* To stiate our own longing for travel and adventure during these times of quarentine the Field Mag edit team is resurfacing some older photo essays that have been lost to time. Please enjoy, from the comforts of home.
A short while ago, as summer approached in the western hemisphere, two close friends and I lugged our board bags filled with longboards, shortboards, a couple cameras, and a few outfits to the northwestern corner of Africa. For one month Morocco would be home, and our jobs to surf and explore.
Our first week was a blur of food poisoning and hunting down lost luggage—our beloved surfboards bounced between airports, seemingly playing cat and mouse, with us being the surf-stoked cats clawing for our illusive yet precious cargo. Upon securing our board bags though, all fell into place.
We met the Atlantic Ocean with its arms swinging wide open lefts to soft sand. Only issue was the sand was so soft our truck got stuck for a good part of the night upon arrival… so maybe there were a few more hurdles to jump. Nonetheless, the veggie tagine dishes, countless right point breaks, serene sea cliffs, and the unmistakable silence of the desert all nudged this forward-thinking country to a warm place in our hearts.
We surfed close to every day from then on out, never tiring of the lengthy peeling waves, long paddles back, and the combination of warm sun and chilly water. It’s kind of like having the heater on and windows down during a long night’s drive. Something of sentimental value due to its comforting nature.
In the end a month in Morocco gave me time to marinate in the culture and let the sweetness of the people seep in—a taste of something I can't put my finger on, but can only hope to experience again someday soon.
"The veggie tagine dishes, countless right point breaks, and the unmistakable silence of the desert all nudged this forward-thinking country to a warm place in our hearts."