Essaouira Escapade

'Look – Mogador!' I say, pointing at the squat, square tower crawling with tourists – only, of course, it wasn't Mogador but the old Genoese citadel. A man in an orange djellaba stands by the long white seawall, gazing wistfully out to sea.

We saunter down to the citadel in the early afternoon, the little blue boats in the fishing harbour bobbing as we pass, the gulls raucous and wheeling overhead.

On the way back to the medina, the little seafood stalls by the Place Moulay Hassan prove a little too tempting. Picking one at random and settling in the shade, I order a plat de crustacés: some crabs and prawns, a couple of urchins, and a handful of bizarre-looking cigales de mer.  

The chef is lean young man, with a slightly grubby white smock and the beginnings of a ginger beard. He sports a pair of snazzy shades and, as he tosses our order onto the grill, you can see the smoke wreathe and rise around him into the bright blue winter sky.