Agadir Oufella

Unlike most travelers who opt for city tours at the beginning of their trips, our experience was refreshingly unique. With our driver doubling as our tour guide, our small group – consisting of just us and a friendly German couple – enjoyed engaging conversations that added depth to our exploration. As we made our way towards the Agadir Oufella fort, our driver shared fascinating insights about the local area, including intriguing details about the opulent villas lining our route, some of which boasted the highest price tags in the city.

On that particular day in Agadir, we were greeted with a pleasantly surprising absence of traffic, allowing us to enjoy a peaceful drive along the scenic beach road. Thanks to a public holiday, the streets were less congested, while the coastline was bustling with locals taking advantage of the day off. Football, a beloved sport among Moroccans, was omnipresent. Everywhere we looked, groups of enthusiastic kids seized any available space to indulge in their passion for the game. In narrow car parks and quieter streets, footballs would unexpectedly bounce in front of our car, followed closely by a flurry of excited children in pursuit. It was undeniably risky, yet undeniably endearing.

As we ascended on the cable car, our anticipation heightened, knowing we had an hour to explore the fort before returning. The journey itself offered breathtaking vistas: Agadir's coastline stretching gracefully into the distance. Below, a hive of activity unfolded. Despite the abundance of construction, there was a certain harmony in the patterns emerging from the chaos – a testament to the intricate dance of progress and preservation in this dynamic city.

Upon reaching the summit of the fort, we were greeted by majestic pillars rising from the centre, with couples perched at the top admiring the view. Eager to soak in the breathtaking sights, I hastened to the edge of the fort, where an awe-inspiring scenery awaited. To the right, the coastline stretched into the distance, adorned with glistening resorts and hotels, while to the left, the residential quarters and lively streets unfolded. Despite the overcast sky lending an air of gloom, it cast a spellbinding effect over the landscape, rendering the view even more mesmerising. From our vantage point high above, we captured stunning photographs, standing a few feet up on the edge of the fort, feeling as though we were on the brink of the world itself.

As we turned away from the captivating view, we discovered a set of rugged stairs leading further upward, where we were greeted by the unexpected sight of several camels lazily lounging about. With each step, the excitement of our ascent grew exponentially. Standing on a historic fort perched on a mountain peak watching cable cars gliding up and down, adventurous souls trekking up the mountain with the sea reflecting the muted tones of the cloudy sky beneath. While the atmosphere may have been gray, there was still an undeniable beauty in it. And as an added bonus, my attire happened to match perfectly with the ancient fort. A win-win situation. We watched tourists and locals from above also walking up the mountain so we made the decision to walk as further down as possible before needing to head back.
As we began our descent down the mountain, I realised how weird kids were. One particular encounter involved a child spontaneously performing a roly-poly, his head planted firmly on the dusty ground as he called out for his mother to give him a gentle push. I thought to myself, 'what on Earth are you doing?'. Neither my friend nor the German couple seemed to notice this so I was judging alone. The journey downhill proved rewarding. Glancing back towards the fort, we marveled at the surrounding mountain peaks, their imposing presence casting a mesmerizing backdrop against the landscape. It was a scene of sheer beauty, one that left us captivated by the natural surroundings.

After descending on the cable car, our driver guided us to the magnificent Mohammed V Mosque, the biggest in Agadir, where we marvelled at its majestic architecture from the outside. Before we returned to the car, our driver, curious about us, asked for our names. I usually share my nickname, Abi, only to be met with a mispronunciation – "Abu" – and immediately being told by him that it meant "father" in Arabic. It seemed my name had a habit of being lost in translation, a humorous recurring theme in Morocco.

As we entered another argan oil production tour, my attention was immediately taken by a woman in her thirties in a traditional red Moroccan dress, delicately stirring the oil. With grace, she rose to greet us, offering Moroccan mint tea as we settled in to watch a video about the oil-making process. As she handed me my cup, her hazel eyes met mine in a warm smile, prompting me to inquire about her origins, sensing a difference in her demeanor. Her response, "Afghanistan," sparking a silent acknowledgment within me that, had my mother been present, she would have undoubtedly spoken about her beautiful appearance and clothing.

After our visit to the argan oil production tour, we ventured into a Souk market, a multi story building rather than the traditional outdoor souk market since it was closed. The market we explored had four floors teeming with a diverse array of souvenirs and clothing. My eyes caught a beautiful Djellaba, I tried it on, only to be met with a price that seemed like extortion. A bargaining game begun. Ascending further through the floors, we immersed ourselves offerings – from clothing to pots, pans, shoes, and spices. The market's aged architecture, intricately designed staircases, and dim lighting left the space with a serene ambiance.

The negotiation commenced with the classic inquiry: "Boss, how much you give for the jacket?" I boldly countered with a significantly lower offer, igniting a playful exchange of haggling. As we meandered amidst a kaleidoscope of colours, the negotiation dance continued, with each offer and counteroffer punctuated by laughter and banter.
"600?" he offered a lower price compared to the initial 800.
"200", I replied. His elongated 'no' meant he was not happy. Once we got back to the bottom floor, I found myself face-to-face with a different man with the djellaba on the counter ready to start negotiations again.
"500", he began.
"250", I continued. Back and forth, we agreed on 350, but his cheeky attitude forced him to ask for 400 again. We repeated these numbers three of four times until I sunk all the way back to 200 only for him to begin panicking and accept the 350. Knowing the initial 800 was a stupendous start, I was glad with the outcome. The German couple chuckled behind me.