The Billabong team had the privilege of visiting Morocco this past winter for the making of, ‘Did You Hear The Falling Rose?’. We’ve been collectively devastated by the tragic events that have caused untold damage and loss in central Morocco on September 11th. Our thoughts and prayers are with the amazing people that so kindly opened their homes, waves and country to us during this incredibly difficult and traumatic time.
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We’ve covered pretty much the entirety of the Western Sahara and Morocco and back again – yet here we stand.
On the side of the A3, re-arranging board bags and straps and the rest praying to whichever god we believe in between our diverse crew to get the Casablanca airport stat. Now driving 2500 kilometres from the Western Sahara up through Morocco is a stellar way to get the measure of a man. And Issa, our driver is a good, good man. A blown turbo on the last 6 hour leg of 36 hours driving was not the way we envisaged saying goodbye. It rarely is.
Welcome to A Div. Billabong’s Adventure wing (division!) and in spirit of be careful what you wish for, an Adventure is exactly what we got. As from as I stand on the side on the Autoroute A3, with a blown engine, watching our group of 18 redistribute themselves between a now 3 pick up truck convoy, and multiple flights leaving Casablanca imminently there is no emotion. No sense of panic. Boards are restrapped. Bags under eyes and the same trousers for 10 days. Skincare routine left the chat a long time ago and is replaced by pockets of sand, rolling papers and loose dirham notes.
Because nothing phases us anymore.
We’ve driven from Casablanca, the bottom of the Sahara and back again. We’ve surfed. We’ve slept in huts, luxury hotels and back to huts again. We’ve eaten roadside tangines, dodged military checkpoints and landmines. easiest way to describe the Sahara is nothing. There is nothing. We pass through towns with 4 streets. They come into view and quickly disappear. Stray cats and dogs and unfinished buildings. Surfed Slabs and beachies and points. We see shipwrecks. We see it all and we see nothing. But yet here we stand, wearing wry smiles and hearts warmed by the Moroccan welcome we received.
Did you hear the falling rose?
I slept in black tents, blue tents, skin tents, yurts of felt and windbreaks of thorns. One night, caught in a sandstorm in the Western Sahara, I understood Muhammed’s dictum, ‘A journey is a fragment of Hell.’
