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Saturday, Nov. 18th: We had a fine breakfast and then went for a walk along the beach, me with my surfboard under my arm. The river mouth, where we used to camp in the late eighties had completely changed. There must have been a massive flood that had swept all over the place. Where there was a field before there was a riverbed now. Everything had been swept away save the few trees that had given us shadow at our former base camp.
At the river mouth solid three meter waves were peeling nicely, but I didnīt feel ready for them. So we waded through the river to have a look at the breaks on the south side of the rocky headland but the waves didnīt look good there.
We had a snack at the hostel and then drove to Essaouira. The port was bustling with people, fishermen were unloading their boats, the workers in the wharf were busy repairing fishing boats and building new ones, all this with traditional tools and traditional materials, mainly wood.
We watched for a while and then went to the old town centre. Ilona, my girlfriend back then, was scared. I know this feeling from my first visit in 1987.
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