For the last complete day in Morocco, I wanted to finally enjoy some R&R time. I'd been rushing through the countryside, meeting people, going places, doing things - which is fine. My philosophy on vacation time is that this is the rare window of opportunity within the year I get to really live, so I cram as much as I can into it. Let's face it, it's no big secret that I, like many millions of Americans work in the Job I Found Myself Landing Into, as opposed to the Job I Wanted to Create for myself. I have only just recently almost begun to start accepting that. For now. But, it's certainly not the Life I Want to Live, which is what I do, sadly, a few times a year on vacation.
This trip was exceptional in that I got to do so much on my time away, and often, would break out the camera as an afterthought. But, for my last day in Morocco - specifically, Essaouira - I wanted to relax and play with my camera. It was also Tony's 40th birthday. He wasn't sure what he wanted to do. I suggested ushering in a new decade by trying something that he'd never done before, so we opted to go find some horses.
Just down the coast, in Diabat, there is a ranch - really the back of an old crumbling mosque - with a stable of horses. It's only recently begun attracting tourists, so is fantastically still authentic - a run-down, functioning stable as opposed to a flash tourist destination. We opted for a few hours' ride to fill the morning, and were quickly fitted out with knee-high chaps. As someone who's ridden in Australia and once for an hour in Texas, I've never worn chaps - contrary to common Texas stereotype (as held through much of the world). We started off following Hassan, the guide from the stable - though why we really needed a guide in this beachside nestle of dune-hills, I'm not sure.
At any rate, we started off, and the horse I was on really didn't like the other two. He would, despite my best pull of the reigns, try to bite the other two horses' faces. Once we emerged into more open riding area, I thought this would stop, but it didn't. So, Hassan, the guide, and I swapped animals. Now, I was on the best looking horse from the stables. A tall, majestic sable brown horse that somehow exhibited a leadership air about him, if that's possible - probably from being used to leading the riders. Since Hassan was leading, and it was Tony's birthday, I opted to hang back and ride last. This also gave me the opportunity to sometimes wander a bit, since I had my camera with me.
We meandered initially on a closely wound trail through scrubby dunes, emerging onto pure sand dunes. When I was last here 8 years ago, this stretch of dunes had a string of Atlantic-washup trash almost a kilometer long. It was heart-wrenching - there were recyclables of all imaginable types washed up along the tide line. Now, however - likely as a result of its continued 'destination' status - Essaouira has really cleaned up its act, and this has been adopted by the surrounding communities as a means to attract more tourism. The benefit is an improved environment; the downside is the wave of new, perhaps unsustainable development on a delicate seaside ecosystem that has occured in the interim. Of course I'm glad to see that this has been cleaned up, but it is a bit disheartening to see that the reason - rather than pride in one's own environment - was instead to attract what is slightly less ugly concrete block condo development.
At any rate, we rode toward the beach and then along the old Portuguese fortress ruins. It was there that I remembered, on my last trip, I also had short hair. I was traveling with a friend from Australia (Adam) and he snapped a photo of me climbing the ruins, and then perched on top of the highest point, thinking. Which my mom then painted in a portrait. Small world. At any rate, it was a wonderful and novel way to see the scenery. The wind was strong, but so was the sun. I had a tank top on but wore a button-down shirt over it, and at the end of the day, was rewarded with a weird take on a farmer's tan (burn): red arms up to the sleeve point, but with a scoop-neck front. And my ears!
As we slowly made our way via a grand loop back to the ranch, the horse I was riding decided he wanted to have some fun. Who could blame him? He's on the beach, got the wind in his hair, has been tracking kind of slow but normally was used to leading. So he popped a horse-wheelie.
He reared up in that classic horse pose - both front paws reaching skyward - and let out a fantastic whinnie. When all fours were again on the ground, he took off on a run. Didn't matter that I was indicating a slow, and then a force-stop on the reigns. He slowed when he was damn good an ready, just a few moments longer. I didn't notice at the time but after the excitement, I somehow had the werewithal to protect my camera by rolling it into my button down shirt and covering it with my left arm (from the saddle horn). It was all quite exciting.
Afterward, the day was filled with remaining R&R activities...a few celebratory beers, lunch, strolling along the medina, snapping photos....and then meeting up with friends to celebrate Tony's birthday.
