I stand on our terrace at the Munga Guest House in Taghazout for one last look. There is a thick mist and the beach below is stirring. A tractor hooks a small boat and ferries it across the sand to the water for a casual fisherman. Chaise lounges with umbrellas are being set up in…
Month: November 2022
Surf city
Taghazout is off the beaten path for most. A surfer town with a surf shop every 20 feet. Meant for surfing. You can take surf lessons with a yoga session thrown in. Malibu on the Atlantic. My shoes have gotten a lot of attention. Instead of sandals, I wear my water shoes, otherwise known as…
Old man and the surf
Where are my EarPods? That ocean’s loud! I mean, after the silence of the Sahara.. Okay, it started with the blue rocks suggesting a kindergarten for adults. Then, last night and today, families, French, Italian, American, with their kids on the beach and in the restaurants, as if school were out. Was it? I know last week was A Moroccan…
Rock Pile Playground
somehow, we neglected to publish this from Tuesday.Walking on a different kind of sand. Yesterday morning Ali picked us up at the hotel around nine and drove to a boulder strewn mountain valley outside of Tafroute where the rocks were painted blue. One thing about Morocco, and certainly about the Anti-Atlas Mountains, if you’re looking for…
And to the sea we go
This morning, the hotel in Tafroute with its mountain view looks gorgeous. But we are coast bound. To Taghazout, the Moroccan surf capital. Ali swoops by at 9:00 to collect us, dressed for the coast sporting a California T shirt. He has ditched the desert attire. First, Ali says, we will go see the painted…
Wait a minute Mr. Lean
I think I’ve got the shot! Okay, maybe I didn’t use 78 mm film and a telephoto lens, but it’ll do for a Sahara morning memory. Leaving camp we said goodbye to Bashir who clasped my shoulder and said, “Bslama, Ali Baba!” We barreled over the desert flats. Stopped at a cozy oases. Three hours…
From Sahara to mountains
Monday Just another sunrise in the Sahara. I feel a surprising tug on my heart. I don’t want to leave. But we pack our bags and the moment we’ve zipped them shut, 2 young men are at our door to take them to the car. We are heading west, to Tafroute in the anti Atlas…
Camel Jockeys
Sunday. After dinner last night, around 9:30, the dry heat of the day (nothing extreme in the autumn sun) had cooled so that by the time we went to bed there was a faint chill in the air. And silence. And a darkness so deep that even my doppelgänger kept his distance. In the middle of the night I…