Morocco has a secret, and it is tucked in the seaside fishing town of Essaouira. I can't tell you what it is exactly, but I can try to describe it. It starts gradually with the call of the seagulls soaring through the air. It's distant at first, but as you walk through the winding cobblestone streets and make your way closer to the port, it starts to grow in volume. You walk a bit further past the men grilling the day's catch on coals, past the stray cats darting away with a stolen fish, and come to an open square. Your heart starts to beat a bit faster as you make your way past the gelato shop and postcard stands, your pace picking up as you make your way to the stone wall by the sea. The howling wind from the ocean is rushing towards you now, and you try to catch your breath, but it catches in your throat as your eyes widen.
I can't tell you exactly what it is about Essaouira. But as you look out upon the silent ramparts and the ocean's waves crashing wildly against the jagged rocks, you just feel it. You feel the souls of ages past, and you are transported through time, yet you are in no time at all. You just stand there, suspended, everywhere and nowhere, and feel it.
