|Find the best surf spots||
Trip: Sallum Ellie kum
Thursday June 28 2007 12:29:12 PM
Date: from Dec 31, 2006 to Jan 14, 2007
Surf trip description:
I'd been planning this trip for a while. It was a reward for 3 years of college study as a mature(ish) student, scoring a well paid job working offshore, getting over a bad relationship and finding a beautiful lady that appreciates what the ocean means to me. It was gonna be short but sweet. A surf exploration disguised as a romantic trip to a foreign land. Morroco had been in the mags, press and Id heard many a story at the pub/beach of long, empty, points in warm water - I was gagging for it.
After wrapping the boards in bubble wrap, towels and wetsuits, I headed to meet the girlfriend. We stayed overnight at a hotel just outside cheap flight hell/paradise -London Luton. On the plane, we realised that we werent the only ones looking for a short trip to a world far removed from the UK. A guy from Brighton turned and asked if we'd been to Morroco before. We said no, and he gave his overveiw. He meant well and we appreciated the advice. The conversation kind of dried up after he told us he and his SIX, yes six buddies were going for a surf trip. My bubble nearly burst as I envisioned the empty waves I heard about, full of Newquayites. My lady eased my anxieties by saying how good it was that we'd planned to head away from the 'Tagazhout' trail.
Marrakesh was the most dangerous place I have evr driven in. Paris, Thailand, L.A. do not compare. We got out of there as soon as we found a road that suggested it was in the direction of Safi. We only had 1 roof strap which fitte the roof of the strange looking rental car, so we took it in turns to put an arm out of the window to check the boards were still there. The drive was amazing. Through small townships, desserts, men on donkeys, goats in trees, mountain views, and silence. Our shadow of the car looked like a serpant with his mouth open wide, as the boards lifted at the front from the force of the oncoming wind. As we drove we realised we had not seen another car. At that moment we heard a horn, and a bright blue old Mercedes taxi passed us full of people. We sounded the horn back and received smiles and waves from the passengers. We continued the beeping and waving at everyone we saw for about 150km until we reached Safi.
The hotel was a bit of luxury for the first night. It was the only place in town that served alcohol because of the Islamic period of lent. We were lucky to get food apparently. I was looking forward to a Tagine but made do with an omellette. The local wine kicked in, and the bar manager 'Tifid' came to our room with another bottle and welcomed us to his country with a few hash reefers. My girlfriend was more than happy, and we zoned into a dreamworld of morrocan smells and sounds from our balcony. I drifted off after some loving. I vaguely remember fireworks and Big Ben on the black and white tv.
Up, kitted up, had some big Morrocan bread for brekky and headed straight for the ocean. The tide was wrong for the special point Id heard about. The beach break looked inviting, so we suited up, and I lavished in the first few duck dives in African waters. Some local bodyboarders were singing as I paddled further out to where the longer rights were starting to break. I had some easy peaks that were quite steep on take off, but reeled gently as they met with a beach reform that made them lose power. The water glistened with a different colour to the Cornish waters Im accustomed to. I had some small close-out cover-ups, and noticed my girlfriend was out and changed. I looked up the point and saw some big, heavy barrels reeling through and being had by the 2 or more locals on it. My arms were dead after the 2hr beach surf and I decided t check on my lady and have a closer look at Ras Lefaa before attempting.
The guy chatting to my girlfriend, gave a warm and friendly greeting, but my girlfriend was unsure. In our bad French/Arabic we figured out that he wanted us to join him for dinner. I wanted to check the point, but he was most insistent, and pointed out it would be dark in about 2 hrs. We popped him in the car and he directed us through the city to a poorer part of town. We arrived and he said 'it is here - hashbar' and I had flashbacks of previous travels to places like Thailand. My girlfriend then said that her French translation suggested his township was called Haskba. It may as well have been hashbar.
A dead goat hung outside the clay and brick home with blood dripping into the streets curb. The Mother greeted us and we were introduced to the Father, his other 2 sons, the younger daughter and their uncle. We were given pipe after pipe, drank much mint tea saturated with sugar, and were fed what we guessed was the goats brain with bread! I used to be a vegy. ! Their hospitality was unique, and we passed hours just trying to get over the language barrier, talking of their jobs as fisherman and stories of the King Cobra - Ras Lefaa. We said farewell with a hazy glow on our faces and were taken to their lookout. It suddenly dawned on us that the city lights proved the fact that Safi was shaped like a serpant and the point was the serpants head - the King Cobra - Ras Lefaa. (To be continued).
Modified: Thursday June 28 2007 12:29:12 PM