Soon the mountains disappeared altogether, and a bleak landscape began outside the window. Lifeless fields, dreary villages with dead, unfinished houses.
We booked accommodation in Taroudant through Airbnb; it turned out to be an apartment in a three-story building outside the city limits. New apartment blocks were being built in the middle of a field. Maybe in time it will become nice there, but for now the atmosphere is a bit gloomy.
We couldn’t figure out which house was ours. We couldn’t get through to the owner, so we just drove along the dirt roads (apparently because it’s a new neighborhood, proper roads haven’t been built there yet) between the new houses. Then a girl came out of one of them and said that she was the owner and had been expecting us.
We were put up in a small apartment on the first floor. There was one small window near the ceiling in the bedroom; the kitchen and living room had no windows, which made it very stuffy there. But overall the apartment was nice, everything was brand new, and you could see the owners had tried to make it as pleasant as possible.
The girl brought us mint tea and peanuts. We had a snack and went to walk around the city.
The old part of the city is surrounded by a 6-km-long wall. They say it is one of the best-preserved city walls in Morocco. The wall looks very beautiful — imposing, with battlements and arched gates.
We parked the car by the wall and went for a walk.
The old city is noisy and bustling. Later it became clear that we hadn’t taken a single photo in the city — neither of the pink city wall nor of the old town. I don’t even know whether photos could convey that atmosphere… It was very noisy, very crowded. I immediately remembered India, where you usually had to push your way through the street; walking calmly there wasn’t possible.
Various smells mixed in the air — fried sardines, spices, grilled chickens, gasoline, sweet doughnuts. People, cyclists, and mopeds darted through the narrow streets.
In the main square in front of the mosque, we bought something resembling a pancake and sat down to have tea in a café at the only free table. Tea houses are very popular here. At the other tables, as always, only men were sitting, also drinking tea and talking. I had already gotten somewhat used to this entirely male environment and felt less awkward than in the first days.
We also watched city life. There are many young people here. Girls mostly cover their heads with scarves, but there are also girls without scarves, and some are even dressed in tight jeans, which here, among the burqas, looks quite provocative. Volchiy believes that a girl without a scarf on her head has no chance of finding a decent husband here…
While we were drinking tea, the sun set and it quickly grew dark. It was time to get out of the city. We left the old city through another gate and walked to the car along the outside of the wall. It’s very civilized and well done here — a wide sidewalk, palm trees, streetlights. There are lots of people out walking.
On the way, we buy a Moroccan melon. The melon is sweet, but firm and crunchy like a cucumber.
