When I got to Morocco, I was itching for sunshine and heat. For warm sand and to drive with the windows down. I had spent too long in chilly Scotland and damp Cornwall and my body was needing a serious soaking of vitamin D. I couldn’t wait to rent a car and head south from Marrakesh to the beach and the surf. Not that I was going to get in the sea, I hate it, but there’s something about the smell of waves when the temperature is over 30C, rather than below 3C.
After an afternoon and evening of wandering for miles around Marrakesh, we rose before the sun to hire a car to take away from the intoxicating city and down to the coast. The drive was dramatic and cold, through mountains and by towns that had no running electricity and perfectly blended into the hills. The altitude rose and the temperature plummeted before we found ourselves at sea level and in a completely different world to Marrakesh.
Agadir was calm, lapped by the sea and lacking in hagglers and torments. The beach was long and the atmosphere calm. It was tranquil and hot – just what the doctor ordered.
We found ourselves in Tifnit, a wonderful, empty stretch of sand that was fringed by buildings crumbling from the cliffs and locals fishing from rocks. It was silent apart from the sea spray being forced to the sky and the noise of us exploring and clambering up the cliff side ruins.