Seeing the South Island of New Zealand from the air is a bizarre way to start a road trip,
especially for someone who is afraid of heights.

By: Carrie Miller


“Get ready now,” shouts my tandem paragliding instructor, as we start running full tilt down the steep angle of Coronet Peak, dodging clumps of tussock grass and lichen-covered rocks.
“One . . . two . . . three,” he yells, and suddenly I’m running on air, the ground sucked away from my feet as we catch a thermal and soar into the sky. I’m hitched into a tandem harness that’s like sitting double on a swing, clutching the cords that rise to the brightly colored parachute arcing over our heads. The instructor controls our speed and direction; my job is simply to enjoy the ride.
I open my eyes a fraction, and all fear is lost in the view. Clouds snag and tear on mountains (aptly named the Remarkables) that soar up around us in colors that seem lit from within: Yellows flare like molten gold, and greens glow like algae. In the distance, S-shaped Lake Wakatipu winds through the mountains, swept by mysterious tides. Maori legend tells of a great monster named Matau, whose beating heart causes the rising and falling of the water. Off to the right I can see Queenstown, the crown jewel of Lake Wakatipu and the beginning of our road trip.

Queenstown is a small resort town with elegant schist-paved streets and a mercurial energy that has earned it the title of Adventure Capital of the World. Bungee jumping, paragliding, Zorbing, white-water sledging, snowboarding, heli-hiking – every adrenaline-fueled sport I can think of – is on offer here, including a few I’ve never imagined.
Although soaring like a hawk is a great way to feel the enormity of the landscape, driving is still my favorite way to experience it.
New Zealand unveils wave after wave of jaw-dropping landscapes, one moment serene and pastoral, with golden wheat fields and wide, braided rivers, the next surging with the upheaval of snow-capped mountains more than 10,000 feet tall, then splashing out in turquoise seas that would make the Caribbean envious. Every time you get behind the wheel the landscape changes. To really see New Zealand, you need the freedom to take that road less traveled.
I’m an American who has lived in New Zealand for the past five years. I met Liz Kevey (a Kiwi from Whangarei) in Wellington two years ago. She’s familiar with Christchurch, but she hasn’t explored much of the rest of the island, and so we planned a seven-day road trip through the heart of the South Island landscape: a crescent route starting from Queenstown, up the West Coast, climbing over remote Arthur’s Pass, to the East Coast, and doubling back to Christchurch, with its standout gardens and parks.


Our first day of driving starts on a high – a sugar high in Arrowtown, an old gold-mining town 13 miles northeast of Queenstown. Original 1860s gold-rush buildings rub shoulders with new cafes and art galleries on either side of tree-lined streets. In the Remarkable Sweet Shop, a cozy wood-paneled display on the main street, Liz and I stock up on old favorites like peppermint drops and blackballs, as well as new delicacies like kiwi-flavored fudge.
My mouth stuffed with peppermint drops, I ease our caravan off the shaded streets and onto New Zealand’s highest motorway, the Crown Range Road, a 43-mile ribbon of sealed road linking Queenstown and Wanaka. Pots and pans clatter around in the back of our caravan with each hairpin turn, but Carl (as we’ve named our motor home) proves dependable and easy to handle. It isn’t long before we’re descending back and forth over 11 crossings of the same stream, surrounded by burnished golden hills covered in puffs of tussock grass and occasional violent upheavals of rock.
“Stop!” Liz yells, and I pull over to the side in a spray of gravel. We nearly passed by the Cardrona Hotel – tiny, box-shaped and a Kiwi icon.
“The Cardrona is the hotel from the Speights beer commercials,” Liz says. “We grew up with them. Everyone has their favorite – kind of like your Super Bowl ads.”
Inside, a black cat lounges on a leather couch near the fireplace. A blackboard lists not the specials, but questions and answers about the hotel’s 146-year-old history. Outside, a stone fireplace rages with a warming fire in the grassy courtyard. The food portions are huge, the prices cheap. Liz and I tuck into bowls of sweet chili and kumera soup, washing it down with a handle of Speights.
It’s only a 20-minute drive to Wanaka’s Aspiring Campervan Park. I pull out the camp chairs and prepare dinner, while Liz organizes the interior. Carl, a midsize caravan (minivan-esque in style), is cunningly designed: Two long bench seats double as a queen-size bed and storage for bedding and dishes. The back hatch hides a tiny kitchen, complete with sink, mini-fridge, and stove.
Within 20 minutes, we’re settled in for the night on the shoulders of Mount Aspiring National Park, eating dinner. Night comes on slowly. Lights begin to appear in caravan windows, and the murmur of laughter floats on the air. In these parks, there is company if you want it, solitude if you don’t, and there seems to be so much more time because everything you need is right at hand.
The next morning, a 90-minute drive takes us from Wanaka on a looping ribbon of road that winds between Lakes Wanaka and Hawea, past Fantail and Thunder Creek Falls, over Haast Pass, and into the enveloping rain forest. The rain forest marches to the very edges of the road, seemingly eager to reclaim it. The mountainsides are veined with white waterfalls, feeding rivers with colorful names like Roaring Swine and Gout Creek.
Driving in the South Island can be as much of an adventure as the adrenaline-laden activities of Queenstown. Although the island is under 100 miles across at its narrowest point, the 430-mile-long vertical spine of the Southern Alps can only be crossed by vehicle in three places (Haast Pass, Arthur’s Pass, and Lewis Pass), which means that a straight-line distance of 18 miles may take 310 miles of driving over one of the passes.
Liz and I are the only ones at Ship Creek, a small pull-off that’s the home of New Zealand’s tallest tree species, the white pine. A tannin-stained river empties from a swamp into the wild Tasman Sea. We follow the gravel and boardwalk trail into the swamp, and within minutes we are enclosed in a green curtain of fern and native rimu trees. A recent rain has flooded the river, and it isn’t long before the trail disappears under a dark layer of water. Liz and I keep hiking, blindly groping for the boardwalk with our bare feet, shoes slung over our shoulders, until the water rises past our knees. We clutch the ferns for support, conceding defeat.
What about New Zealand’s tallest trees? “I don’t need to see them,” Liz says. “I know they’re there.”
The tannin-colored river makes me thirsty for a cup of tea, and we brew one on Carl’s stove before driving the remaining 75 miles to Fox township, pulling in on a clear evening, the last rays of sun illuminating the snowy peak of 11,473-foot Mount Tasman, New Zealand’s second highest mountain,which borders Westland National Park.
There are more than 140 glaciers in Westland, and nearly two-thirds of the park’s glacial ice is contained in Franz Josef and Fox Glaciers.
“The difference between Fox and Franz Josef is better guides,” deadpans Richard Bottomley, our guide for the half-day Fox Glacier walk. “Fox is also bigger than Franz, more volume, but they’re brothers, like two rivers from the same valley.”
The glacier curves down between two mountains in a gleaming white tongue, ending abruptly in a towering terminal face of dirty ice and rocks. Fox and Franz Josef Glaciers are unusual in that they are surrounded by subtemperate rain forest and close to the ocean (Franz Josef is only 11 miles from the sea), which means that the glacier process happens in fast-forward here.
“Layers of snow are packed to create glacier ice,” Richard says. “This can happen in five to seven years here, which is quite fast. It can take up to 3,000 years in other parts of the world.”
Hiking along the glacier is like wading in a frozen ocean, with waves arcing and spiraling on either side and overhead. A recent rainfall (it rains about 200 days a year here) has cleaned and polished the ice into brilliant whites and cobalt blues.
Liz is a tactile tramper: On the glacier, she runs her hands along the diamond-hard blue ice and the gritty snow-cone ice that provides traction for our crampons. She also picks up a shin-length piece of fuselage.
“A plane crashed here in the 1970s and things are always popping up,” Richard says to us. “Due to the always shifting nature of the ice, what’s lost is always found sooner or later.”
From Fox it’s a two-hour drive to Hokitika, a former gold-rush town, now known for pounamu (hard nephrite jade called greenstone, used in tools, weapons and taonga – treasure). The town has a Wild West feel to it: Liz and I walk past colorful historic buildings, dilapidated houses, and artisan shops like Heritage Jade, New Zealand Ruby Rock, and the Hokitika Glass Studio. Most visitors come here for treasure or to watch the artisans work. We are looking for glowworms.
As soon as it grows dark, we grab flashlights and follow the highway to the outskirts of town. We catch a tiny placard in our beams: Glowworm Dell.
Glowworms are tiny insects that attract prey into sticky, single-strand webs through bioluminescence, a cool blue neon glow. They are often found in caves, but here in Hokitika they exist on a dark and quiet path, flanked by dripping ferns. We lower our flashlights and suddenly we’re surrounded by cities of electric blue lights, like star constellations fallen to Earth.
The next morning we have breakfast on the beach before tackling the two-hour drive to the remote outpost of Arthur’s Pass, at 2,428 feet, one of New Zealand’s highest settlements. Carl protests the steep incline as we inch inexorably up through bald mountains. I grip the wheel a little tighter when we drive under concrete bunkers designed to protect passing cars from falling rocks and avalanches.
The town of Arthur’s Pass (population 50) is the main settlement in a 282,935-acre national park of the same name, a landscape webbed with hiking trails, from 30-minute nature walks to serious backcountry tramps. Liz and I take the Otira Valley Track, a three-hour hike winding through snow-covered mountains, alpine scrub and bare, ankle-snapping rock to a swinging bridge. We rest on the bridge, kicking our heels and sharing an apple. The stream below is the vibrant color of blue antifreeze, dashing against car-size boulders. Once again there are no other souls in sight.

“You could lose yourself in a heartbeat here,” Liz says.
Leaving Arthur’s Pass the next morning, we follow a road that circles around the mountains like rings on Saturn, descending past limestone formations onto the Canterbury Plains. We wind our way into the half-moon harbor town of Akaroa, whipping around switchbacks that rattle our pots and pans.
Akaroa is famous for two things: It is the site of an 1840 attempt by France to claim New Zealand for her own (just a few weeks too late – the Maori had recently signed the Treaty of Waitangi, giving sovereignty to the British); and Hector’s dolphins, among the world’s smallest and rarest, and found only in New Zealand.
“These are very intelligent, very inquisitive little mammals,” says Hamish Crosbie, our guide with Black Cat Cruises. “When you get into the water, it’s totally up to you to entertain them. They have the whole Pacific Ocean to play in, so you need to give them a reason to come to you. Spin yourself in a circle, whistle in the water, but don’t splash – that’s a sign of aggression.”
“Hector’s dolphins make one area their home for life,” Hamish says. “Tourism helps – the more people who know about these little dolphins, the better their chances are of making it.”
It’s only a 50-mile drive back into Christchurch, where Liz and I end our trip by wandering through the famous Christchurch Botanic Gardens, savoring steaming cups of coffee on the banks of the Avon River, surrounded by walls of flowers in vivid pinks and rusty golds.
“Do you have this anywhere else in the world?” Liz asks me.
She is referring to the scenery in front of us, but she could just as well have meant our entire road trip. “No, New Zealand is like nothing else,” I answer. I fell in love with the ever changing landscape the first time I set foot on these shores. My New Zealand “Travellers Road Atlas” is dog-eared from use and marked with red X’s for gems that I’ve found along the way. And my personal treasure map grows with new discoveries every time I get behind the wheel.

Mull over to the historical city of pearls, Hyderabad, the high-tech park of the East.
It is here where great Islamic mosques and monuments exist, best food savored and heritage experienced
through its museums, amidst a bustling metropolis of flyovers and high rises.

By Rufaida Javid


Nothing will prepare you for the scene that awaits your astonished gaze once you have made the effort to climb the steep steps in the claustrophobic atmosphere of the Charminar. There below you will see the unbelievable Old City of Hyderabad in all its chaotic glory. A sea of autorickshaws—that abiding symbol of South Asian private transport—crisscrosses the maze of narrow lanes, missing each other and carefree pedestrians, by a whisker. Sellers of bangles and pearls, textiles and spices and sweets and garments shout at the top of their lungs to attract shoppers and passersby.

To feel the pulse of Hyderabad—a city of eight million souls—this is the place to be. The Charminar (literally “Four Minarets”) is to Hyderabad what the Big Ben is to London or the Eiffel Tower to Paris. No other monument symbolizes the city better. Sultan Mohammad Quli Qutub Shah, the grandson of Quli Qutub Shah, who founded the Qutub Shahi dynasty, built it in 1591. The Sultan prayed to God to end the plague that was ravaging his kingdom, his prayers was answered and he built the Charminar at the exact location as a result, it is said. The commanding four minarets stand at a height of 48.7 meters and when the monument was originally built, one could see the four corners of the city from each side. Charminar also houses a small mosque.


Just across the Charminar lies another wonder of Hyderabad, the Makkah Masjid. It is the biggest mosque in Hyderabad and one of the largest in India and it took 77 years to build when construction started in 1617 under Mohammad Quli Qutub Shah and completed in 1694 by the Mughal Emperor Aurangzeb.

The mosque is made of granite. French explorer Jean-Baptiste Tavernier wrote of it in his travelogue: “It is about 50 years since they began to build a splendid pagoda [Makkah Masjid] in the town which will be the grandest in all India when it is completed. The size of the stone is the subject of special accomplishment, and that of a niche, which is its place for prayer, is an entire rock of such enormous size that they spent five years in quarrying it, and 500 to 600 men were employed continually on its work.” Though the mosque is open to all visitors (except during prayer times) the most impressive view is from the top of the Charminar.

The best way to while away time in the Old City is to lose yourself in the maze of alleyways that spring up, offering one surprise after another. Some of the best restaurants in town are located here. You can start the day early with a filling breakfast of naan (unleavened bread) and paya (soup of sheep’s hoof) at one of the restaurants. Who has not heard of the famous Hyderabadi Biryani? It can safely be concluded that its home is here in the Old City of Hyderabad. For lunch and dinner, head straight to the Shadab Hotel in the famous Madina Building. This unassuming place offers probably the best mutton biryani in town for just Rs 110 (less than SR 10).

Hyderabad, which used to be known as the City of Pearls or the City of Biryani, is today known as “Cyberabad”, as a result of the software boom that has made the city one of the hi-tech hubs of Asia. The new city is a bustling metropolis of flyovers and high-rises, of tech-parks and ring roads. However, the soul of Hyderabad is still the Old City. Urdu—or its unique Deccani dialect that is spoken here—is still the lingua franca of Hyderabad.

Another marvel of architecture in the city is the opulent Falaknuma Palace of the Nizams, the erstwhile rulers of Hyderabad. However, our effort to make it all the way to the palace was wasted, as visitors are currently not being allowed inside, as the building is under renovation and has been taken over by the Taj Group, to convert it into a five-star hotel. But the view from the outside is also stunning.

Set aside at least three hours to sample the Golconda Fort, one of the grandest forts in India that now lies in a state of ruin. It is located to the West of the city. The Golconda Fort was constructed during the reign of the Qutub Shahi rulers and finally fell to the Mughal Emperor Aurangzeb. Make sure you do not miss the interesting light and sound show in the evening (SR 5 / 10).


Wandering around the ramparts of the fort, it is easy to imagine the grandeur of the Qutub Shahi kingdom and the extent to which they went to safeguard it. The entire fort complex is about 10kms in diameter. The kingdom collapsed after the Mughal onslaught in 1687.

If museums are your thing, then Hyderabad has something serious to offer: two of India’s best museums are found here. The Andhra Pradesh State Museum houses artifacts dating back to the first century AD. But the Salar Jung Museum is the most famous in the city. According to the Archeological Survey of India, it is “a repository of the artistic achievements of diverse European, Asian and Far Eastern countries of the world…” After the demise of Salar Jung III, in the absence of any direct heirs, the vast collection of precious art objects was taken over by the Indian Government, to be housed in the museum.

Mir Yusuf Ali Khan Salar Jung III or Salar Jung III, (1889 - 1949), was Prime Minister of the seventh Nizam of Hyderabad. It is said that he was one of the richest noblemen of his time. This museum houses the largest collection of objects by a single person anywhere in the world. Salar Jung III spent almost all his money on unbelievable rare and expensive collection of artifacts—including the famous British-manufactured Musical Clock, which is the biggest attraction at the museum, and the equally famous French-made wooden “Double Statue”. We spent four hours at this magnificent museum, admiring all along the passion and refined taste of one man. Apart from the thousands of paintings and artifacts, the museum also houses a set of ivory chairs which were gifted to Tipu Sultan, the Tiger of Mysore, by his French allies. There are a total of 77 rooms, and one of them is dedicated to the personal belongings of the man himself—Salar Jung III. It includes objects like his junior school books, pictures taken with important people of the time, his clothes etc.

Strolling Venice’s Dorsoduro
By Linda Burbank


Without cars and structurally unchanged for centuries, mysterious Venice is an anachronism – but don’t relegate it to living museum status. In the scenic district of Dorsoduro, modern art and traditional artisans thrive alongside sleek eateries. This walk through Venice’s southwestern side highlights the best of La Serenissima, the Most Serene Republic, both old and new.

Museum mile
Start at the new Punta della Dogana museum of contemporary art at the triangular, easternmost tip of the district with its sweeping vista across St. Mark’s Basin to the Doge’s Palace and the southern lagoon.

Next door to the iconic Santa Maria della Salute, this long-disused former customshouse was extensively renovated by Tadao Ando and showcases contemporary art from the collection of business titan Francois Pinault. It’s the latest star of art powerhouses in the zone, already home to the 20th-century Peggy Guggenheim Collection and the Accademia Galleries with Venetian masterpieces from the 12th to the 19th centuries.


Papers and prints
Wend your way through the tangle of narrow streets and boat-lined canals that link the museum triad. Browse art within reach at Bac Art Studio with affordable prints and note cards of evocative city etchings or sinuous marble sculptures and abstract paintings from au courant artists at Galleria Daniele Luchetta.

Envelope yourself in sumptuous hand-painted silk scarves or choose luscious velvet clothing, wall hangings, and cushions. At the end of the day, tired feet will luxuriate in traditional but chic jewel-hued velvety slippers called furlane from Dittura. The flexible, rubber-soled footwear was a favorite of gondoliers in centuries past. Or pick up some flashy rain boots to splash through pesky high tides in style.

You’ll also find classic wares from old-school artisans, including gleaming glass baubles such as pendants and earrings from Giorgio Nason, who traces his family’s glassmaking lineage back more than 400 years. Try Il Pavone for marbled paper, woodblock printed journals and rubber stamps with typical Venetian motifs like wellheads and Gothic windows.

Visit the workshop of master craftsman Saverio Pastor, whose hand-carved wood oarlocks are prized by local rowers, with decorative versions esteemed by notables such as I. M. Pei.

Bites
Take a break from perambulating nibble Venetian tapas known as cicchetti at the convivial canalside Al Bottegon. (The sign over the shop reads Cantine del Vino Gia Schiavi.) Order from the extensive case of savory snacks like bread topped with creamy baccala mantecato (Venetian style dried cod) or figs and cheese, costing about $1.50 each. Stand outside to catch a glimpse of gondolas under construction across the canal at the Tyrolean-timbered Squero di San Trovaso, one of the last working boatyards in the city. Indulge your sweet tooth at Gelateria Nico; try its specialty gianduiotto da passeggio, rich cupful of chocolate-hazelnut gelato smothered in decadent whipped cream.


Take your gelato to go and stroll along the sunsoaked waterfront promenade known as the Zattere, named for the rafts that once anchored here loaded with timber cargo, and be on the lookout for the 16th century lion’s mouth, a hollow tube into which people could anonymously denounce others to the district’s department of public health. When you’re ready for dinner, student favorite Pizzeria Ae Oche dishes up pizza and pasta in a kid-friendly environment and has both outdoor waterfront tables on the Zattere and air-conditioned inside seating. For a splurge, book a candlelit table on the overwater deck at upscale modern Lineadombra.

Essaouira is the country’s best known windsurfing centre with a golden beach that runs for miles to the south and has a quiet relaxed atmosphere in comparison to the souk cities. Here the houses are gaily painted in blue and white, there are palm trees and hanging baskets with brilliant red flowers and a thriving fishing harbour.

By Veronica Maria Garbutt


Essaouira became known internationally in 1952 CE when Orson Welles chose it as the location for his film Othello. The sense of drama is echoed in the Atlantic waves crashing over rocky outcrops and the town’s fortified walls. In classical antiquity the port was popular with navigators who would pause there owing to the year round temperate climate.

In ancient times a Berber village, Thamusica, was established not far from the present town walls. And from the 12th century BCE the nearby islands featured on the sailing routes of the Phoenicians and Carthaginians. A piece of pottery with the name of General Mago proves the presence of the latter in circa 630 BCE.

During the time of the Roman Emperor Augustus, King Juba II of Morocco (then called Mauritania) assigned sailors to the islets and developed a salting industry. A dye called royal purple was also produced from the sea snail murex brandaris resulting in a new name for the area, the Purple Islands. In the 10th century CE Essaouira was named Amougdoul (The Well Guarded) after its Berber patron Sidi Mogdoul who is buried some two miles outside town. All goods from the Sous region and southern Morocco once passed through Mogdoul.


In the 15th century CE the area became a Portuguese trading centre and assumed the name Mogdoura, probably a corruption of the name of a local Muslim holy man Sidi Mogdoul. In 1516 the Portuguese built a small fortress - Castillo Reale.
In 1764 CE the Alouite Sultan Sidi Mohammed bin Abdullah decided to use the port as a naval base. The sultan assigned Theodore Cornut, a French engineer, to create a plan for a new town. This explains the originality of Essaouira with its grid plan layout surrounded by ramparts, patterned after St Malo in France. Mogador was given the new Arabic name Essaouira (Image) or Es Saouira (Fortified Place).

These days however the town has a population of 50,000 in a province of half a million people employed mainly in the agricultural sector. Fishing remains the principal commercial activity but there are also marquetry shops in the shadows of the ramparts on Skala Street..
Lying at the end of a long sandy beach the lively fishing port is the town’s focal point. Gaily painted fishing boats and brightly coloured boats piled up on the quayside are everywhere in this bustling area. Here trawlers are built in the traditional style of ancient dhows and fish and shellfish are auctioned every morning. The adjacent restaurants serve the freshest sardines in the country. The sea bastion by the harbour, the Skala du Port, is open to the public and it is worth climbing the ramparts to m?rvel at the view. The Skala divides the town into two distinct districts: two kasbahs, a mella and medina.

Though long having outgrown its ramparts Essaouira is an easy place to negotiate. Beyond the fishing harbour in the southwest is the town’s main square and social centre, Place Moulay Hassan. Here men congregate outside the Cafe de France while young people head for Café Sam’s. At the northeast end of town lies Bab Doukkalu and between the two run the two main streets, Rue Sidi Mohammed bin Abdullah and Avenue de L’Istiqbal /Rue Mohammed Zertouni.

Beneath the Skala ramparts the Carpenters’ Souk is accessed. Here craftsmen carve everything from bracelets, boxes and picture frames to large tables, chess sets and cabinets out of rose, cedar and thuya wood. Pieces of lemon wood, ebony and silver are worked onto the surface of objects from tiny jewellery cases to tea tables to create intricate geometric and arabesque patterns.

Essaouira is something of an artists’ centre. Moroccan artists who reside here include painters Houcine Miloudi, Hamza Fakir and Regragula Benhila. Their work is on display at Espace Othello in the kasbah along with sculptures by Mustapha Boumazzoughi, Mohammed Bonadaand Abdessamed Sadrun - plus pieces in glass by Boujemma Boufous.

Along with art Essaouira is quite a place for music. Local Gnaoua musicians play stringed musical instruments called guambi, decorated with marquetry, to accompany dancing. The annual music festival developed by Andre Azoulay features Moroccan and international artists and attracts tens of thousands of attendees. On the folkloric front one of the country’s finest folk troupes, members of the Haha, perform a ceremonial ahouach (war dance) during festivals and holidays.

Top end accommodation in town can be found at the Sofitel Essaouira Medina & Spa, a deluxe seafront hotel with private beach and two swimming pools. Guest rooms are decorated in white, blue or green Moroccan tiles and the spa offers a hammam, jacuzzi, solarium and thalassotherapy. Restaurants include Ailen which seves local Souri dishes, Arganier does health menus and cote plage serves fine grilled meat and seafood. Nearby the Golf de Mogador was designed by Gary player. +212 52 447 9000, “http://www.sofit?l.com” www.sofitel.com

Another option is to stay at a riad ( a fancy Moroccan maison d’hote). Hotel Riad al Medina was originally a pasha’s villa and has been lovingly restored to its original 18th century CE splendour. Nothing can beat breakfast on the riad’s rooftop followed by a game of tennis and spa session onsite. +212 24 475 907, www.riadalmadina.com
Hotel Villa Maroc is noted for its warm welcome and gastronomy. Says Marie Claire Maison, “At this hotel one feels at home in a world of simplicity and warmth, enhanced by the flavours of ancestral family cooking.” +212 524 47 31 47, www.villa-maroc.com


On the food front a good relaxing place to start your day is a slow breakfast at one of the many cafes in Place Prince Moulay Hassan. For lunch or dinner try Chez Sam,+212 34 475 907, a Moroccan institution known for its seafood. It overlooks the harbour at the far end of the port. Otherwise the rooftop restaurant of the Riad al Madina serves up an excellent lamb tagine. Le Taros is situated between the port and town and here you can sample classic French and Moroccan dishes on the candlelit panoramic terr?ce. Then you can always head back to the main square for coffee and a gooey local pastry or two. Delicious!

Further south are the sand dunes of Diabat where surfers have been coming for many years. You will find places to hire boardsailing equipment near Hotel Tafoukt along with centres which organize horseback riding. And if you have time to spare consider visiting the fishing village of Tarzahoute, the small town of Taroudannt which is the economic centre of the Sous region or Tafraoute, the base of walking tours in the high Anti-Atlas mountains.

No coverage of Essaouira would be complete without mentioning the new Mazagan Beach Resort. It lies some distance away though - 280 km up the coast from Essaouira at El Jadida and is 90km south of Casablanca. This oasis with luxurious gardens and ornamental pools set on a 7 km long beach is in the heart of a region which is still untouched by tourism – The Doukkala.


It offers 234 Deluxe King rooms and 234 Deluxe Twin Queen rooms with vibrant fabrics and brass four poster beds. Guests can choose from eight restaurants and there is a luxury spa, conference centre and baby and kids club. A Gary player designed golf course follows the contours of the beach. Here some 67 villas with ocean or green views will soon await their owners. +212 5 2338 8000, www.mazaganbeachresort.com