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We had been
in touch with Mustafa at Europcar with our Iridium phone to inform him
about our various delays, and he was there punctually at 5:30 p.m. with
the car.
By 6 p.m. we had stocked up on Moroccan dirhams from an ATM in town and
were heading NE for Skoura with beautiful views of the Atlas mountains
in the setting sun. Shortly after sunset, we were in Skoura where we
left the main road and followed painted green dots with white arrows to
guide us through the maze of dirt roads in the huge Skoura palmeraie. We
finally found Hotel Sawadi about half
an hour after leaving the main road, and were greeted cordially at the
grand entrance by Mohammed. By this time we were ready for a good tagine
dinner and a bottle of Moroccan wine.
The owner
of Hotel Sawadi is a most ‘sympathique’ Frenchman called Philippe who
bought the property, which includes a farm, just a few years ago. This
is the low season – and Ramadan to boot – and we were his only customers
for the two nights we stayed there. Our room was lovely and spacious and
we had the garden and swimming pool to ourselves – bliss!
It happened to be market day in Skoura, so we drove back there,
following the white dots with green arrows this time, stopping on the
way to give a lift to a couple of women.
Unlike in Marrakesh or Fez, the locals don’t try to hassle you or sell
you anything. We wandered past colourful stalls selling anything from
tin pots to vegetables to spices and stocked up on a kilo of dates for
10 dirhams (1 Euro). We spotted our host Philippe buying wood for
construction purposes. Unlike the locals, he didn’t mind us taking a
photo of him.
But not all the locals refuse to have their photo taken as we were about
to discover. On our way back to the hotel, we stopped the car and went
for a walk in the palmeraie. I was about to take a picture of Flemming
when some young boys appeared and insisted on being included in the
photo. They then crowded round the digital camera to see the result.
The early morning is cool and temperatures drop quite quickly after
sunset at around 6:30 p.m., but between those times it’s a scorching dry
heat – a good excuse for a siesta after lunch in the shade.
As the sun sank low enough for the light to be good, we strolled around
the garden to the stables where the goats, donkeys and chickens were to
be found.
When we sat down to dinner, we saw that a single place had been laid at
the next table. Our waiter, Manour, confirmed that it was for Philippe
so we asked him to tell Philippe that we would be very happy if he would
join us. Philippe was delighted to do so and we had a most enjoyable
dinner, swapping stories of our travels with his own adventures.
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A young boy insisted on posing with Flemming
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