It’s my last afternoon alone in Essaouira & I’m sitting on the dirty dusty ground with my feet dangling over the edge of the oldest (18th century) port in Morocco…. The port that drew me back to Morocco to chill, to think, to paint! Everywhere you look there is another photo to be taken until you just have to stop yourself…now it’s time to just sit and absorb the inspiration and drink in the atmosphere of this amazing place before I leave it. I count 184 cobalt blue fishing boats tied together …23 rows of 8 boats swaying towards me and then away from me again like a big slow sea monster; moving in unison with the swell of the ocean. Behind them are the large fishing trawlers that rape the sea of all of its life with kilometres of nets, without consideration for the size, type or age of fish ..and leaving the old traditional owners of the small boats struggling in the cold ocean all night to survive with what they can catch in their small nets. The trawlers have bundles of coloured balls and many many horizontal lines spiking up into the sky. Anything (fishing boats and rods, lamp posts, fortress domes) that has a high resting point, has at least one seagull sitting on top ..the rest of the sky is filled with a zillion squalling and squalking seagulls. As the golden ball of sun slides behind the horizon, a seagull lands beside me and he is as tall as my knee and as round as a cat MASSIVE.. They all are -well fed by the fishermen as they GUT AND clean their catch each morning.. Rows of white buckets with huge fish in all shapes, colours and sizes; large crabs, rows and rows of squid and the occasional scampi, octopus, prawns and lobsters line the wharf, watched over by the old fisherman and their wives. The misty ocean to my left hides the ‘castle in the sand’ supposedly the subject of Jimi Hendrix song when he stayed in the small white village (now known as Jimi Hendrix village)on the hill at the other end of a long long stretch of beach. The beach is scattered with camels and horses offered for hire by many ‘overly’ friendly Moroccan men showering you with compliments and questions to win your business. At sunset the beach is covered with many many locals swathed in Jalabas ( their long dress like robes) and head scarves, shoes and socks – so foreign to us ozzies who love the feel of the sun and sand on our bodies; at one end there is an endless soccer game which seems to last all day, everyday ! The field has no boundaries and the game has no rules. The pale blues, purples and pinks of the misty sky frame the lively shapes. To my right the sky is a blue and pale gold backdrop to the old and cold sandstone ruins of the fortress; which stands strong despite being constantly hammered by the huge cold crashing waves of the ocean, sea spray everywhere . As I get up to leave .. I have to tip toe across the carpet of fishing nets which cover the ground on the waters edge. The old fishermen sit together on the nets, mending and bait thousands of lines for the next day, nattering and laughing amongst themselves. Time to go… A bientot Essaouira…