Our little car swings down through the hills towards the coast, to Essaouira ... manifesting in the distance, growing large and taking form.
It is a white-washed city against a blue sea. I am concentrating on the road but succumbing to excitement.
We park at Bab Marrakech at the edge of the old town and hire an amallum* with a handcart to push our baggage 300 metres to the Riad Amana, a little hotel in a nondescript alleyway.
I love this town. I love its colour and romance, and the commerce that enlivens its streets.
I've loved this place since my first trip here with Ahmed 40 years ago. I was captivated by Essaouira then and I am re-experiencing it now.
Memories of our time together are revived by familiar landmarks, by the salty air and the mournful cry of seagulls wheeling over the ramparts of the boat harbour and the colourful fishing boats tied up there, by the smell of sardines cooking over charcoal, by the perfume of thuya wood jewellery boxes for sale in tiny shops, by the sight of cloistered women, mysterious and unapproachable under white sheets...
I am not sad, but joyful because I am here with my daughter and life is sweet, as sweet as a mint tea on a cafe terrace with a view of the sea and Mogador Island just off the coast.
* an idle old man who springs into action at the promise of reward..
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