Our flight from London to Agadir, on Morocco's south coast, was full of a rare breed of English surfers. Luckily for us, we managed to sit next to one keen bean who'd done a bit more research about the place and even had a guide book! We learnt that Taghazout, just north of Agadir, is one of Morocco's most well known areas for surfing, and we also looked up a few essential tips about getting out of the airport, as well as where to stay.

We decided to start off our North African journey by staying in Agadir to get a taste for Moroccan city life. After all, it was alot warmer than England, but still too cold for surfing! Agadir was a city with two faces. At one end there was the open sandy beach, huge tourist resorts and seafood restaurants; at the other end was a modest, slightly sleazy market area full of locals drinking tea and beggars. We stayed in the latter.

Whilst checking in, a strange middle-aged French punk-rocker started pouring out advice for us. He wasn't terrible company, so we had a good chat and even met up for dinner and a rare Moroccan beer at the 'British Pub' (which was covered in English flags). Claude had been to Morocco 13 times. He seemed to need to get something off his chest, so we listened to all of his personal problems, and in the end he gave us some fantastic advice about the Moroccan people, and where to visit. The French influence is still very dominant in Morocco and despite the native language being Arabic or Berber, everyone in the cities speak fluent French. This has made the country an easy appeal for French travelers and more of a challenge for us non French, Berber or Arabic speakers!

We met another Frenchman in a little local 'Tagine' eatery. He and his mate looked a little unsure about the place.. We had already lunched there once, so we piped up and told them the food was delicious. This French guy, who happened to be born in Morocco, bit back with 'What would you know about good food, you're Australian aren't you? The only food you have is burnt meat on a stick!' He didn't do much for the typical 'arrogant French' reputation...

Besides eating tasty slow-cooked meat and vegetable Tagine's from clay pots, shaking grubby old merchants hands and being offered hashish six times a day, we did one little day trip out to the 'hippie place' called Taghazout. This little village was totally dominated by surfers, local and foreign. There were surf shops selling Quicksilver and Billabong shorts, and a tempting rocky surf break with a backdrop of orange hills, cacti and kids offering camel rides. The surf was crowded and not spectacular, so we decided to skip the hassle of renting a board and wetsuit and Aidan settled on a very refreshing Atlantic bodysurf instead.

With Claude's advice in hand, we have just jumped on a bus heading east, away from the coast, towards the desert and real Moroccan 'Berber' country. With three weeks at our disposal, it seemed silly not to!