As we get closer, we see that the palm trees are more whipping than swaying and the haze is really a constant whir of sand. The realization that we have just arrived at the windiest beach in the world hits us.

“What the fuck!” Jonathan curses the place.

“Let’s just get out and see… Maybe its not that bad.” I try to sound hopeful.

“Not that bad! It’s a fucking sandsorm!” Jonathan yells.

“Yes… But there’s camels…” I say.

Jonathan rolls down his window to ask the man where we can park. As soon as he does a million tiny grains of sand are sucked into the vortex of our car, slapping us mercilessly in the face. Stupid infidels… you are not welcome here. One of the camels leans over into our window, makes a loud “Moooaaaw!” and then “splaaat!” spits a big one right into Jonathan’s face.

“That’s it!” he howls as he rolls up the window. “We’re outta here!”

“You mean we’re not even gonna get out?” I say expecting we’d at least have to give it an obligatory walk around. “Look, the locals don’t seem to mind it…” I joke pointing to the three scraggly looking arabs that sit on the beach smoking their pipes, their turbans violently whipping at their weathered hash colored faces and bloodshot eyes.

“No, we’re not getting out! And we’re leaving this fucking country!”

Finally even he has surrendered. Morocco has won. We will leave now. Back on the road.

We drive the six hours back to Tangiers. Back to the ferry. Back to Spain. We drive up the coast where we finally find a beach. It is on the Mediterranean. There is beautiful dark blue water and there is no sand. Only tiny tiny luxurious little gem-like pebbles that don’t even stick to your feet or get in the bed!

There is only one hotel and it is a good one. And cheap. With the first sip of morning coffee I am finally relieved of my burden on a real toilet. I can finally breathe. We have dinner every night on the sea wall. There is Gaspacho. There is Paella. There is wine. As the sea breeze cools my body, my heart warms again. We both reflect. We can’t stop laughing.

We stand against the wall, looking out into the sea.

“I do like being your sidekick, babe.” I say, the wine suddenly making it easier to betray myself again. “It’s just sometimes easier to see it all in retrospect… sometimes I need to be out of a situation to appreciate it, I guess…” I babble now, loose lips. “I really do like traveling around with you. There’s really only one thing I’d never want to do.”

“What’s that, Peanut?” he asks.

“Well, I guess traveling on the motorcycle…”

“Funny you should say that…” He says.

The End.