There is a hot spring six kilometres from Agadir.
It is called Ain Skhouna. In Arabic this means "the hot spring." Morocco does not always feel the need to dress things up. The water is hot. The spring is here. The name is the name.
I went on a Tuesday. The drive is short. Google Maps will try to take you down a dirt track. Do not let it. There is an asphalt road. It is the one you want.
You arrive in a small clearing in the village of Ait Mhaned. The land here is semi-mountainous. Green meets rust. Argan trees on the slopes. A man will wave you into a parking space. You give him ten dirhams. He works hard. Give him the ten dirhams.
The spring sits in a stone basin. The water rises between thirty-nine and forty-four degrees. This is hot enough to lie down in for a long time. The water carries sulphur, magnesium and calcium. You will smell the sulphur. This is correct. This is the smell of water that knows what it is doing. Where the water leaves the pool, the rock around it has turned orange and green. That is the mineral. You can see what it is doing.
A man comes with a long net and clears the surface from time to time. He has been doing this for some time. The pool is looked after.
Locals come for rheumatism. They come for joints that have stopped behaving. They come for skin that wants softening. They have been coming for a long time. The spring is said to have been blessed by Sidi Hmad, whose shrine is nearby. In Morocco a hot spring and a saint will often arrive together. Neither one quite takes the credit. Both are thanked.
Around the basin there are small kiosks. The biggest one has a bamboo-vaulted ceiling that curves overhead like the ribs of a boat. Inside, they cook tagines on charcoal braziers. There is a crate of oranges for fresh juice. There is a proper coffee grinder. Order the tagine when you arrive. Soak for an hour. Come out. The tagine will be ready. Slow-cooked. On coals. The way it should be cooked. I have tested this.
Behind the spring there is a picnic area on the grass. You can hire a plastic chair for ten dirhams. The chairs are good. They do what chairs are for. There is also a covered salon at the back, with tile-pattern walls and a long cushioned banquette. You can lie there after, if you want shade and a roof.
The site is not polished. There is litter beyond the cared-for parts. There are no formal facilities. On the hill above the spring there is the concrete shell of an unfinished building, which has been waiting to become something for some years and is still waiting. Bring a bag for your rubbish. Take it out with you. The spring has been here a long time. We should be kind to it.
Come early. There is one good place to lie down. You may wait. Wait. The man ahead of you has been coming every Friday for forty years. He knows what he is doing. You will learn from him.
We say in this show that presence is the only real luxury. I think about this often. Six kilometres from a city full of hotels with their menus and their wellness packages, there is a place where the earth gives you hot water for nothing and a man cooks you a tagine in the shade.
Nobody is upselling you. Nobody is curating an experience. The water is hot. The lunch is good. You are here.
This is enough.