We'd spent the afternoon boozing at Whisky Point. A surf break more famed for its right hander, but the waves had gone to absolute shit. On the plus side, beverages were rapidly flowing at this weird little beach bar which was pumping out Rastafarian electro.
I left Turkey en route to Morocco. My destination? Casablanca. The land below, seen from my bird’s eye view from the aeroplane window, was littered with an abundance of pastel colours. At this point I could already feel another blur of culture, colour and people coming on.