from the length of our stay, to seeing our dreaded friend, to the WAVES, to a sunrise hike through paradise valley – our stop in the small town of Taghazout was by far our favourite. we arrived to the aftermath of hurricane hercules – huge waves crashing in fury against the shore of all the 20+ surf spots along the coastline of this famous surf town. being denied of waves on the first day, we were treated to an incredible sunset, the arid land on the coast being painted in a hazy gold. over the next three days, we rested; surfed; finally experienced a true, non-tourist market with bodies moving quickly past each other, the smells of spices, olives, dates and caramel popcorn filling the chill of the evening air; caught up with the girl who inspired our trip to morocco (who was working at a surf camp there), and stole her away one morning for a hike through paradise valley (where a barely-dressed, dark-haired german groggily stumbled around, rubbing his eyes and probably dreaming of three South Africans outside his caravan on a crazy early morning hike to pools of turquoise).

it was a good end to our travels, and the discovery of the only national road in morocco, had us whizzing back to Casablanca for our flight in almost no time (albeit for a hefty toll gate fee). landing back on South African soil, we felt our whole bodies sighing with relief at the familiar, the airport attendants’ smiles and Xhosa clicking feeling so amazingly welcoming. I realised that without noticing, being immersed in a culture completely different to your own is tiring. Each small task takes more effort, each encounter more difficult in some way… morocco still feels exotic to us, as though we barely cracked into the first layer of what it is like to live there.

what a beautiful, inspiring journey it was. I cannot wait to travel again.

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