From Atlantic’s shores to the Sahara’s Edge: A surfer’s Ramadan journey.
I spent two weeks in Costa da Caparica, Portugal in February. My hosts, a gracious older couple, offered daily breakfasts which I, seeking solitude, often declined. Relentless winds and huge swells made surfing a challenge. I had just one opportunity to surf, the waves were either too big or the winds too strong on all other days. I toyed with the idea of acquiring a Matta surfboard, tempted by the name matching with mine. However, disappointing encounters with their customer service and concerns over quality deterred me, keeping me loyal to my trusted DHD. Ultimately, I parted ways with my sleek, gunmetal Honda Civic that had once symbolized a potential new life in Portugal. Bags packed, I eagerly anticipated the next leg of my adventure: Morocco
I landed in Morocco on the 26th of February, my excitement heightened by the fact that my arrival at the airport coincided with one of my Moroccan friends’, who would be there to drop off his fiancée one hour before. He informed me that he’d collect me in the “Ferrari,” a rusty, white, Fiat Uno from the 90s. Unfortunately, due to what I suspect was the car’s reputation with airport security, it couldn’t approach the terminal. This left me trekking roughly a kilometer with my board-bag and backpack in tow. Once united, we set off for Imsouane, eager for the waves.
Ramadan began on the evening of March 11. We observed the slender crescent of the smiley new moon. It hung delicately in the twilight sky, its pale, silvery arc barely visible against the darkening blue. Ramadan rules have some flexibility—exemptions exist for children, the ill, women pregnant or breastfeeding or menstruating. For everyone else, the observance entails abstaining from food, drink, sexual activity, and smoking from dawn to dusk. In Morocco, many people invert their sleep schedules for the month - staying awake, eating and drinking all night. For some, this isn’t a significant change from their usual habits.
Initially, I misunderstood the fasting times, thinking they stretched from sunrise to sunset rather than dawn (the first light of the day) to dusk, inadvertently shortening my fast by 45 to 60 minutes. I would wake up half an hour before sunrise to eat overnight oats with fruit and sometimes two fried eggs. Throughout the day, I permitted myself small amounts of water – especially before surfing – though my overall intake was much less than usual. Surprisingly, during the first two weeks, I had abundant energy, managing several three-hour surf sessions and even two sessions in a single day. My energy waned in the final weeks – likely because I had depleted any extra fat reserves – and I would feel lethargic after 3PM.
A good friend invited me to spend the last three days of Ramadan with his family about an hour from Rabat. They live in a charming mud brick house, adorned with beautiful tapestries and surrounded by grassy fields. They had one angry horse, and a few cows in the farm. We were almost entirely disconnected from the internet. On one of those days, after a gate was inadvertently left open, the cows rushed into an adjacent field with broken fences. For four hours, I had to watch over the cows as they grazed, gently herding the more adventurous ones back to where they were supposed to be, a surprisingly zen experience. Each meal was a communal affair, shared warmly with the family. At the heart of these gatherings was the mother, whose constant, gentle smile radiated the peace and wisdom of a woman who had fulfilled her purpose of raising a family. They were still grappling with the recent loss of the father, their sorrow quietly woven into the fabric of our daily lives.
My stay culminated with Eid al-Fitr, a joyful day of celebration and feasting that begins with a special prayer at sunrise. Dressed in my brand new djellaba, I joined the family but remained outside the crowded mosque. It was a profoundly beautiful day, marking a blessed end to my stay. As I boarded the train the following morning, I found a deeper appreciation for the quiet strength found in the simple, contemplative life I built for myself over these past few years.
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The surf season officially concluded with Ramadan this year in Morocco. In my final weeks, I shifted focus towards work and incorporated workouts into my daily routine, inspired by Peter Attia’s book Outlive Learn more . My cousin Loren will join me for the last week, and we plan to embark on some adventures together. Having spent 90% of my time in a small fishing village, I’m now considering exploring a few other cities on my list and possibly venturing to the edge of the Sahara. After that, God willing, I’ll be heading to Sri Lanka – stay tuned.