POWEREDGE SURF TRIPS

MOROCCO

The trip

Four friends, a '74 Land Rover, 15 days and 6000 kilometers for huge fun and some darn good surf. I can still vividly remember the night the whole idea started: we were in Brighton, me and Alex, fully satisfied after one week of good surfing in Cornwall when he decided to call George (you know, just to be sure he knew we scored good...). The guy, a bit disturbed by our full on ecxitement, immediately launched the idea of a Easter trip to Morocco, and without esitation we joined the party. At the time, we didn't knew much about the place besides what the mighty Stormriders said, and that was enough: warm climate, untapped stash of uncrowded rights with no sharks,no coral, no winter and no disease, a perfect escape for European shorts of either time or money it's enough to drive an Italian waves starving surfer to madness. Once back in Italy we started organizing the whole thingh and Luigi became soon part of the game: he never surfed before but he was really attracted by Morocco's own typical product more than by dawn patrol and evening glass off. As I said before, the official car of the trip (yes, we made it all by car), was George's 1974 Diesel Land Rover: try to imagine it filled by four people (and only three front row seats), their baggages and sleeping bags, wetsuits, food for two weeks, a tent and various camping equipement plus an air camping tent and four surfboards on the roof. But even if the car was considerably slowed by all this stuff and the road long, we leaved with a certain stoical pride that all pioneers should have felt.This consistent, palpable frenzy lasted just one hour: at the gate of the highway a police patrol stopped us and after useless discussions and whines gave us a majestic fine and the retirement of car documents. Undoubtely a bad strike for us, but we soon decided going anyway: at least we should have remained around the beaches of Andalusia. The voyage was long and started to become a nightmare in the middle of Spain: going 100 kmh wasn't enough for those endless routes, but after somethingh like 30 hours and a puncture in the middle of Sierra Nevada we finally reached Gibilterra. We needed a new tyre but we were so desperate that we said fuck you to common sense and decided to buy it in Tangier (if they were going to let us in without car documents, naturally). The ferry ride was short and sweet but trying to convince the police that we lost the documents took us something like four hour: thanks to a fax copy of them and some old good bribing we were in. But happiness soon converted to a nervous breakdown when one hundred people tried to sell us hash just past the customs: horrifyed and scared we leaved them behind and struggled to get out of the city (worst place I've ever seen in my whole life). We still needed the tyre and thanks God one of the second hand tyres shop we visited had it: he started the bargaining asking something like $ 50.000, leaving us uncertain between crying, laughing or directly killing him. He soon cooled down to a modest $ 5.000 and so on until $ 50 which still is an enormous amount of money for a second hand tyre, but we were exhausted from laughing and we took the deal. We understood we just passed the worst when miles of empty beach break finally struck our eyes: we found a cheap camping in Asilah and had our first sesh (by the way crappy onshore shit, but it looked like heaven after all the troubles). We slept twelve ours straight that night, and the next morning it was small and glassy, but the others wanted to leave and head south. We cheked Moulay Bousselham, but it wasn't that good. Going further south the road wasn't along the coast and we wondered if there was a way to reach it: all of a sudden George put the four wheeler in and took a dirt road that lead us to a magnificent cliff with a beach below interrupted by natural breakwater that shaped really good sandbars. Me and Alex surfed the first round while Luigi and George sat on their deck-chairs, drinking beers and smoking hash: looking them from the line up, with a handful of kids that sorted out of nowhere at a respectful distance it was really classic. Even if there were some nasty rips waves were good: this was the session that really brought the trip alive. We shared some peaks and then left the place to the two sinners: all I can say is that if you really wanna smoke, at least do it after surfing and not before, especially if you're learning to stand up. When they finally came in we went to Kenitra, looking for a camping. Kenitra is a really shitty industrial city (even worse than Tanger) but Mehdiya plage, close to the city, has a long jetty at the rivermouth where a good right break, usually better from low to high tide, over sand bottom with other good peaks on the beach. There's a good camping near the groin, so we arrived in time to have another really good sesh before sunset: me and Alex went out of water at dark with such a shining smile that we hugged and jogged to the tents were the junkies were having another kind of sesh...The next morning the swell was smaller and some locals and visitors were in the water, but the sun was hot and the waves connected with the inside, giving long rides: on one of them I did a strong snap in front of a smiling Luigi that was paddling out, and it was one of the best moment of my life. In the early afternoon we hit the road again and headed south towards Rabat, were George boldly went through the Casbah with the jeep in order to find an horde of drug dealers and smugglers that weren't to happy to see us there (one of the scariest moment of my life, and I 've been in really bad situations before!). We got a look to Casablanca (shitty as every other Moroccan city) and checked Jack Beach, one of the most famous spot of the country: it was a bit disappointing so we decided to leave and reach El Jadida, were we camped. We had a big dinner and George even bought a lobster from a fisherman. We slept good and finally arrived at Oualidia: the Stormrider said it was kinda beginners heaven with a sheltered bay and a surf camp. Well, the bay was sheltered, even too sheltered: with a powerful 6ft swell outside, in the bay there was a good 6 inches rolling through it. We gave a go at the outside beach but it was too stormy and after a bit started a tropical shower that lasted for 5 hours; we slept and read (I was reading John Steinback's East of Eden, a real masterpiece) and when the rain stopped had a walk to the beach. When we saw 6ft waves going square with a stiff offshore we ran back to the camp while taking off our clothes and suddenly paddled out: the sun was going down fast (in Morocco there is daytime, which usually means a bright sun, and nightime, which means total darkness, withouth anythingh between) but there was time enough for a wonderful wave and a solemn beating that made me see all the colours of the rainbow, not to mention that with low tide the walk was scattered of sharp rocks that in the dark malignantly stood unseen under the water. The guys at the surf camp were cool, but we were disappointed by the place so the following morning we went back to Mehdiya, were waves were just chest high but clean, and it was so hot we surfed with our shortsuits. That night we ate and stood lying for a while looking the stars in a wonderful sky. We woke up and the swell was a little bit messy, even if some wedging rights gave us the thrill of some vertical take off (and three kilos of sand in my wetty). We spent the whole afternoon on the beach since the waves were still crappy: we said stupid jokes, slept, beat Alex (official grom of the trip) and I borrowed George's longboard for some fun, before calling it quit. But just before leaving the beach I thought "No way, water's warm, I'm gonna give it a try anyway" and paddled out. Tide was dropping and two local spongers paddled out with me: I don't know what the fuck happened but after a long paddle I found out that what seemed 2ft mushy from shore was a solid 8ft and I just had the time to let some sets go before taking off on two killer waves in the obscurity. I came out with a disbelieving look on my face while Alex was coming in total darkness in order to join me (late, as always): I just told him "Go, if you dare" before talking about those two waves for three hours straight. Back to the camping I stood under the (cold) shower and swore for the sets I let go. Had a good night and woke up early in order to see what was left and it was overhead and glassy: still angry for the day before, I went all out. After two good hours and our ordinary pasta we leaved and camped again in Asilah: since we took the highway we didn't knew that all the wind that lifted the sand on the road was offshore. To our surprise the swell was still big here and the strong offshore shaped some wonderful waves: with the sun out it was pure filth. I surfed until my arms were jelly because it was just too good and headed in with the sun colouring the sky of a bright orange. It was our last night and I was just too happy to be there with three great guys sharing waves and having fun. The morning after was still a good clean 4ft, still sunny, still warm: it was our goodbye sesh and we gave it everything we still had (especially Alex, who ripped some of the longest rights). Our lunch was made of the left-overs, so when we reached the ferry at Tangier we attacked the bar and crunched some kingsize Snickers.We passed the customs faster than at the arrival, also thanks to Obi Wan (actually, an old european dressed in the typical moroccan vest, the djalaba), which mind boggled the policemen. A storm was pumping and the ride was kinda wild but I watched some tv and then sleeped: Luigi instead puked all the time and he said that simply looking at the toilette full of vomit and sick people was really gnarly. The long drive home was even longer since we were really tired, and once back home I slept for twelve hours straight before even saying hallo to my parents. Definitely a time we'll remember and a place I'll see again.

More about the place

Here there's something I've taken from the mighty Stormrider guide (if you want it you can order it from Low Pressure Publishing Unit 33 Pall Mall deposit 124 Barbly Rd London W10 6BL UK tel/fax 0181 960 1916) plus personal notes. You can reach Morocco by air, there are cheap fares for Tangier, Casablanca or Agadir, hiring a car on the place, or directly drive to Gibilterra and take the ferry as we did. The ride to Tangier is 2 hours, but the real pain in the ass is the customs, which will take you some time: remember your surfboards will be recorded and declared on your passport. This means you must leave with them, even if they're broken: if they're stolen, you'll need a letter from the police (good luck!). Roads are quite good, and mechanics are cheap and fast in case of breakdown. We stayed in campings, and I strongly suggest you to do so: they're cheap, fun, and usually uncrowded (ecxept for summer) and therefore free camping can be dangerous. There should be also good rentals and you can find cheap hotels, expecially near the medinas of the towns. Always be careful, theft is common like in every other thirld world country, and if you wanna smoke hash be even more careful: moroccan prisons aren't that good and they're full of western people who came in order to smoke and have some trascendental experience (fuckin helluva hippie jerks). Pretty everyone understand and speak French, which is the official language along with Arab, but in the south also Spanish is common. Winter is the most popular season with consistant swell, clean surf and warm air and water. Spring and autumn have similar conditions with hotter air and less crowd. Summer can have flat spells. The north offers consistent waves that can be head high when down south is flat, mostly beach breaks from Tangier to Rabat, while from Casablanca to Safi the coast is more varied, but is the coast near Agadir that attracts most visiting surfers with his right pointbreak. The number of locals is growing even if boards and wetsuit are still difficult to find: you'll be asked to sell your equipement a bilion times.

Surf shops

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