Today I could stay here for six months, the rest of my life even. Today nature’s neon has all bulbs blazing. The sun is high in a cloudless sky, turning grey water turquoise and grubby sand golden.
The walk to the beach bombards the senses.
Plumbago is the only understated flower. Its delicate pale blue petals, like virgin wall flowers at a Jane Austen ball, trampled into insignificance by the trumpets of blowsy red Hibiscus, Scarlet Johannson lipped Geraniums, and Mesembryanthemum (a flower with no idea of colour coordination) screaming to be noticed as they litter the base of towering screw pines. Giant, lush, green foliage (of the house plant variety), affording welcome shade and putting the glass houses of Kew and Wisley into perspective.
This is my Africa.
My blisters and I meander down alleyways that in the evening, are full of Alibaba shops selling all things twinkly, now shuttered in soft colours, greens, blues and damask pinks to keep out the heat of the day.
The beach is perfect. Miles and miles of golden sand, the Atlantic beckoning seductively. Tankers, far out to sea carry the oil that will light a thousand cities, fuel millions of cars and keep economies, and wars, alive and well.
Don’t knock it, woman. Without it you wouldn’t be here, tapping on a hardly inexpensive Mac, luxuriating in the beauty of nature. Someone’s work pays for this.
All along the promenade are hotels, those further away, as with most holiday destinations, still under construction. On the beach in front of each hotel, battalions of sun loungers and beach umbrellas, reminiscent of Rimini or Marbella, but Agadir, charmingly, still has much catching up to do.
True it’s out of season and, for now, the beach is pleasantly uncrowded, the majority of holiday makers being the baby boomer, French and German couples we have met before, or honeymooners, hen weekenders, or just locals going for a walk or a run.
The cafes, open and expectant, must surely struggle to break even. Hopefully the summer hordes will make their efforts and manners worthwhile.
The vendors aren’t pushy, just don’t engage in conversation, (not hard if you don’t speak French or Arabic), keep your eyes down and your body decently covered.
Oh yes, yesterday and the dubious condition? All put to rights and I had the best sea bass I have ever eaten, filleted with more finesse than at Claridges and at a fraction of the cost. The concierge recommended ‘Scampis’ restaurant, and it was a delight. Simple but clean and impeccable service.
This afternoon, I intend to work on the English condition “the pinkening of the skin’ and finish book number 2.
Tomorrow the bus to Taroudant and mountains. I am a very lucky girl.