back row nearest the counter.
She went straight over to a man sitting at one of the few tables, situated in the back corner, and asked him to move, then gestured for me to sit there.
Even though the man didn’t have food or drink, and didn’t seem phased. He didn’t, in fact, even look at me, I was mortified!
But I took the seat she indicated and before long was presented with a tall glass containing a pale, creamy liquid – the lights had a purplish hue so it was difficult to ascertain the colour – with brown swirls on the inside of the glass.
I hadn’t expected these, and at first guessed they may have been chocolate and mainly for decorative purposes.
Unwrapping the straw, and realising a second too late I’d inserted it upside down ‘cos that’s how I roll and I’m awkward like that, I took my first sip.
Not sure what to expect, I really savoured my first taste.
At first, it just tasted exactly like I’d taken a bite of an avocado. And whilst I like avocado, I wasn’t sure if I liked it as a drink, or not.
But the more I sipped, the more it began to taste incredibly creamy and delicious.
An elderly woman entered the cafe and went up to each person in turn, asking for money. I only had the note, so tried to communicate with her that I didn’t have change at the moment but I don’t think she understood me. She briefly went to the counter and then left.
I have zero interest in football, so whilst I did try to absorb what was happening for the experience, I did spend a fair amount of my time on my phone, scrolling Threads.
The men, however, all sat in silence, and alone, eyes glued to the screen. Most of them weren’t eating or drinking; it was the men outside ordering coffee and what appeared to be soup.
One of the men passed me to use the bathroom and said “Hi’ in English as he passed.
When he returned, he initiated a small conversation and then asked if he could sit with me to practise his English.
I agreed, as I appreciated being asked and I am more than happy to engage in language exchange.
I’m going to call him Aziz here, again to protect his anonymity.
Aziz and I talked for a long time: he asked me a LOT of questions, about myself and my travels, but also gave me pronunciation tips and taught me how to order mint tea in Darija, which I now know is the name for Moroccan Arabic.
He was born and raised in Anza.
“What food have you eaten here and enjoyed?” he asked me.
I, of course, named msemen first, telling him how similar it is to East African chapati and how that’s my obsession. He asked if I’d had it plain or filled – he specified cheese. I told him plain, as I’d wanted to compare it with chapati. I asked if my understanding that it’s mostly eaten at breakfast, and in the evening with soup, was correct and he said it’s also often taken in the late afternoon as a snack. Accompanied by butter, honey and tea.
I asked Aziz what life is typically like in Anza. He told me it’s a simple life and that on a typical day he’d wake up and have a breakfast of eggs and tea. Then if he had work, he’d go to work. If not, he’d go to the beach, chill on a towel on the sand, maybe swim and then head back home for a shower and lunch. After lunch, a nap. Then in the late afternoon he’d return to walk along the beach before dinner. In the evenings he watches tv/ scrolls social media and heads to bed around 1 or 2 am.
“That’s pretty close to what I’ve been doing,” I laughed.
I’ve been living like a local after all.
We also talked about the cost of living in the UK; he knows a Moroccan who moved to Manchester and is having to work long hours just to pay the bills. I confirmed that this is the case for many in the UK right now.
He told me that in Morocco, you can live like a king on a salary of 700 Euros, and that there are people who have this.
Aziz said he’d also been shocked at how many homeless people there are in the UK; this led to a conversation about the importance of community. I can see here, as in many of the places I’ve been, community is at the heart of everything.
When talking about travel, Aziz asked if I documented them so I told him about my blog. He looked it up on the spot and added me on insta.
He told me to keep in touch and if I needed anything to let him know.
As it was already after 7, Aziz was heading out as he had things to do before watching Morocco’s 8pm football match. He asked if I wanted to walk out with him but I told him to go on ahead.
We said our goodbyes and I walked over to the counter to pay. I handed over a 20 MAD note (the menu had listed my drink as 18) but the waitress looked at me and said, “Vingt cinq.” 25.
I felt a prickle of panic spread down the back of my neck and mentally I began to admonish myself: I should have brought more money with me (I’m so used to contactless carrying cash feels alien to me), but I also should have done what I’ve done everywhere else and checked the price before I ordered, as they hadn’t handed me a menu. There weren’t, in fact, any menus, in the whole place.
Let that be a lesson to all travellers! ALWAYS check the price upfront.
I knew from checking menus, online and on foot, that all the avocado juices in Anza are between 16-20 MAD, aside from in the cafe Anna took me on our first evening which is very much tourist prices and I suspect not owned by a local. So had I asked the price and been told 20 I could easily have gotten the drink I wanted with the cash I had elsewhere.
Whilst trying to think how to convey that I would have to bring them the rest of the money the next day, I pulled up the photo of their menu to explain my faux pas and showed it to the waitress and the man who was still standing behind the counter. The man behind the counter asked where I’d come from and I said London; the waitress took the note from me and said, “It’s okay.”
I asked if she was sure and she said yes. So I thanked them and left.
As I walked home I couldn’t decide if there’d been a genuine miscommunication (there WAS a 25 MAD avocado juice option on the menu, but I had asked specifically for just avocado juice and not the one with lemon or the one with dried fruit). I began to wonder if the brown squiggles were, in fact, the dried fruit and started to feel mortified.
But later Aziz messaged to tell me Morocco had won the football match and he mentioned the chocolate drizzle in my drink, so I am now fairly sure I got what I ordered.
Every day’s a school day!
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