(via Source D'Océan Surf & Yoga Guesthouse - Guesthouse for Rent in Agadir, Souss-Massa-Draâ, Morocco)
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@the-namaste-bay
(via Source D'Océan Surf & Yoga Guesthouse - Guesthouse for Rent in Agadir, Souss-Massa-Draâ, Morocco)
The surfer dreams of big waves. Big barrels and steep walls on fluid vibrations, coming from the center of the earth, the sun and the moon. Towing in behind a jet ski and powered by the sea, the surfer trains for the winter swell.
Splinters Surf Movie
Small summer swell, tired arms and a few glasses of blush left the surfer in need of some restful streaming and relaxation. Looking for something with a beginning, middle and end instead of another big wave session, he found an older, famous movie that he couldn’t remember watching. (After the movie, the surfer remained unsure.)
It was called Splinters and was about the people of a surfing community in Papua New Guinea. The movie was well known but the reviews all seemed to think it was about a surfing competition (and didn’t they do well to get to Oz). The surfer’s spidey senses surge with skepticism anytime cultural understanding is required of IMDB warriors and New York film critics. America must still win for a film to get more than four stars and stories about other people, especially poor people, are quite boring. The surfer was happy with the decision.
The plot centers on a village called Vanimo and the people of 2 kickass surf clubs there, their families and some events in their lives over the months approaching the country’s first, national surfing competition. There is very little need to mention an Australian surfer who visited in the 80s during the film, let alone in the description of the film. There is also no celebration in the film or the reviews, of the PNG godfather of surfing, other than when he had to mention it himself. Clearly, he wasn’t a white guy.
Vanimo as a surfing community represents elements of global society where cultural sharing has been limited and intolerant. The film description uses cannibalism (rather than genocide or religious persecution) because it was part of their history, negligently defining PNG in a way that elevates our complete western civilization and gives us white people a high ground perspective over the uneducated villagers of Vanimo. The movie is actually about people just like the surfer but without the relentless opportunities. The story follows how they experience politics, society, relationships, community, winning, losing, learning and loving. It highlights what little has been shared by the surfing community but how these shredders have still developed that surfer spirit. The characters have a genuine stoke for riding waves and want to rip. That makes them just like guys called Taj and Kelly, to the surfer.
Ezekiel, a central character and one of the best surfers in the village, humanizes the metaphor when he grafts a broken board back together and stitches his old, threadbare boardies. Surfing has been thriving since the 60s. In California and Durban, Australia and France. Just like everything else, surfing has failed to share more than just a little bit, letting down kindred souls of fully subscribed members of its global community.
It had taken 20 years from conception to host the national competition. It was driven by the locals. The surfer got annoyed by this and thought surely there were 1000s of white people that could swing this in a hot minute. What’s up Billabong? Not fit your metrics? More money in apartheid South Africa, hey?
All of their characters coped with the language barrier and the surfer always admired this of people condemned as uneducated. Only offered snapshots of their lives, the surfer felt although he’d chosen a movie that it did not have the required middle and end. Splinters should be considered as just the beginning and hopefully the director is more concerned with the story than being celebrated.
Judgements delivered by the director help create a them and us feeling and the racism of disadvantagement is painful to watch for the enlightened. Surfing belongs to everyone but it hasn't been shared as it should be and that casts a shadow on the validity of the industry. Surfers get it. The owners of Quicksilver, including Kelly Slater, don't have a fucking clue.
Hopefully, by the time the next installments are released, Rip Curl would have repaired the surf club houses and have the competitors decked out, nourished and invested in. Roxy will look after the ladies and keep them safe. And that dickhead judge who insulted the surfers can be relieved of his duty. Thanks dude but you are not needed.
The film left the surfer inspired. Inspired to get down to the souk and pick up a few fake polo shirts. To buy some Berbere jewelry and pet the street dogs. Damn the man. Save the empire.
What do you do in Morocco?
Hot hot hot
Summer in Morocco is well known to be hot. Marrakech and Casablanca have been deep into the 40s frequently, since June. Agidir and Taghazout haven't been that hot but the heatwave also gets a ride on The Namaste Bay. Lurking just under 40 and cooled slightly by the sea breeze, the heat is dry and manageable, lasting through the night. The sun has fought off the fog that has been hovering over the bay in July and the ocean is glassy in the morning, opening up the horizon and giving clear views of Tamraght and Anchor Point. Soft, thin white clouds pepper the sky over Morocco's holiday makers who swim, surf and play soccer on the beach. Hadji is from near Agadir and the surfer is impressed with the skills of his countrymen. The beach is going to be busy again today and it will be hot. The swell has dropped and the surfer contemplates paddle boarding round to Anchor Point and back. Hafid sleeps off his night shift at the Villa. It will be over 40 on the water today but very little beats paddling in nature with the sun in your back. It's hot so whatever happens, the surfer knows he has to be ready. It must be time to pack the bag.
Go surfing
The day started out foggy and grey. The surfer took Marley and Chloe to the beach for a good run and a dig. They’re terriers so they can dig a bit of beach time. Morocco does have some of the most tranquil street dogs and cats you could want. The surfer feels as though they get quite jealous of pets but he’s under Hafid’s rule: make sure there are no other dogs on the beach. There was a dude poking around but he got the vibe that these tiny terriers needed their space. It didn’t look like there were going to be waves today. Got to go surfing.
The fog burned away quite quickly and the lads took different routes to the beach. The surfer needed fuel and Hafid has plenty to say to people en route to the place they have stopped almost every day for three weeks is in front of Sol House on the south side of Taghazout. Hafid knows the whole village population here. The parasol, jet ski, tea, ice cream, restaurant and camel people. The lifeguards and the surf instructors and the tourists. It’s his place and he probably felt as though he had to drag the surfer there today but they both ripped. Got to go surfing.
They waves were only 3 foot but the summer had been slow. The rides were fun. Working for the take off and round a little section so the wave opens up for a comfy ride through to the shore. The surfer was stoked after his first wave and went back and forth between backline and the shore after that, hitting the sets in perfect time and losing more than two hours for his effort. Got to go surfing.
Stoked to be back in the house. Stoked with the waves. The surfer lines up some baguettes and salad before linking the WSL on YouTube, in the hope that Michael February is charging the US Open field but he falls asleep. Got to go surfing.
Paddle Paradise Morocco
Taghazout hadn't had swell in weeks. The surfer had recovered from injuries picked up trying to surf like a schoolboy 1/3 his age. That'll be a 12 year old if you're wondering. The ribs had been hurting as though they had taken a full magazine load from an A.K. Quarante sept, into a thin layer of Kevlar, head on. But now, after 3 weeks of pain with every movement and agony with each sneeze, cough or hiccup, the surfer was board riding again. Not wave riding right now, summer was letting the holiday makers have a peaceful and safe ocean. Paddle board was the game on flat water. It was everything he had hoped it would be. And like surfing, it was hard, you connect with nature and it's good clean fun. The surfer was hooked.
Immesouane on a gentle day. Locals deliver their catch to the market and restaurants serve customers from charcoal barbecues.
The Surfer and the Sea
It took the surfer a week, then more time for different reasons, to get back in the ocean. Ten minutes had already become ten years, so ten days seemed short. He remembered the waves well because he always looked for them. The current, his body on the board and the sandbanks slipping under his feet washed the memories back to flood his reawakening. A sense of justice enveloped the surfer as he dived through the shore-break. Ducking the board under the lip of a breaking set wave, as the swell pushes through and past the surfer's chest he remembered every paddle, from Rocks to Rock Food. The ocean was kind and clear, welcoming him back like an old friend in the current. They share a joke about the Mach7-7 Mike Stewart board and Wap fins that first got the surfer going sideways. In just a few splashes, the surfer had traveled a long way. He was smiling. Dad was mowing the lawn. Jim was practicing on his chanter and mum was reading a Peter Godwin book on the back balcony of the house in Durban North. The ocean was kind and clear. It was now the surfer's turn.
Kindness in the Kingdom
Exploring a different culture without enough planning to incur any useful preconceptions has landed the surfer in the lap of priceless kindness. Friendship and safety, security and orientation dealt generously with careful attention and sympathy to his journey. Thousands of welcomes greet the visitor and grant him solace on the Atlantic coastline, north of Agadir. His journey is the experience, the people and the place.
Introducing The Namaste Bay of Morocco