Velvet Nose

Maybe a modern voyage is made by the collection of chance encounters.

The curious moment that spills into a smile, maybe a few words, a long lasting impact on your

life, even if in complete silence.

I’ve chosen a life orbiting places that feel like home, from my birth country of Ecuador to

discovering surf in my backyard in Australia, to following my mum’s activism work in Japan.

Chasing all the ridged and numerical fun of the qualifying series at 16, I set off on my own to

dive head first in (a possibly expected) vulnerability of solo travelling. I had no idea the logistical

hurdles it was to check into a hotel, let alone enter countries without a guardian.

However! Even when this lonely noise seeps in, colliding with the pre-dawn darkness churned with unruly weather, stolen wallets, broken phones and complete vulnerability… I’ve been blessed enough

to see the dawn. The kindness of that soft light has taken so many forms, I wish I could name

and thank each person, each warm meal, each magical set rolling under my board.

One of these chance encounters I’m extra grateful for, takes place on the coastline of Morocco.

I’ve returned to this stretch of warm sand and carved cliff lines with a prolonged yearning to

laugh with my friends over an extra large tagine to satisfy the post surf hunger. Although my

Arabic stays close to; hello, thank you, bless you… To observe, support and learn about

Amazigh language, music and culture is important in empowering resurgence from a visitor’s

perspective.

I first crossed paths with Ayoub Abouizza in 2022 during a surf film premiere of his production of

‘Tangaoudrar’, directed by Felix Gänsicke, Javi and Jose Postigo, a story of life as an Amazigh

fisherman who falls in love with surfing, connecting the dots in what the sea means to

community, health of coastal culture, identity and faith.

Becoming fast friends, Ayoub always welcomed me to his home break of Anchor Point.

One crisp morning in late November called in the curiosity to check all and every wave north of

Killers, following advice of ‘just around the corner, inshallah!’.

With no luck and the sun beginning to glaze the caps of inland hills, we decided to go and play

on some novelty in Imsouane. An hour drive past dunes and mountains decorated with argan

trees.

After following the many turn signals to check little points, I wasn’t surprised to see Ayoub

waving us down right before we entered the mountains.

What left my eyes wide was the faces of around 200 dromedary camels weaving through low

shrubs. Meeting this wide-eyed excitement was Ayoub, already speaking to the nomadic camel

herder to ask permission to sit for a while with this ‘caravan’.

We watched the ‘caravan’ drift closer, spotting a newborn baby, quite sleepy in this new world.

Ayoub knew of a great slab nearby and suggested we walk with our boards past the camels to

check the swell direction beyond the cliff line. I had just begun walking with my board and

wetsuit when we noticed an extra curious camel, never breaking eye contact, beginning to walk

towards us.

I was nervous, I wanted to give her as much space as possible, yet each step back meant a

matched two-toed step forward.I finally decided to take a deep breath, empty my racing mind and let this camel have its way.

Taking whatever knowledge I had about horses, I crouched lower, stayed very still and calm and

bowed my head. I don’t know how to explain the gentle sweetness of this camel but it almost

reciprocated this respect.

I watched its velvet nose slowly edge beneath my forehead to match my bow. I couldn’t believe

it. We nuzzled head to head, with her very pungent musky smell and soft exhales, low and

unthreatening eyes guarded with the most beautiful eyelashes. I slowly reached my hand to

begin a little scratch, which she lent into.

I had been quite stressed out in logistics, in the lack of waves, the planning for future travels and

spinning projects. She brought me into her simple world, showed me how to breathe. To be

gentle, to be patient. I whispered a thank you, shokran or tanmirt in Amazigh.

I looked up to Ayoub with misty eyes, he just couldn’t believe it either.

I called our friends over to share this moment, everyone sharing a scratch and a smile with this

camel.

We forgot about checking the slab, the sun settling into the warmth of a midmorning and began to say our goodbyes, deciding to wash this chance encounter down with mint tea before a splash in the Atlantic sea. This camel gifted me so much. I’m so lucky to have shared it with my friends.