Fast-Track Marocco
I land at Marrakesh airport, the sun already warm on the runway and the spicy scent of the air immediately lifting my mood. After a few heated negotiations in French-Berber-Spanish, I hop into a taxi and head towards Imsouane.
I stay at Ayoub’s house, one of those simple yet authentic places that make you feel at home with just a little. The price is good, and I’m sharing it with my friend Sebastian, who’s just returned from a two-year trip between Australia and New Zealand. Reuniting after such a long time is a gift. The evenings pass with stories, hidden beers, and a few laughs during the sunset.
The waves give back. I surf with my new Giacomini 2+1 – Flying Carpet, which performs great both on big days and calmer ones. A board that dances on the long right of Imsouane with balance and responsiveness, as if we’ve known each other for a while now.
But not everything is surf and Hakuna Matata
A sad day
One morning, we wake up to a dense atmosphere. Silent. The fishermen’s village and the part of Catedral are being demolished. Some residents are dismantling their own homes in a desperate attempt to save whatever they can before the government’s bulldozers arrive. Watching them destroy what they built with love is heartbreaking. Even though many of them had known for a long time that this day would come.
It’s perhaps the only day I’ve seen Imsouane completely empty. No one in the water. No one smiling. No one teaching surf, the Point sets outside the pier left abandoned.
Such a strong temptation… And yes, I admit it, I surfed. Shame on me, but it was so good.
Further south
A couple of days later, we decide to head south to Taghazout. We rent an Airbnb run by a local family, and they even offer a cooking service. So, we get amazing tajines made by the mom, truly delicious.
In the narrow streets of the village, children are playing. Two of them, in particular, are fascinated by my board. They approach with curiosity, touch the fins, play with the leash, and smile.
The surf doesn’t disappoint. The conditions aren’t great, but with the longboard, I’m content. You all know the spots by now — perfect right-handers, international line-ups — but every new entry point is still a discovery.
The Other Morocco
But we feel like something is still missing. So, we decide to leave the coast and head inland. We load the board onto a bus and cross the first ridge of the Atlas Mountains, where the colors change, the air becomes drier, and the pace slows down.
We arrive in Ouarzazate, the gateway to the desert, the heart of Amazigh (Tamazight) identity. Everything is different here: the silence feels heavier, the gaze of the people is deeper, and the villages seem to have grown out of the earth itself, built with clay and beauty, not hurriedly like on the coasts. We stay at La Rose Noire, a hostel that is already a journey through time. A typical Berber riad with five floors, entirely constructed from sandstone blocks. Each floor has its own charm, and from the terraces, you can see the sun setting behind the rust-colored mountains. We walk through walls that seem to tell millennia-old stories.
Aït Ben Haddou, with its perfectly preserved kasbahs, leaves us speechless. It’s not hard to understand why so many epic films were shot here: it’s a place that feels outside of time. In the surrounding area, we visit the oasis, where palm trees, gardens, and streams coexist in balance with the desert. A contrast that stays with you: water flowing between the towering brown rock slopes, bringing life to the kingdom of sand and dust.
Marrakesh, back to the hustle
The final stop is Marrakesh. After the silence of the south, its souk hits us like a wave. Chaos, colors, smells, calls, carpets, incense, chickens, muezzins, scooters, and a mix of artisans. A living medieval bazaar that both hypnotizes and overwhelms at the same time. I get convinced by a merchant to buy a small chessboard, and trust me, they’re good at convincing you. We’re fine with it. We spend the rest of the day on the balcony of a café. From here, we watch the chaos in the narrow street below, play chess, and fill up on mint tea.
And it’s farewell
For me, the adventure continues in the Canary Islands, where I was already working as a marine archaeologist before the trip to Morocco. These weeks were my Christmas vacation, and it was a gift to be able to afford this intense and fulfilling break.
Sebastian, on the other hand, already has his next adventure in mind. After Marrakesh, he takes the train north, crossing the whole country until Tangier, and from there, he boards a boat to Spain. His girlfriend is waiting for him, and together, they’ll face a big challenge: walking from Portugal all the way home to Germany. On foot. All the way to Bavaria.
See you on the other side old friend!
