Okay, yes, the medina was beautiful, the riad, flawless, the people, beyond welcoming. But somewhere between Wilder slapping our sweeter-than-an-éclair host and Nakota going ape-shit over baby doll’s inability to follow direction, I got a little cranky. And not to play the blame game, but conquering jet leg without a little help from the nectar of the gods is no small feat (see #2). Oh, and did I mention I forgot the Kindle at home and there aint an English bookstore in sight, so I was stuck reading really important soul-crushing articles like this on my Iphone until 4 am every morning? Read it, Parents, it’s not like all the other ones on the subject. But just know there are some things you can’t un-read.
So when Billy said I had been acting like an A-hole (direct quote) on this trip when all along I thought I had been frolicking through the souks like a #blessed#supermom, I realized I needed to take a moment.
Ha. That’s a total lie. I spewed out some sort of retort that my ego is protecting me from remembering, and then he gave me a moment.
(still giving me the silent treatment)
Our riad hosts helped organize our car rental (we'll have it for the next month) and we headed for Essaouira, thankful to have the kids strapped in, a reason to not look at one another and clear directions to follow.
And open space. Lots of it.
Essaouira. A beautiful village on the sea with another gorgeous medina. As legend has it, Jimi Hendrix wrote Castles Made of Sand here. Turns out that’s hogwash (Arabic translation unavailable) but the hippies, loyal as only hippies can be, followed and put their touch on what must’ve already been a super groovy place. The winds blow incessantly, beckoning kite surfers and people that want to sell you kite surfing lessons, and we love it.
We found our new home through an underground website called Airbnb. We walked in and immediately decided to book it for another week. It’s on the outskirts of town, with shepards walking by and a garden for the kids to play in. The perfect place for us to unwind and be our own weird little family again.
The night we arrived Billy and I did the half-assed version of unpacking, bought a bottle of wine and put the kids to bed. We headed to the roof and spent the night laughing and reminiscing about twelve years of bumbling trips through Africa, Asia, Europe, New York and Wisconsin, gasping at the stars shooting across an upside down Little Dipper and keeping comfortably silent through the pitch black darkness in between.
Before I was married I asked a friend what is was like to be it (married, that is).
She said:
“Before, there was The Door. And I would walk out That Door and not know if I would be coming back. Now there’s still That Door, and I still walk out of it occasionally, but when I do, I know that it swings both ways.”
So it’s basically some sort of bisexual door parable of marriage that she told me. But it sticks with me somehow.
Anyway, here’s more pics of Essouira:
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