May 22 The early morning flight from Hannover to Agadir only took me a bit more than 4 hours, but then I spent another 3 and a half hours in a taxi climbing up and down the wild mountain ranges to Essaouira. People kept staring at me, especially when we had a coffee break, and I regretted that my long scarf was locked away safely in my suitcase. The cab driver paid for my expenses, as the import and export of Moroccan currency is forbidden. Also, he kept watch when I had to go to the ladies, and, most important, he got us through the numerous check points set up by the police and the military without any further delay. After having made myself as comfortable as possible in my tiny Moroccan style bedroom opening to a huge roof garden overlooking Essaouira beach, I checked in at the Mistral Centre 300 meters away. There I was told to come back the following day. They hadn’t had any wind for a whole week.

May 23 Breakfast was simply delicious - freshly pressed orange juice, crèpe au miel, pain au chocolat, baguette - and served in the lounge, which means you had to crouch down on a divan and try to find room for your legs under a table not higher than your knee. Then I walked along the flashy, well kept promenade along the beach. Though it must have been some 25 degrees Celsius, I was wearing a long skirt, a jacket and a scarf - dressed for the occasion. Wind had started to come up by 2 o’clock and for two hours I thoroughly enjoyed my pre-booked 86 l waveboard (Mistral beast) with a 5.0 sail (North Vodoo). I was lured by the beauty of the Isle of Mogador when going out and watched the Bedouins riding their horses and dromedaries along the beach when coming back in. Going upwind to the south side of the bay I managed to catch a few windwaves, about 2 meters high. Unfortunately the wind started dropping around 5 o’clock and I finished off the day by pouring warm water over my feet that were not used to the cold Atlantic Ocean.

May 24 In the morning I took out my biggest scarf and strolled about the Medina, the ancient town of Essaouira enclosed by huge walls. For me it was like an oriental maze of narrow streets and alleys packed with all sorts of exotic foreigners shuffling about in slippers. Mesmerized I kept flowing along with the mainstream, catching a glimpse of the shiny silver jewellery, the skilful woodwork, or the craftmanship of artisans like furriers and weavers. Only when I stopped to have a closer look at the goods displayed did the merchants invite me to enter their shops. On my way back I was wondering how, in spite of so many people moving about in such a narrow place, noone had brushed against me or blocked my way. In contrast to the Middle Eastern lifestyle in the Kasbah, life at Club Mistral was Western-orientated with a marked French influence: the staff and most guests spoke French, the menue was French (wine was served to foreigners although the consumption of alcohol is illegal in Morocco), and girls were sunbathing in their bikinies as if they were at the Côte d’Azur. The 16 knots predicted for the afternoon never came. So I played around with a 6.4 sail on the 86 l waveboard, just to be out on the water again for a little while, before withdrawing to the privacy of my roof garden.

May 25 What a clear and windless morning! I kept walking along the beach down south where the beginners in waveriding were already practising in smooth, well defined 2 meter waves. Alas, my early morning peace and quiet was disturbed by constant offers of rides on horses and dromedaries. And I was wearing a long skirt, not to mention a scarf, of course! There was no prospect of wind whatsoever. To improve the general mood, Club Mistral had organized a trip to go waveriding at Plage Safi north of Essaouira. Going up there meant driving through the poor, less presentable parts of the Cité Atlantique and then walking along a dirt track to the beach for another 5 minutes. A group of Morrocan boys and some weird looking European surfers were already busy catching the small (about 2 m), but amazingly powerful waves coming in like clockwork with vey little space in between. Paddling out caused more problems than I had expected - based on the little experience I had from years ago in Australia - and I was wiped out several times before I got out. So I was really pleased with myself when I finally caught a big wave and I let myself be carried back in lying flat on my tummy. However, I was not carried back to the sandy beach I had started from, but closer and closer to the huge rocks downwind. What a long way back! I was paddling like mad, but could hardly gain any ground, because the waves kept pulling me towards the rocks. Indeed, I might have given up in the end, if it had not been for a Moroccan waverider, who manoeuvred his board next to mine. Whenever I slowed down for mere exhaustion, he started gesticulating wildly and his eyes glittered ferociously. Thus he got me ashore where he wrote his name into the sand. He was mute. As it turned out, the other tourists of the Mistral centre had already left, because they felt the waves were unsuitable for beginners. So I spent the rest of the afternoon with the Moroccan staff, staying in the shorebreak close to the beach to avoid further disasters. When it was time to go home, the Maroccans all climbed up a steep sand dune and changed on the other side. As there was no Ladies’ dune, I pulled my clothes over my wet swimsuit and kept shivering on my way back.

May 26 Everything was dead flat throughout the whole day, not even a single kite to be seen. In the evening I felt I deserved a drink. So I went out to the most trendy roof bar of the Medina and paid 15 euros for a cocktail.

May 27 The winds started coming up around noon. They had changed direction and were blowing from the right hand side now, slightly off shore with strong gusts. By 2 o’clock I was out on the choppy water with a 5.0 Vodoo, racing up and down between the isle of Mogador and Club Mistral. Later in the afternoon I was definitely overpowered.

May 28 After exploring some of the more inconspicuous parts of the Medina in the morning, I was already planing with a 4.7 sail shortly after 1 o’clock. Again the winds picked up rather quickly and it was hard work to keep the 86 l board on the choppy water. In the strong gusts I was fighting for control. Chatted the rest of the afternoon away drinking peppermint tea brewed from fresh herbs - paid 80 cents for the pot.

May 29 The winds were coming slightly off shore from the right side again, the typical summer conditions, and were reaching 30 knots and more around noon. The water was even choppier than the day before and there was a nasty shorebreak of about 2 meters that kept the less experienced windsurfers and kiters from getting out. So I chose a 4.2 Vodoo and decided to go for the 76 l Beast with a 22 cm fin, although I had never sailed such a small board before. I was a bit anxious about being drifted away towards the south end of the bay, but consoled myself with the idea that I could always hire a dromedary and ride back with my equipment. Under these extreme conditions the board and the sail proved to be a perfect combination. Even in the heavy gusts did I have the feeling that I was still in control. And once, in front of the Isle of Mogador that protects the bay from the Atlantic ocean, my board seemed to gybe all by itself, and even the sail hooked itself back into my harness lines. Why can’t it be like that all the time? How did I do it? Altogether I only lasted for about an hour and was absolutely exhausted when I rode back in through the ‘channel’ reserved for windsurfers, but I felt good, so good and satisfied.

May 30 No windsurfing today, I needed a rest. The winds were blowing and I was writing postcards. Also, I was looking for something to take back to Germany, maybe a hand woven blanket to dream on?

May 31 At breakfast time I got into a conversation with one of the French windsurfers staying at my hotel and asked him whether he was coming along on the trip to Sidi Kaouki organized by the Mistral team. Apparently there were waves. Immediately he shouted to his friends “On cherche un volontaire pour aller à Sidi Kaouki”. Everybody laughed and nobody wanted to go. The winds were even stronger there, about 5 knots. So I decided not to take part either, and in the end the trip was cancelled altogether. Instead I was out on the water at noon, struggling with the small Beast and a 4.0 Vodoo. I had never sailed under such extreme conditions before and found it nearly impossible to adapt to the sudden gusts of wind and the rough, incredibly choppy sea. Also, I had to go upwind most of the time, because the current had become considerably stronger. Therefore I was quite happy when I finally managed to come back in where I had started from - without the help of the rescue boat, which was busy all day long. In the evening I rewarded myself for my unprecedented efforts with calamaris farcis (filled calamari) at the Lalla Mira, a German run biological restaurant in the Medina. It’s a small world, isn’t it?

The days after fierce winds were blowing all night long, but calmed down to a ‘moderate’ 30 knots later in the morning, so I gave it a try with a 4.0 sail. When I had the feeling that my shoulder joints were coming apart, I gave up. Good thing I only had to get my equipment safely out of the shorebreak, as Youssef or Aziz would be there to help me carry everything back. Compared to the turmoil of the days before, my last two days in the swell of the Cité Atlantique were a mere pleasure ride. I had got accustomed to the little Beast and was cruising along happily with a 4.5 sail, although, to be honest, it was still terribly gusty and choppy. But being out there simply felt great and that is what I remember when I lie down on my ‘couverture traditionelle’, a huge white blanket made of sheep’s wool.

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text & photos: Eva Marie Drape-Huelsemann  © windgirls 2008