A brutally early start from home, creeping through the house so as not to wake anyone. Time only for a cup of tea. The double check; Equipment. Wallet. Passport. Brain. All there… I think.
A last look around before I close the door. The weird pregnant quiet of a sleeping home. It’s hard saying goodbye the night before you leave.
An airport breakfast I’d forgotten midway through the last forkful. A blustery winters day, the wingtip lifting up and down while we wait on the tarmac. A not particularly vibrant start to my first trip to Morocco.
Later, from this height, the view out of the window and I don’t see camels galumphing across the dunes in tight formation. But the country below appears more arable than I thought it would be.
Riding Morocco: Chasing the Dakar 2016