This one time I went to Morocco to heal myself

It was my first time in Africa, and after a couple of days in the bubbling, sweaty (getting used to wearing long sleeves and pants in 30 degrees ain’t easy) and loud Marrakech, any introverted solo traveller would look for some time to charge the batteries drained by the initial culture shock and sunstroke. That’s when I decided to head out to Essaouira.
Essaouira is a relaxed small town on the western coast of Morocco. With a population of 70,000, strong winds and much more relaxed locals it is known among surfers who gather there to tune in with the waves. With the long camel coloured sandy beaches, it is the perfect place to hop on your board. But that’s not why I was there.
I arrived early in the afternoon and being a bit of an over-organizer I pretty much already new which direction to go. Or at least so I thought. I was running short on money, so I had booked a hostel bed somewhere in the maze of the souk. It seems to be a common practice in Morocco that signs are a bit overrated, therefore I didn’t have much hope for these. I was all alone with my GPS.
I passed old men, looking at me suspiciously, sitting on the street corners, local bakeries spreading the most amazing sweet smell of pastries, and stray cats lazily wallowing in the sun. Everyone seemed to be in a rush, but in a relaxed way. Eventually I found the beautiful cobalt blue door, made my way through the human wall of local children playing football, and rang the bell. I was at the right place.
It seems that Morocco is for those who can appreciate and find beauty in the most random and, quite often, raddled places. Climbing up the stairs to the balcony on top of the 4-story building, I found a view that could only be described as jolie laide. With the sky as vivid blue as the local paints and faded white rooftops it was exactly why I had come to Morocco. Hand-washed undergarments drying in the salty air, tens of satellite pans on top of each building, fishermen selling the day’s produce on the bay, while the loudspeakers blast all over the town, letting you know it was time to pray - this is not what you see on the main street full of vendors and handicraft. With still a couple of days left in Morocco, I suddenly felt peace, because I had seen what I had to. My admiration was only stopped by a tortoise, biting into my toe. I was on his way. And I think that’s how you are supposed to enjoy Morocco - taking a step back and staying off the way. Or at least for just a while.