Our original plan today was to take an early morning bus from Essaouira to the town of Smimou, an hour to the south on the road to Agadir. Supposedly Smimou is the center of the tree-climbing goats phenomenon – if you believe in tree-climbing goats (and I mean unaided by alcohol or hallucinogenic drugs). Unfortunately, we are in danger of missing out because Christi is having another of her semi-frequent bouts of nausea and remains in bed and rather subdued. I force her to dig into her bag of pharmaceuticals and take some of the drugs she’s always prescribing me. Reluctantly she complies and by lunch time her condition has improved sufficiently that finding tree-climbing goats sounds a lot more fun.
The problem now is the erratic and infrequent bus service to Smimou. We may be able to reach Smimou today, but there’s little chance of us returning to Essaouira tonight. We plod around the medina instead, until I come up with the bright idea of hiring a taxi (if cheap enough) to just find the damn goats for us. We eventually stumble across an English-speaking taxi driver who assures us categorically that for 250D (about US$30) he will find tree-climbing goats. His confidence does not stretch to a money-back guarantee, however. I don’t think the phrase ‘money-back guarantee’ is a popular phrase in Arab cultures. Still US$30 is a good deal and at least we will be searching for goats from the relative comfort of a taxi as opposed to another derelict bus.
The countryside around Essaouira is very pretty; classic Mediterranean scenery with Argan trees (almost endemic to Morocco) being a common sight. Argan trees are gnarly with quite vicious thorns to protect their fruit. And it is the fruit, or more accurately, the seed that gives rise to the famous Argan oil (used for both culinary and cosmetic purposes). Christi and I are fortunate to be in Morocco in the spring when the whole area is awash with wild flowers: from red poppies to white daisies, yellow buttercups and mauve violets not to mention meadows of lush green grass. We also see more camels – some of which are being ridden along the beach (you can’t escape camels in Arab Africa), together with an abundance of donkeys and sheep. Of the goats, though, there is no sign. Our driver looks increasingly worried and continually stops to chat to the locals. Based on those conversations we zoom off enthusiastically in new directions, but still no goats. We are beginning to think our search will end in failure when our taxi driver finally locates a herd of the acrobatic little chaps happily munching away in a grove of Argan trees (both leaves and the fruit are tasty delicacies). Christi and I spend a happy 30 minutes snapping away at the dexterous little devils who seemed unperturbed by our presence.
Having witnessed the phenomenon of the tree-climbing goats Christi and I are happy to return to Essaouira, but our taxi driver has other ideas. He is determined that we should visit an Argan oil cooperative. These cooperatives are as popular around Essaouira as wineries are in Napa. Oil is recovered by hand from the Argan nuts and then incorporated into all manner of products for putting on you and in you. We weaken and buy some quite expensive soap. One thing is for sure, by the time we leave Essaouira we will be clean!
Blog post by Roderick Phillips, author of Weary Heart – a gut-wrenching tale of love and test tubes.
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