Wild flights and mad nights!
I’ve wanted to do this trip for a few years. The thought of the long right hand points, heaving slabs, beautiful weather, and local culture sounded dream-like. It’s not exactly what we got!
A full squad of Welsh boys were about to embark on a crazy, wild ride around Morocco. The prospect of doing a surf trip with six Welsh lads who aren’t exactly shy to a drink or two, was a bit daunting.
Would we even see the sea? Would I ever see home again? I didn’t fancy spending the next few years locked in a Moroccan prison.
The team was assembled, Rudi Davies, Dean Keegans, Nick Jones, Stuart Laidlaw, Ant Bowen, and Gareth Hughes.
The flight over was an experience that we were lucky to walk away from.
About half way through the flight a few of the boys started acting strangely. The only way I can describe it is that they were behaving like we were the only ones on the plane. This went on for about 20 minutes. Then came the shouts, “pull over drive”, “get me a parachute I’m getting off”, “I’m not getting off this plane without a police escort” all shouted at full volume! The whole plane was silent except for squeals of laughter from the boys. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I thought everyone had lost the plot. I later found out that there was a bloke called Dripping Tap (no joke) handing out funny-pills at the back of the plane. With the worry about terrorist attacks and tightened airport security, most passengers were on their best behaviour, not this lot!
The behaviour continued at the airport. One of the boys was strutting about the airport howling abuse at security, he then climbing inside the baggage collection belt shouting about how windy it was. The police and been alerted and carted the boys off for interrogation!
Luckily Denny our guide was there to meet us. After some careful persuasion, a few hundred Dirham, a load of apologies, and a ban from the return flight, we were set free. Dripping Tap wasn’t as lucky!
For any traveller Morocco is a feast for the senses. We arrived late one evening. Outside the airport we were greeted with hordes of old 1970’s-style Mercedes taxis, and bombarded with people wanting money for carrying our luggage. The next thing we noticed was the driving. How we didn’t see an accident is beyond, everyone drives like a ten year old.
We were staying at Moroc surf, a surf camp run by Denny and his girlfriend Emma. They have an unreal house in a great location in Taghazoute. The night was relatively quiet, the boys were straight into the Ping-Pong, we had a few beers and then crashed.
At about 4.30am I was awoken by the local Mosque screaming Islamic prayer out into the quiet morning air. The mosque is relatively close to Denny’s and it sounded like the bloke was under my bed.
The days start early in Morocco, I guess no one can sleep. The streets are teeming with people, colour, smells, and noise. It seems as though nothing has changed here for hundreds of years, the locals have a basic, simple life and although the majority live in poverty, they all seem to be smiling.
The forecast for the week wasn’t great, so we had decided to go searching down the coast. Morocco is not crowded by any standards, if you go sniffing around, empty lineups are guaranteed. We eventually found a great spot. A stretch of coast with about four different reef setups. Empty waves everywhere, blue water and the most unimaginable homes cut into the cliffs. The place was stunning, an overload of colour and natural beauty. The best wave was a left, we were in the land of rights going left!
The boys had some great waves, and everyone was psyched.
We surfed here for a few days, there seemed to be more swell than back at the points in Taghazoute.
We had checked into a nice little hotel right on the beach in a small little village called Sidi Ifni. The hotel bar is one of the few places where you can drink alcohol in a public place. Alcohol is "haram", not allowed, and associated with crime. We had to smuggle bottles of wine into restaurants and hide them under tables. I think too much wine was consumed on one particular evening, things got a bit wild at the hotel. Doors slamming, people running around, stuff like that. It ended with a hotel guest jumping two stories out of a window in fear for his life. The jump was huge, about 50ft. He must have known Dripping Tap, our mate off the plane! The next day we were told we had to leave, the police were due to arrive, and the hotel staff feared that the night leaper would return for revenge.
We left sharpish and headed back up north. The swell was looking pretty poor for the reminder of the week, I was happy with the sessions that we scored at the left, and no one seemed too bummed.
The rest of the week comprised of extensive meanderings around every headland, and hours in the cars checking spots. We had a few surfs at Tamri, got burnt in the sun, and I reckon the boys could whoop Wang Liquin at Ping-Pong.
The fact that we didn’t do the usual Morocco thing, Anchors, Killers, Boilers day in day out put a different angle on the trip. We found some new spots, met some charming people, and visited some mystical places, something we wouldn’t have done if the points were firing. Traveling to new places is not all about scoring perfect surf, getting an insight into different lifestyles and experiencing the contrasts between different cultures is as important. For a country that isn’t that far, Morocco feels a hundred years away. Spending a few days there you’ll learn about new people and places, and also something about yourself. Watch out for Dripping Tap though!
A big thanks to Denny, Abdul and Emma from Morocsurf. The accommodation was first class and the food top notch. Thanks for showing us around. www.morocsurf.com
