Return to Africa

The adventure began as we boarded the ferry in Algeciras, Spain. After a short, bumpy ride across the Strait of Gibraltar we arrived into the port town of Tangier, Morocco. Our first adventure would involve negotiating our way through the chaos of Moroccan customs with our van. There were endless lines of cars waiting to get through and the customs officials diligently checked every vehicle registration and did a quick search of the cars. After an hour of melting from the heat and then paying the hustlers a few dollars to get us to the front of the line, we made it through without too much hassle and began our journey into Morocco.

Our first stop was the cosmopolitan, capital city of Rabat. We were able to get out of the van and spend a few nights with Othmane, a Moroccan guy who lived in the US for ten years. (We met Othmane through Irina, a Russian girl we met living in Bangkok…long story.) Anyway, between exploring Rabat and a day trip to the town of Fes, we enjoyed many wonderful, authentic Moroccan meals prepared by Othmane’s mother.

The trip to Fes was definitely a sensory overload to say the least. As we walked the crowded streets our senses were ignited by the sights and smells before us. We weren’t in Europe anymore. The severed camel heads hanging in the markets were surprising, but the most overwhelming sense when you arrive somewhere like this, and it doesn’t matter if it’s Nepal, Cambodia, or Tanzania, is the smell. Some of the smells are good, others strange, and many down-right awful, but they are all overwhelming. Every few feet you walked down the street brought a new scent. The smell of diesel fumes, old meat sitting in the sun at the butcher shop, horse and donkey dung, rotting garbage, urine, dust, wood smoke, fresh baked bread, flowers, cheap perfumes, grilled meats, and exotic spices all lingered in the air. After all of the traveling we’ve done, we’re starting to realize most cities in non-Western countries have this same, unique combination of smells. It's starting to get kind of comforting actually...

Yes, that is a severed camel head. You can get one for less than $10:

Since we had a few days before any swell was supposed to arrive along the coast we decided to head three hours south to Marrakesh, the most popular of Morocco’s “Imperial” cities. After a surprisingly easy drive on the toll roads, we arrived at dark. Our friend from Rabat had arranged for us to stay at a house inside the walled old town with Eva, one of his good friends from France. After finding a secure place to leave the van for the night and dropping our bags at Eva’s place we set out to discover the charms of old town Marrakesh. As we wandered the streets the city was alive with fortune tellers, snake charmers, street performers, hustlers, touts with pet monkeys, and vendors selling lanterns, carpets, spices, teapots, and various kinds of exotic foods. There was even a boxing match going on in the square. Surprisingly, Marrakesh is known for their fresh squeezed orange juice so we guzzled several glasses of the best juice we’ve ever had (at $0.40 each) as we watched the spectacle before us.

Back to testing our iron stomachs with the street food:

For anyone making the trip to Morocco, Marrakesh is not to be missed. It’s been one of our favorite cities of this trip. Although the smells are the same, Marrakesh just seemed to have a great vibe and excitement that Fez lacked. The contrasts between the maze of narrow streets inside the ancient walled old town and the perfectly manicured boulevards outside the wall, along with the buzz from all the people and interesting markets definitely made for a great city.

We spent a few days getting lost in the maze of the streets and exploring the bazaars before the surf forecast told us it was time to hit the road and head southwest to the coast. A storm had been brewing in the north Atlantic for the past few days and after traveling thousands of miles its energy was due to arrive soon in the form of perfectly sculpted waves along Morocco’s legendary right points.

With only about 150 miles to Agadir it shouldn’t have taken very long to get there. However, our four lane road quickly changed to two and we averaged about 40 miles an hour the rest of the way. If that wasn’t bad enough, Dustin got our first traffic ticket of the trip as he passed one of the overloaded trucks going 20 mph through a small village. The cop demanded a 400 dirham (about $50) fine on the spot. Since he had an “official” form and we didn’t feel like arguing, we paid it and continued on our way. We figured we were probably overdue anyway.

As we bumped along the road trying to avoid potholes and oncoming traffic veering way too far over the line, it brought back memories of our yearly pilgrimage from California down into the heart of Baja Mexico to search for surf. Even the landscape looked the same…dry, harsh desert only occasionally interrupted by a cluster of crumbling concrete buildings that passes itself off as a town.

Needless to say, we’re back on surfari!!! More to come on the surf in our next post…