Sardine Feast

Essouira, Morocco

My hands still smell faintly of sardines. I was on the rooftop terrace of my hotel to watch the glorious sunset -basically a ritual in Essouira- when I met an Irish lad named Louie. Then the English guy, Chris, came up and met Louie as well. Then a Slovenian guy, named Dimitri, joined us. After watching the flaming disk slip behind the horizon, the four of us set off into the streets. We wandered for awhile, seeking out a zilaba shop, which we eventually found. Then we wandered some more until we were hungry. I suggested we stop by the port and ask my sardine-hooking friend, Ahmed, where we could go for a cheap fish dinner. When we arrived where he usually works, and I asked for him, his coworkers said that he was at the Mosque, praying. We hung out for a few minutes and then I asked a sardine boy of about 17 where we could go for fish. He asked what we wanted to eat, sardines? We said no. He suggested we just go into the medina. It was a vague response so we began to talk amongst ourselves. I mentioned the possibility of buying some fish from the market there and taking it to Abderachim to cook for us. No sooner had I said that then the boy approached me -I didn't even realize he'd left- and handed me a black plastic bag containing several kilos of fresh, salted sardines. I thanked him and told him to send my greetings to Ahmed. We set of for Abderachim's Kitchen, as I fondly refer to it. -- I actually had lunch there earlier this afternoon, which consisted of cous cous with vegetables and chicken, accompanied by milk which was quite possibly spoiled as it was lumpy and tastes strange. I drank it reluctantly. And of course I ate with my right hand, denying the use of a fork. It is the custom here to eat with the right hand, and I must say it makes the dining experience much more enjoyable. I can taste the difference between using my hand and connecting with the food and using a cold, foreign object that puts distance between me and my source of nourishment. After eating, I just hung out for awhile, out front, drinking mint tea and writing. -- So we arrived at the Kitchen and the Irish guy explained in French to Abdie, as I will now refer to him for for the sake of space, that we were given the sardines and had nowhere to cook them. He then added that they were a gift for Abdie. Then we sat down at a table outside, unsure of which contradicting message Abdie would believe. We ordered soup and waited as Abdie set up a little metal bowl full of hot coals and proceeded to load the sardines into a little griller. He was cookin' 'em up for us! I was very excited. I took lots of pictures and video and the English guy was embarassed or irritated or both. Then after the sardines were piled on a platter in the center of the table, I dug in. Quite salty, but good. This was Morocco! This was life! I was very content, sitting there in my warm zilaba, with a belly full of sardines and soup. Essouira has really been a wonderful experience for me. I was going to stay another day, but I think I will head off to Marrakech tomorrow, so that I will have a couple days there. Now that I've gotten over the homesickness and culture shock, I'm really starting to enjoy it here. A little idea popped into my mind today, maybe I will live here in the future. Yes, I like that idea.