Soul Shift

Essaouira felt like switching from boxing to meditation (if meditation included dead fish and suspicious characters) Morocco . Letter #17

Dear Ageless Wanderers,

We didn't expect it to feel like that.

Not after Marrakech.

There, we were full tilt….dodging donkeys, holding our breath through clouds of cumin and exhaust, sidestepping motorcycles like human pinballs.

But Essaouira? Here was something else entirely.

We arrived in a downpour that was flooding the streets. The road ahead was barely visible, but we made it to our apartment like we were captains sailing through one of Neptune's tantrums. It was late, but we got our umbrellas out and forged ahead because sometimes hunger rules. Essaouira is known for seafood.

It smelled like saltwater and something ancient, briny, yes, but not bad.

Seagulls screamed overhead like they had opinions. I made Stella walk two blocks farther to avoid them. I was not accepting overhead gifts.

And the air was fresh, wide, cool. It got under our skin in the best way.

The next morning, bright and early, with the sunshine welcoming us, we made our way to the heart of Essaouira. The Skala offers spectacular views of the Atlantic Ocean.

The Medina had room to breathe.

The streets were quiet.

We didn't want to shop. We didn't want to talk. We wanted the ocean. (This may have been the first time in recorded history that Stella didn't want to shop. We should have documented it.)

I followed a path through the rocks, picking my way toward the sea like a slightly uncoordinated mountain goat. There was no soft sand here, just slippery boulders, spray, and an Atlantic attitude that seemed to say, "Figure it out, tourist." My footsteps slowed down.

Stella stayed on top just in case. She's always wiser than me on these things. Probably because she's the one who's had to fish me out of various predicaments involving 'just wanting to get a little closer to…"

The waves were huge.

The energy is bigger.

The scent of the ocean and old stone hit something deep.

I watched a man fishing like they'd probably done for hundreds of years: no fancy gear, no apps to tell him where the fish were hiding, no fuss. Just rhythm, sea, and the kind of patience that makes modern people break out in hives.

Later, we wandered to the fish stalls. Tables full of unfamiliar creatures glistened under the morning sun.

This wasn't the Pacific. I couldn't recognize any of them, but they were beautiful.

You picked your fish and walked it to a grill station where someone cooked it while you waited in the wind. It was like farm-to-table, but this was ocean-to-flame-to-table.

It was messy. Loud in a different way.

But it felt right.

Grounded.

Elemental.

Although it was different here, softer, cleaner, less urgent, some things don't change.

There was still that man.

He slid into conversation like he'd always been there. He said he used to run the stall; now his sons did. Just a sweet older man who wanted to chat about the weather, the fish, and life in general. I was enjoying myself. Stella was talking with someone in another stall.

Then: "I want to show you something. Something very old. Just over there. You have never seen anything like this before."

He nodded toward the sea wall.

Of course, he did.

My curiosity stirred. What could it be? The sea wall was only about 100 yards away. No buildings. Was there a secret staircase leading to this, something I had never seen before?

I looked at Stella. But Stella gave me the look. The one that says: don't. I flinched, but…..Stella, in her resolve, grabbed my arm. Not roughly but firmly saying, 'Let's go'. What would I do without her?

So we left him there, mid-pitch. He looked disappointed. Maybe offended.

He didn't know our history. He didn't know we'd graduated from the University of Following Strangers with a minor in Regrettable Decisions. Or maybe he had a new respect for someone who knew "that" game.

Yes, we've followed strangers.

Sometimes, it's apricots or, pistachios or herbs.

Sometimes, it's a tannery when you were promised rugs.

Essaouira may have shifted the soul, but the game still played on.

We didn't stay long in Essaouira. But it stayed with us.

There was something in the ocean smell, the wind, the quiet routines of people who live by the ocean.

Something that slowed the pulse made space in the mind.

It made us wonder……what if we just stayed?

Maybe that's the real trick of travel.

Not the fish. Not the sea wall. Not even the men with secrets.

Just the places that remind you who you are when the noise drops out. We are bound to return for this place found a nesting place in our hearts.

XXOO

Lucille

P.S.

Thanks for reading The Chronicles of Ageless Wanderers. We write to entertain, inform, and maybe nudge you toward your own adventures. There's beauty everywhere, sometimes even in your own backyard.

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