Chez
Abdou at Sidi Kacem beach, south of Tangier.
It’s
about the craziest place I’ve ever witnessed, like visiting a topsy-turvy,
lop-sided version of Munchkin land: a patchwork of small terraces and enclosed
palisades nestled in an acre or so of sand dunes, sagging thatched roofs and/or
faded canvas tents strung overhead.
Dizzying
circuits of flagged paths and small stairs, riots of potted palms and tropical
plants sprouting from every kind of colorful container one can imagine. Jumbles
of multi-hued plastic chairs and tables, torn swags of curtains, rusting Berber
rifles festooning columns, large photos of various kings of Morocco in ornate
golden frames.
And
all the while the broad Atlantic roars in, pounding the widest and longest
stretch of beach I’ve ever seen; cats mew at your feet, a chicken flutters
around crowing for bits and pieces tossed from the steaming fish tajine, freshly simmered on the charcoal
brazier in the open-air kitchen; sips of Moroccan rosé wine chilled in a tub of ice.
Abdou
himself presides, a dignified intelligent looking man that belies, somewhat,
his rumored past as a circus acrobat – although there is certainly the look of
carnival in his décor touch.
An
afternoon spent in a childlike vision of paradise; a good way to end a year and
to start a new one.
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