Landing in Essaouira

N, K and I

I’m sitting at a local tea spot in the backstreets of Essaouira, watching the steam evaporate from my glass and taking a moment to reflect upon how I got here. It was with the click of a button that my plans officially changed and I decided to put my energy into the pop-up dream of living and teaching yoga in Morocco. It is funny, the unexpected interludes we experience in life… on one hand it surprises me how my daily routine has taken on such a different tone to what I’d imagined it would be a few months ago. But on the other hand, it doesn’t surprise me as I come to realise that the illusion lies in believing life is made up of a predictable set of events… that’s what really narrows ones potential.

I started off as a backpacker in this little town just over a month with my girls K and N – we had travelled all the way up and down the country and finally found respite by the seaside. We’d heard great things about Essaouira, the windy city that drew in many keen kite-surfers and surfers alike. The white and blue washed walls of the old medina look as though they were once vibrant colours, alive with the buzz of the 60’s. The atmosphere mimics many beach towns with its simplicity and calm; fisherman lay their morning catches out by the pier and vendors contentedly man their stalls, selling a range of colourful, flowy beach garms. But unlike anywhere else in the world, the Moroccan flare holds its own unique quality - desert men lead herds of camels draped in colourful material over sand dunes on the beach while young, good looking men gallop along beside them on stallions. 

The looks here are so varied, in the medina the older local men walk around in traditional, long cloaks with pointy hoods while most of the younger ones have that cool, surfer dude look with scruffy, bleach blonde hair and tanned skin. Many also carry a funny air of Jimi Hendrix, a celebrity name that still graces these streets since his brief visit years ago; the ‘castle’ in which he stayed located at the end of the beach is still talked about and visited regularly. The rumour that he impregnated half the city isn’t too hard to believe when you end up in conversations with a bunch of local guys with the same curly hair and flared trousers… it does make me grin. Unlike the rest of Morocco, Essaouira seems to have found a balance of traditional meets modern; the behaviour is far more relaxed and every other local asks you out for a drink despite it being forbidden by Islam. The call to prayer still sounds 5 times a day and the people are still proudly Muslim, their value system just seems to be more internalised.

During our time there we indulged in our respite, slowing down our rhythm and living a very mellow existence surfing by the beach, doing yoga on the terrace or sitting in another beautiful café. A week flew by, I was nearing the end of my summer savings and it was time to go home. But a new seed was planted, the manager of our hostel offered me free accommodation on the basis that I contribute in some way; the idea of staying in Morocco seemed mad, I couldn’t be on holiday forever let alone afford to be. But we’d noticed there were no yoga teachers in Essaouira, so we figured I could put my skills to use and sustain myself financially by teaching yoga as there was a clear gap in the market… I let the idea consume me and within 12 hours I was hooked, the thought of setting up something in Morocco rode over the idea of a cold and expensive life in London. One hazy evening as we were all sat in the wifi hub at the bottom of the hostel, I booked my plane ticket back to Essaouira.

At this point in my travels I was (unsurprisingly) lacking a working phone, bank card and warm clothes, so for practical reasons I returned to London with the girls. We were just in time to catch the first few glorious days of autumn before my next adventure was to begin. After the beach vibes of small town Essaouira going back to London was like entering a 5 day whirlwind; running around a big, busy city with heavy bags, jumping onto last minute, expensive train journeys and re-connecting with friends and family in-between. As I neared the end of it all, I breathed out a long sigh of relief at having ticked off everything on my to do list with a half a day left to pack and wind down. I thought I had it all sorted out and then I get a Facebook message from W, the hostel owner in Essaouira - Obstacle #1.

“Where are you? I’m at the airport.” – The first bought of anxiety hit me and I tried so hard to deny the possibility that I'd made the mistake. But sure enough, I’d got the date of my flight wrong and indeed, missed it. What was once a cheap, budget ticket was now a long and expensive mistake. So with great resignation, I bought another ticket back... at least I had a bit of extra time to relax and sort out the last few bits on my to do list? Silver linings eh… 

It wasn't too long before the date of my return had come back around and the cloud of anxieties had blown over me. I opened my sleepy eyes on the plane just as we were touching back down on African soil and I could finally hear the whistling winds of Essaouira. Deep breath - I'd made it! Second time lucky…?

Great new find: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p7C3lMi6dLw&list=RDp7C3lMi6dLw 

Wonkyville meets Neverland

My partner in crime <3

“There’s no earthly way of knowing which direction you are going, there’s no knowing where they’re rowing… or which way the river’s flowing” but my guess is that you’re heading west…

The wise words of Mr. Willy Wonka ring in my ears as I sit in my aeroplane seat, contemplating, re-living and releasing the locomotion of the last 2 weeks. All the cabin windows are closed, the lights are off and for all I know, we may be flying west? But while the concept of zooming over huge masses of ocean and land in a giant metal bird in the sky is still utterly baffling, nothing can quite beat how perplexed I felt the moment that I stood around the kitchen table in that grand stately home 2 weeks ago...

Although I shall try, there’s no point in writing this blog in chronological order as the concept of time becomes merely a word to encompass the entirety of our experience (that I so wish could last forever). The experience I refer to is the event we had all been waiting for … the one you spend half the year anticipating and the other half recovering from/ in a state of denial that it’s all over. I’ll take you through a bit of the magic to tickle your tentacles and ignite your imaginations. Feeling perplexed already? So was I, I’ll let you decide which moment may describe why…

Awards night...

We had returned to Neverland… Day 1 was surprisingly civilised as girls flowed around in floor length gowns while boys drifted, suited and booted with endless glasses of bubbly in hand. We sat gracefully in our assigned seats around white tables in the expertly converted games room for ‘The Captains Awards Night’. But it didn’t take long for the clock to strike 12 and the transformation from civilised society to wreck-head ravers to begin. Conversations sped up and nonsense filled the air and we raised our glasses to the long awaited annual affair.

Disjointed conversations, after party bliss, morning yoga and chocolate bits. 30+ hours of no sleep and it was suddenly dark again… “So much time and so little to do. Wait a minute. Strike that. Reverse it. Thank you.”

The activity of the 2^nd evening? Disco dodgeball. I stood at the corner of the table in the kitchen dressed as an oompa lumpa, having a seemingly normal conversation with a crew of life-size, animated childhood heroes. It was like an acid trip had come to life. A minion stood next to me, chatting politics to a member of the Jamaican bobsled team, while a Dalmatian mixed a cocktail for a member of the SWAT team who was sensually brandishing his leather whip… everyone’s pupils were wide in anticipation for the games to begin.

And indeed they did. I looked over the heads of a bizarre array of characters, searching for my team of orange oompa lumpa’s. I soon spotted the mass of green curls and orange faces bobbing along outside, struggling to walk straight through the cold, hurricane-like wind in-between the house and the games room.

Everyone went quiet as the MC announced into the microphone ‘IT’S TIME TO PLAYYY DODGEBALLL!!’ The rules were explained and the first team ran onto the court, grooving to their entrance song of choice against the opposition; the winner of the dance off, determined which team started first.

TEAM

We bobbed along to what should’ve been (http://youtu.be/DoFeHA587GI) and needless to say the lack of sleep and my flickering eyes hindered my ability to dance, let alone last in the game for longer than 30 seconds. So I took my rightful place on the side-lines to watch the other teams battle it out. When my body could bob no longer I made the sensible decision to take myself to bed just as the heat in the Chapel was rising and Saturday Night fever was set to begin (on a lit up disco dance-floor, divided by lines and devoured by glitter fro’s that were shaking to some funky disco beats https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZBR2G-iI3-I).

A kitchen of characters

I awoke on that sunny Sunday morning having sadly missed Saturday night’s groove, surrounded by sleeping disco-queens in an unknown bedroom. I looked into one of the million mirrors that were scattered around the house, wiping away flakes of baby powder to assess my situation… it looked like I’d spent too long in a tanning booth as I peered at the residue of orange face paint… what a bedraggled oompa lumpa I had become. I chuckled, washed my face, shook into my body glove and with a cup of coffee in hand, stepped outside. With the help of some sexy morning tunes (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DofQMszmOOM) all the tiredness and weird residue of the fun guys chocolate nibbles from the previous day, just seemed to melt away.

Dirty Disney 

The day consisted of re-grounding and resetting, grinding my teeth against some actual nutrition before the lid of Pandora’s box opened and the toys again sprung to life. My Mrs. Willy Wonky doppelgänger appeared and I got into character, handing out a spread of golden tickets and special treats. That evening as I sat at the kitchen table I was joined by a new array of mixed company; it was like that game ‘who would you have at your dinner table if you could choose anyone?’ Next to me, sat a giant whoopee cushion (that #lookedlikePaolo), a Mario cart mushroom and micky mouse… with a baby doll lying face down on the table.

I listened in on talk of mysterious golden tickets that were being found in wonka bars, hmm… “Little surprises around every corner… but nothing dangerous” I hoped…

And as the lights became blurry and words got more slurry, I hopped on the boat and began rowing, with no idea what direction I was going… through a secret passage and out we emerged, into a land of cocoa powder, Malibu and milk!

My long lost husband Mr. Willy Wonka was setting the scene, telling his childhood tale, accompanied by a giant oompa lumpa who kept the vibes heading in one direction… west, only west. The childish tone soon took a turn as the musical conductors moved the kit into the grandest of dining rooms and things transformed from perfectly playful, to wonderfully wild: Out came glitter nips and lucky dips into bags of magic as we moved and grooved (while some sensibly snoozed) before the clock struck and the countdown to the end was to begin…

Post-party vision

We all ran and rushed,

Looking bedraggled and flushed,

Hoovering glitter in a bleary haze,

We tried our best to clean before the wedding day,

That was occurring in that house in which we were to leave no trace,

If only I could’ve mustered a smile on my face…

Likened to a bunch of animals by the caretaker was not a surprise,

For I could still see the wildness in all those sleep deprived eyes…

And as though the party could never end,

We hopped in cars with a few of our friends,

For a ‘civilised’ lunch at a local pub,

A nap in the pub...

We were well in need for some well-cooked grub.

While some continued to pop and bump,

Others had hit a little slump,

So we lay on the carpet beside the lunch table,

(This all seems surreal but I assure you, it’s no fable.)

After a little nap we were back on form!

Determined not to let the smiles turn to scorn.

So a ‘spa’ became the next destination,

Was it to live up to our expectations?

We all drove along, expecting facials and a much needed rest,

Only to arrive at the ‘hotel’ that I’d describe as average at best.

But we soldiered on, despite our energy wearing thin,

And the temperature of the pool feeling nothing but grim…

Some tunes perked us up, as did R’s blue wig and red gown,

That she had not taken off, for she refused to come down :) 

We sat together on Devon beach to watch the sky melt away,

Sensing our slow return from Neverland with the dying day…

Devon Beach (Creds to A. Gold)

It’s now been 2 weeks and in-between I turned 22,

LOST festival, Bristol

Getting LOST in a maze with another beautiful crew.

Topless and free, our spirits ran wild,

And I returned to that liberated, carefree inner-child.

I cannot express my awe, gratitude and love for you Captain and team,

As you have risen above every expectation and dream.

That goes for each and every wonderful person that I’ve met

And what excites me the most is it’s not over yet!

I apologise for the wonky direction that this piece has taken,

Santa Teresa Bernini is a statue in Rome that
they believe was continuously sent orgasms
by god. She hence comes to represents pure ecstasy
and bliss (and although this message slightly takes the piss
I felt it was an appropriate one that could not go amiss ;) )

It started as a blog but I was mistaken,

For poetry has been my means of expression,

To release and re-live the years best session.

I’d like to end with a note of academic value,

For even though she is only a statue,

What she represents is something I’ve been feeling for the last 2 weeks,

As though my heart has skipped a million beats:

Santa Teresa Bernini (on the left) is a statue in Italy,

The description underneath explains it all blissfully...

As a group of west-heads, look how far we have we come?

Captain I hope the grief you’ve ensued has not spoiled all your fun,

For you are a maker and creator of joy,

I’ve never known what it’s like to truly live like a toy!

Thanks again, I can’t wait until next time,

And that shall be the end of this (way too lengthy) rhyme. <3

Where the magic happens...
(Creds to Bateman)

Bikini's and Booze Part 2

Gulping down a tambili (king coconut) before the drive ahead to replenish some of those lost salts and water from the night before I gathered my bearings and crawled into the car, everyone crashed out within the first 5 minutes and awoke at 9am to stop for breakfast at a run-down local cade, the rough taste lingering unwantedly in our mouths until lunchtime…

Tuk tuks

On the ramparts

Into the old Galle fort we drove where we unpacked our bags into the lovely house that we’d walked in and out of on so many different occasions over the years. We checked out our bedroom and lay down, the sky was the limit as the seed grew infinitely and burst into flower ‘J GET OUT!’ M’s voice screamed. I hurriedly grabbed my hippie pants, wiping the sweat off my brow and flattening my hair to run out and have a long catch up over the last 6-months of her life in LA.

Famalam

Galle fort was a Portugese creation in 1588 that was later fortified by the Dutch in 17th Century and in/ around it resides a small English/ Dutch community, many of whom are our old-time friends. Where once there were a few little shops, a jewelers, a café and a few restaurants, modernization is slowly taking over and now over 50 jewelry shops alone have opened, the roads teaming with tourists. We walked along the ramparts holding hands, looking over at the calm sea with various boats gliding past and the moans of the mosque ringing over the heads of the little boys playing football and the American family taking photo’s.

<3

We all crammed into two tuk-tuks and made our way to Wajaya, a friends place that was once a basic beach bar and has since been converted into a lovely motel/ restaurant on the beach that’s always busy. We watched the sunset with a beer and a smile, sitting with a group of old Galle-amigos, hearing what adventures everyone else had been having. Before the mozzies got too violent we headed home for a shocking episode of ‘banged up abroad’…

Have you ever heard of the tourists in 1999 that were 'butchered' in Uganda?(http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/africa/289196.stm) It’s basically about a group of tourists who were on safari in East Africa where rebel Hutu’s raided their campsites in their attempt to get revenge at having lost the war 5 years prior. The story’s re-enacted on the program while being narrated by one survivor who describes the horrors of seeing members of their group being taken off and hacked to death with machete’s, having to walk miles through this forest with no idea what the end result was going to be (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OZ2O_LwykwY), besides making East Africa wrongly seem a bit savage, it’s a really good watch.

Omnomnom

Post-Dive

So I counted myself lucky to be safe and protected as our heads hit the pillow and we opened our eyes to the sunlight, feeling the first of many beads of sweat on my forehead. Our days in Galle were limited but luckily, in Sri Lanka everything moves so slowly that you somehow manage to fit it all in, what’s the point in rushing when you’re on holiday? That afternoon we went to the Kingfisher, another little place that used to be a shack on the beach and after renovation was now the top place to eat in Unawatuna, I couldn’t believe it. The new highway that had been built turned the 3 hour journey to Galle/ Una into a 45 minute one, so people from Colombo would come up for just the afternoon to have a bit of beach-time before returning home, meaning everywhere was always packed. To escape the crowds we were invited over to Butt farm, M’s new place on the paddy fields. Surrounded by tropical trees, the chirps of crickets and a sky filled with an array of pink, orange and blue streaks; we sipped on champagne and passed around bowls of fresh green salads, sundried tomato pasta and mango salsa accompanied by a beautiful white fish. Camera’s came out as we went through the photo’s that gave credit to all our stories. One of J.E’s photos was of a mammoth python that had terrorized the surrounding paddy fields for years, eating dogs and freaking out all the locals until one day the builders working on the house we were eating in, spotted it coming into the garden, captured it and left it in the empty chicken house – a nice surprise for J.E when she got home, tropical problems!

Roti Stop

A 55ft snake found in the forests of Malaysia
(The guy in the cage died of a heart attack shortly after
discovering it!)

The next morning after a fruity breakfast mum left, it’s always tough saying bye to family when you live abroad, instead of seeing them in a couple of weeks you’ve got to say bye for half a year. Over time I’m sure that will get easier but after falling back into the mode of ‘being the child’ it pulls on a few heartstrings. So she drove off and the boys and I spent the day at Wajaya, playing with the dog-bitten Frisbee and frolicking in the turquoise ocean with the deceivingly strong current. It was another goodbye when dad and my little brother left, tears streaming as I waved them off and clung on to J who at least was still here.

We’d been invited over to dinner that night at I’s and egos ran high as we all pitched in to cook the risotto, chicken and salad with a few home grown fumes to work up an appetite in-between. The others went off and J and I fell asleep with the TV showing Gordon Ramsey eating a snake heart in Vietnam, needless to say I had bizarre dreams that night.

I always find that no matter how much time I give myself in the morning, I always end up running out the door last minute as stressed as can be. This time was no different; we were heading up to my godmothers to stay in Jasmine cottage closer to Una. Gluten-free crepes at Crepeology, a quick coffee and a whole lotta powder… In my rushed attempt to find a present for my godmother I opened a tester ‘dry body scrub’ and tipped it towards my nose spilling all $20 worth on my face, my already-streaming nose went crazy and the sneezing fit began, J burst out laughing and the guy behind the till incessantly repeated ‘was that a tester? Was that a tester??’ Luckily it was, so he was happy, there was no charge and for the rest of the day I smelt like cinnamon, every cloud has a silver lining right…

A fisherman amongst the stilts

Despite the rush, we made it to our destination just as F was getting off the bus, off to the cottage we drove, curry for lunch, boogie boarding some mammoth waves, shower and a yummy dinner of jumbo prawns and fried rice at the ‘Blue Crab’. The next few days were very active, body rash from surfing, a tan from boogie boarding, a cough from too much shisha, goggle marks from diving and a full belly from lots of yummy food. We discovered that teh tarik in Malaysia is the same as ‘yard tea’ in Sri Lanka, a milky sugary concoction that’s the perfect energy boost mid-afternoon. I found out that the reason they like their tea so sweet, is because fresh milk didn’t used to exist but condensed milk did, hence the intense sweetness and the reason they use it in their coffee in Vietnam/ Cambodia/ South East Asia! While we were having the tea conversation at this Thai restaurant on the beach, something lead on to the idea of ‘race’ - do you know what the stats are to maintain a race? You have to have 2.2 kids minimum and if you look at the population stats in countries in the west now, it’s not plausible for the ‘white’ race to survive – interesting huh? I reckon one day with all this mix and matching we’ll all end up the same color, I mean the mixing’s already happening with the majority of people I know, including myself.

 That night with hungry eyes G, J and I munched our way through every flavor of chocolate that the box of galaxies had to offer, until we could munch no more and clutched our tummy’s in bed with a moan. The next night, possible due to our already-expanded stomachs, within the space of a few hours we managed roti, curries, ice cream and somehow a huge Mexican meal at ‘Fortelasia’ a fantastic place to eat in the fort if anyone’s looking for one.

On our last day on the beach we crammed in a few waves to work off the meal the night before, packed up and lay on our bags waiting for the van to pick us up so that we could make it to our appointment with the astrologer, time was ticking and when the ‘van’ finally arrived it turned out to be a car that didn’t have enough space for J and I, so we grabbed our backpacks and ran to get tuk-tuk to the bus station, jumping on the first bus we saw we arrived in Colombo 45 minutes later, jumped into another tuk tuk and yes! We arrived 10 minutes before our appointment, I won’t go into details but it was an interesting session that began with ‘you two are very compatible for marriage’ gulp! This astrologer was well known for predicting years before the disaster, that on the 26^th December 2004 a third of the population would be wiped out – and sure enough, the tsunami happened. During the reading he’d refer constantly to numbers and charts and dusty old books – he was an interesting man indeed and we came away with a few seeds of knowledge.

The dog that ate the cat-fish.

Waiting for our van

There were only 2 nights left! What was happening? We got into another tuk, holding onto the edge of my seat as I anticipated a crash at any moment. We weaved between the wobbly buses, breathing in the sweet perfume of the Mercedes exhaust pipe in front of us, we drove in the opposite direction to the traffic on a one way road and made a last violent swerve as I breathed a sigh of relief at having arrived home safe and in one piece.

Our last affordable classy dinner for a while was at the Dutch Hospital that contains a boulevard of cafes and restaurants, walking back along the green by the seaside we crashed out for our last night together in SL.

Our last day was spent indulging in great food, cakes and coffee with two of my favourite people in the world, a quick haircut and to top it all off… flu L J. had a few hours before the taxi to the airport was arriving and he spent it curled up in bed with hot and cold shivers and a mug of herbal tea, the storm outside was the appropriate soundtrack for the scene. I waved him off, making sure he had a few paracetemol and tissues for the long journey, it sucks to be sick on an airplane…

Last day in Colombo

Now he’s probably in the air, about to touch down for his stop-over in Dubai as I’m about to board my flight. Soon our adventures shall begin in England but I must savour the last few minutes before it all turns into another memory. I’ll close my eyes tonight and feel Ulpotha mud between by toes, hear the sound of the drums, taste the hot coconut sambal, smell the distinct curry leaf and look back in wonder at the magic of Ceylon.

Recipe of the day: Grilled tilapia with mango salsa
http://allrecipes.com/recipe/grilled-tilapia-with-mango-salsa/