Does it matter where we come from? It defines who we are, but it should not invite prejudice remarks or negative experiences.
When different beliefs, backgrounds and languages meet an explosion of adventure is created.
Once upon a time there was a beautiful big white house that stood tall on the dry cliff side of Imssouane. It was surrounded by multitudes of deprived soil and faced one of the most perfect right hand breaks ever to be seen. It was full of exciting people who had travelled from Spain, France, the UK, Belgium, the Netherlands, Portugal, Australia and Switzerland; and consisted of 12 happy girls and only 2 men. Writers, photographers, surfers, no matter the profession, we all shared the eagerness to open our eyes to the Moroccan surfing lifestyle.
Imssouane, a small fishing village, was the office to the working men of the Moroccan families who lived in the larger towns a few miles away. The streets were destitute of women and it was a shock to the sea goers to see so many of the opposite sex. Confidence in numbers is what approved our short skirts and brief tops and the ever inviting sun to bronze in our bikinis was simply irresistible.
Morocco=
Waves. Tangines. Fresh fish. Beach football with locals. Lazing by the pool. Repetition of assalamu alaikum (peace be upon you). Perfecting arabic skills. Lack of internet. Tandem surfing in bikini. French banter with territorial locals. Dirt roads. Burn outs in hire cars. Goats in trees. Hot sand. Burnt feet. Translating. Early mornings. Late nights. Extremely sweet mint tea. Unpredictable electricity. Itchy/lonesome street dogs. Smiling. Photos. Laughter. And some more laughter.
BoardXhouse.com
