Essaouira is Morocco's third largest fishing port but is still more like a quaint British fishing village than a centre of industry. The harbour is to the north of the fortified old town with it's high ancient buildings and tight winding passageways. Fresh fish are landed daily straight in from the Atlantic Ocean. 
For our first night in Essaouira  we were subjected to the full force of an Atlantic gale, sea views also meant there was nothing between our windows and the driving rain coming in straight off the sea. We awoke to a flooded room, impressive for a 6th storey roof top room but the rain had streamed through the cracks between the plaster walls and window frames. The whole of our first day in Essaouira  was spent in waterproofs 'enjoying' the fresh coastal atmosphere and contemplating the odds of getting any cycling done in the near future. Our second, and last scheduled day, in Essaouira was a much sunnier experience and we got to work our way around the souks and spice markets as well as stock up with nappies and fruit, essential for the next few days of travel. We had fish for a second night and enjoyed a wide selection of sea food served with steamed veg and salad then topped off the meal with a Nutella crepe as we walked back through the alleys to our apartment.
 
Katie woke us at around 6.30, a good few hours before the local breakfast joints opened for trade. As we lay in bed giving Katie a cup of sweet Nestle (Nido) baby milk we listened to the strong winds wipping up the ocean outside. More torrential rain followed and we changed our minds about getting on the bikes. We donned waterproofs and headed out for breakfast. Katie tried to walk accross one of the town's piazzas, she loved the wind but could only just walk in the direction of the wind without being blown off her feet. Later we headed out again so Katie could have a walk on the beach amongst all the trees and debris washed down stream from the one of the nearby rivers that had been just a dry river bed two days earlier. The wind was so strong by now even us adults had trouble walking in a straight line so we tacked our way back into town, realising why Essaouira has a labarynth of tunnel like streets winding below and arround the fortified old town. Some of these enclosed passageways lead past art galleries, shops or businesses, others seem to be dead ends or head off to residential doorways with the smell of dirt and sewers never far way. The north of the citadel, around the old Mellah (Jewish Quarter), had suffered from horriffic subsidence, some of the buildings now lying in mere heaps, others looking like they may be about to colapse at any time and yet the more substantial of these still  looked inhabited. Somehow I don't think the properties in this district commanded the average 290,000 Euro price tag we saw advertised in the nearby holiday real estate agent's window, then again prices for everything here are high a coke will set you back 150 dirham in most cafes (1.5 Euros) and an imported surf hoodie over 900 dirham. Having said that local wood products range from 10 dirham for salad servers to 800 for a marquetrty lamp base and thousands for well crafted tables, chairs and dressers.

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