Photos: Morocco and More than Meets the Eye.

If you’ve been following, you might have noticed that I was less than enthused with a lot of what Morocco had to offer. As I’ve unpacked elsewhere, it was a mix of a number of factors and it would be unfair to put the burden of my dissatisfaction on the country as a whole… Morocco is a fascinating place, bursting with colour and character – be it individual, architectural or otherwise.

Hopefully these photos help convey some of what my own personal experiences couldn’t.

Djellaba Woman, Chefchaouen.

Djellaba Woman, Chefchaouen.

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On Solitude; or Porcelain Solace and The Final Straw.

It’s perhaps not unexpected, that over the course of a year adrift you might find yourself craving some familiarity. But I hadn’t expected it to come with the force it did, sitting on the toilet dry retching while I dreamed of home and friends absent. It felt like not much had happened, between Fez and here, but I no longer cared. I was sick and sick of it, and in my weakened state waned. Why the fuck had I come to Morocco in the first place?

Solitude is a strange beast, not really relevant until there is something to compare it with. The couples at my hotel in Fez, the pity from shopkeepers that I had no-one to travel with (not forced, I chose this), the self-consciousness that Ramadan intensified: these all conspired to fuel what came to burn as a numbing sense of solitude, enforced instead of volunteered for. But all men must do some time in the wilderness and Morocco was to be mine.

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A Hitch in Time: Couch Surfing Contradictions and One Ironic Dude.

As the days slipped away I became less and less enthused with Morocco. The lack of booze made for quiet evenings and in the end quiet days too. Despite the coast’s reputation there was no surf to be had – one of the perils of coming in the off-season. I knew I should have planned more. But what could you do? At least it was cheap.

I had had my fill of “culture” (mosques, souks, hustlers and trinkety shit) and was content to take long walks along the coast and swim in the sea, finally embracing the absence of activities holidays are meant to be.

The novelty of hitch-hiking down the coast remained and my Australian partner and I had a few long days sitting in what shade could be found on the side of the road, waiting for the sound of an approaching engine. There, more than anywhere else, our occupation was travelling and we waited patiently, turning down paid rides time and time again, hoping for people who understood what hitching is all about.

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