We spent a few days at El Ouatia, also known as Tan-Tan Plage. The seaside resort was on the Atlantic coast with the Canary Islands a hundred miles or so offshore. The town boasted a wide promenade and a long sandy beach. It was out of season and the weather was warm but very windy with just a few hardy souls enjoying the sight of the Atlantic rollers crashing onto the sand. The large fishing port was several miles away from the town but we were able to buy the freshest seafood from a fish seller who called regularly at the camp site.
Foolishly I decided I needed to get my hair cut. In every Moroccan town there were many barber shops along the main street but, because most women had long hair and needed little help from a hair cutter, a hairdressing salon took some finding. Eventually an appointment was made at a salon tucked away at the end of the town. The shop was closed when I arrived but after a telephone call and a fifteen minute wait, a sullen young lady appeared and opened up the shop. We had no common language but I showed her photographs of what was required. It turned out she had no scissor skills and after ten minutes or so of amateur fumbling I had to stop her. By that time I resembled a doll that had had its hair mutilated by a child with a pair of unsupervised scissors! Every time I caught sight of myself in the mirror I got quite a shock but I was comforted by the fact that the hair would eventually grow. When I sent photos to the family at home they advised me to embrace my new choppy style with a large dollop of hair gel!