All about amazing Agadir

Agadir harbour[Missing Credit]

The old-meets-new aesthetic runs throughout the resort. On my first night, I dined at Le Sensya, a modern Italian restaurant headed by Michelin-starred chef Francesco Franzese. The food was delicious, experimental and fish-forward — it would be sacrilegious not to make good use of the Atlantic’s bounty — but what surprised me most was the Moroccan wine list. I’d assumed that alcohol, if offered, would be imported and a bit rubbish.

Well, more fool me. Morocco’s winemaking heritage stretches back to Phoenician times, and under French colonial rule it became one of the world’s largest exporters of the alcohol. After the French were booted out in 1957, King Hassan II ensured the industry stayed afloat — and his efforts have borne fruit. The wine we drank was crisp, floral, and light.

Guests not nursing a wine hangover the next morning can enjoy The View’s early-rise yoga classes on the beach. I baulk at doing exercise at any time of year, but when I’m on holiday it feels especially unappealing so I flopped on a sunlounger with a book instead. But for research purposes, I did glance at the gym and I can report that it is well equipped and spotless, which I assume is what one wants when working out.

But the morning’s real highlight is the breakfast buffet at Le View. With ten food and drink stations, it’s a glutton’s paradise. I kept returning for the baghrirs — Moroccan pancakes made from semolina — and the argan oil nut butter.

After a good nosh, I was keen to explore Agadir. The city centre is within walking distance, but I was also curious to see its kasbah, perched 236 metres above sea level. Thankfully, The View organises taxis for guests, making the trip stress-free.

My driver gave me a potted biography of the city as we wound up the mountain. Much of Agadir was destroyed by a violent earthquake in 1960 that killed 15,000 people, including 1,500 of the city’s then 2,300 Jewish residents. The 16th-century kasbah is the only historical site to have survived, and standing before its majestic architecture, one begins to appreciate how much culture was also lost in the natural disaster.The fort is now a tourist hot spot, replete with stalls and camel rides.

A street vendor in Agadir[Missing Credit]The medina in AgadirGetty Images/iStockphoto

According to most estimates up to 80 per cent of the Moroccon  labour force works in the informal sector. In Agadir, one enterprising lad and his goat brought this this stat to life. The two scampered around the citadel, accosting tourists with the boy charging them to hold said goat. An American tour group was not amused, but I admired the boy’s chutzpah — although I kept my arms firmly by my sides.

Back in town, I linked up with a charming local guide who showed me around the city’s markets, its medina and main mosque. As we wandered, he stressed how welcoming Agadir is.

History backs him up. Morocco has promoted religious tolerance since its founding, and its Jewish community, which now numbers only 2,000, has generally fared well. They are a kaleidoscopic lot, broadly divided into three groups: French Ashkenazim, Sephardim whose ancestors fled during the Spanish Inquisition, and pre-Arab Berber Jews, indigenous to the region since the 3rd century BC.

While it’s great fun to people-watch and amble through the city, my favourite part of the day was spent at the spa. Leïla Slimani, one of Morocco’s greatest literary exports, once declared that it’s impossible to tell the story of her country without employing sensuality. After entering the hotel’s Amaya Spa, I understood her reasoning.

The writer outside Agadir's main mosque[Missing Credit]Spa time at The View Agadir[Missing Credit]

The massage parlour was perfumed with oud and orange blossom — a combination I’m now hunting down in London. While there are many treatments on offer, the obvious pick is a hammam. As someone with sensitive skin, I opted for a massage, and was lathered up in various argan-based lotions and potions.

Enjoying dinner at The View Agadir[Missing Credit]

Feeling blissed out and slippery as a seal, I headed off to an iftar meal at Mima Kitchen, a Moroccan fusion restaurant. It’s standard to break a Ramadan fast with dates and water, but don’t be fooled by the modest amuse-bouche: I lost count of how many courses followed. The chefs clearly had fun playing with the menu — a fish tagine with dried fruit scratched an unexpected umami itch.

Watching tourists of all backgrounds tuck into their iftar feasts offered a poignant vignette of Moroccan life. It truly is a place where the present and the past coalesce.

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