it is an ongoing liaison which i have slipped into.
first i left tafroute and followed all the small roads back to the coast. the landscape was a crazy medley of mountains and valleys. i sometimes have to pant to reach the top of a pass, and am soon whizzing down the other side - a great feeling of excitement to be moving at such speed - the brakes life-savingly important to navigate the twists the twists. the thorny twisted argan trees scattered most everywhere, sometimes the bright white blossom of an almond tree, beside which i rest my bike and rest my body and close my eyes and feel the warmth and hear nothing but the drone of insects.
i say: that sound, this scene... in which place am i?
i am deep in the countryside.
how do the people in the little villages make a living? all i see them do is herd goats and sheep - lot of goats and sheep. i slowly cycle through a village far from any other village. i smile at the man sitting in the village store and he almost jumps to his feet, greeting me effusively. i nod to him and cycle on. i would like to give him trade but my bike is already loaded (heavy) with everything i need.
man in the store of the isolated village, where can your trade come from?
i reach the larger village of tanalt at sundown. the village is perched like a casbah on top of a minor hill surrounded by valley which drops all around, and then rises to form a ring of mountains. i ask where i can find water and the task is assigned to two ten-year-old boys, who lead me through the streets to the well, where water is pulled up in a bucket. they also show me where i can buy bread and oranges. at first a little shy, they soon begin to ask me questions in french, which they are taught at school. i tell them that i will sleep in the countryside at night. "tu n'as pas peur?" one boy asks. "peur de quoi?" i say, afraid of what?
the boy has to think.
"des animaux sauvages"
ah, i didn't realise there were wild animals. comment ils s'appellent?
the boy isn't so sure what they are called, but assures me they are dangerous.
i tell him i love to explore, and will watch out for the animals.
we shake hands at the edge of the village as the darkness arrives and i think: very mature boys. a child has to be mature here to help the family work. i see lots of children alone on the roads transporting things or guiding donkeys.
i was happy to cycle in and cycle out of agadir - a big town full of banks and holiday appartments close to the beach. everything is different on the coast. i am happy to feel the sun on my skin as i roll along the coast road north, sharing it with huge campervans, each one driven by older man with his wife sitting next to him, and the older local vans, crammed full of passangers, inside or sitting on the roof or hanging on to the back. "you want cheap room?" calls out a boy in one of the towns full of visitors who come to surf. i roll on past each successive headland and cover many kilometres, finally sleeping under the full moon on the dry bed of a river, next to a banana plantation.
the next day i continue to roll and when i stop at a market town to buy some food, i see a guy standing in the street wearing dreadlocks and sandles, waiting for the water tank in his van to fill up. we share some of the warm bread i have just bought and Jakke tells me how nice the beach and the bay is where he is staying. he invites me to put my bike in his van and come back with him. it is an hour or so back along the road i have just come along, but i am easily persuaded and realise i will be happy to take a break and do some painting.
and so the days have passed, and my bike is now gathering dust, tied to the back of the van.
we are both solitaries, with the freedom to migrate for the winter, who are glad to suddenly have company.
i pose the purpose question to jakke and straight away he says: to surf. there is no feeling that compares to catching a big wave. it keeps you going; it keeps you alive.
then he thinks a bit more and says: the most important thing in life is to be yourself, and to be happy.
i think the two are one and the same.
then he says: we need love. we can't live without love.
i say: love, yes; yes.
from the spot where his van sits overlooking the bay, we walked into small village of imsouanne each night for a bowl of soup. the days spent looking at the waves, learning about surf theory, the thrill of catching a wave (like hitchhiking with the ocean's energy) and being pulled along, even if i am still lying on the board. otherwise swimming in the sea, playing with the waves, collecting mussels sitting around a fire at night, making big fish tagines or roasting potatoes. we drove back to agadir to pick up Sven, another belgian friend, and have now headed further south to sidi ifni, a small fishing town where most buildings are painted blue and white, a spanish colony since the middle ages ceded to morocco in 1969.
everyone is pretty friendly here.
first i left tafroute and followed all the small roads back to the coast. the landscape was a crazy medley of mountains and valleys. i sometimes have to pant to reach the top of a pass, and am soon whizzing down the other side - a great feeling of excitement to be moving at such speed - the brakes life-savingly important to navigate the twists the twists. the thorny twisted argan trees scattered most everywhere, sometimes the bright white blossom of an almond tree, beside which i rest my bike and rest my body and close my eyes and feel the warmth and hear nothing but the drone of insects.
i say: that sound, this scene... in which place am i?
i am deep in the countryside.
how do the people in the little villages make a living? all i see them do is herd goats and sheep - lot of goats and sheep. i slowly cycle through a village far from any other village. i smile at the man sitting in the village store and he almost jumps to his feet, greeting me effusively. i nod to him and cycle on. i would like to give him trade but my bike is already loaded (heavy) with everything i need.
man in the store of the isolated village, where can your trade come from?
i reach the larger village of tanalt at sundown. the village is perched like a casbah on top of a minor hill surrounded by valley which drops all around, and then rises to form a ring of mountains. i ask where i can find water and the task is assigned to two ten-year-old boys, who lead me through the streets to the well, where water is pulled up in a bucket. they also show me where i can buy bread and oranges. at first a little shy, they soon begin to ask me questions in french, which they are taught at school. i tell them that i will sleep in the countryside at night. "tu n'as pas peur?" one boy asks. "peur de quoi?" i say, afraid of what?
the boy has to think.
"des animaux sauvages"
ah, i didn't realise there were wild animals. comment ils s'appellent?
the boy isn't so sure what they are called, but assures me they are dangerous.
i tell him i love to explore, and will watch out for the animals.
we shake hands at the edge of the village as the darkness arrives and i think: very mature boys. a child has to be mature here to help the family work. i see lots of children alone on the roads transporting things or guiding donkeys.
i was happy to cycle in and cycle out of agadir - a big town full of banks and holiday appartments close to the beach. everything is different on the coast. i am happy to feel the sun on my skin as i roll along the coast road north, sharing it with huge campervans, each one driven by older man with his wife sitting next to him, and the older local vans, crammed full of passangers, inside or sitting on the roof or hanging on to the back. "you want cheap room?" calls out a boy in one of the towns full of visitors who come to surf. i roll on past each successive headland and cover many kilometres, finally sleeping under the full moon on the dry bed of a river, next to a banana plantation.
the next day i continue to roll and when i stop at a market town to buy some food, i see a guy standing in the street wearing dreadlocks and sandles, waiting for the water tank in his van to fill up. we share some of the warm bread i have just bought and Jakke tells me how nice the beach and the bay is where he is staying. he invites me to put my bike in his van and come back with him. it is an hour or so back along the road i have just come along, but i am easily persuaded and realise i will be happy to take a break and do some painting.
and so the days have passed, and my bike is now gathering dust, tied to the back of the van.
we are both solitaries, with the freedom to migrate for the winter, who are glad to suddenly have company.
i pose the purpose question to jakke and straight away he says: to surf. there is no feeling that compares to catching a big wave. it keeps you going; it keeps you alive.
then he thinks a bit more and says: the most important thing in life is to be yourself, and to be happy.
i think the two are one and the same.
then he says: we need love. we can't live without love.
i say: love, yes; yes.
from the spot where his van sits overlooking the bay, we walked into small village of imsouanne each night for a bowl of soup. the days spent looking at the waves, learning about surf theory, the thrill of catching a wave (like hitchhiking with the ocean's energy) and being pulled along, even if i am still lying on the board. otherwise swimming in the sea, playing with the waves, collecting mussels sitting around a fire at night, making big fish tagines or roasting potatoes. we drove back to agadir to pick up Sven, another belgian friend, and have now headed further south to sidi ifni, a small fishing town where most buildings are painted blue and white, a spanish colony since the middle ages ceded to morocco in 1969.
everyone is pretty friendly here.
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