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And Surf Maroc is your absolute best option for riding the breeze. Noa and Jay dined on their delicious food, slept in their excellent rooms, and rode shotgun with their real helpful surf guides. And, surfmaroc is probably an IG that can enhance your life marginally. The air is warm, balmy for February and the indigo sky is spangled with bright stars. And here is Noa Deane, all black, including his normally yellow hair, and from his seal-brown countenance gleam two rows of pearly teeth. Jay Davies, meanwhile, in tight-fighting wool jumper and jeans, reveals his sinewy figure to all who gaze upon him, and all gaze, especially the famously repressed Moroccan man. Monkeys on chains, bent men selling so much of that famous hashish that you vow never to smoke before lunch time every day but you find yourself pecking at by nine, mint tea, dusty rugs, red sunsets. And Jay and Noa are good now, good now that Noa has recovered a modicum of positivity after showering the gang with complaints for days. And the sickness that felled everyone on the trip, except Noa who beat it by staying high, has gone. Later, rhythmic clapping as you dance and hammering on portals! What a trip! Waves that ran for a mile; a house in the snow ruined by drug-addicted hookers; murders; secret alcohol runs. Stab: I want you to describe your experience in Morocco, a kingdom I adore for its contradictory nature, for its repression that makes even the tiny kinks a pleasure palace! Noa: It was pretty fucking dry. It was so hot there and we kept getting calls that the banks were ruined by the Hercules swell or some shit that had hit earlier. We kept driving around, thinking we were blowing it all the time that we ended up blowing our minds. So what was I worried about? Jay nearly punched me because I was getting under his skin so bad, being so negative. He told me to fucking shut the fuck up. Half-an-hour later we were sweet. Can you describe this mood that enraged Jay? Oh fuck! He wanted to do that lifestyle shit a couple of days later. The surf was doing my fucking head in. And we left to go to Marrakesh and he was bummed but when we got there he was fucking psyched. We had the best time ever in the last five days. We went everywhere. Up in the mountains. It was the coolest thing. Give me a little timeline on this trip… Well, we went for two weeks and the first couple of days it was fucking eight foot or 10 foot. Everbody got sick apart from me. I got sick for an hour. I puked once and I was sweet. Matt was sick for three days. He was fucked. Me and Jay surfed this point and it was the most fucking pyscho-est thing ever. The wind was knots and it was eight foot. I got the fucking craziest barrels, the biggest cave. Anything adventurous happen in these difficult conditions? Jay got stuck in a rip and thought he was going to die. The wind was blowing him out even further, half a kay out from the lineup. You could go forever on these waves. It was like skiing. It was so fucking wild. And I randomly saw Rasta and Ryan Burch out there. It was fucking weird. The name of the wave references an evil character in fiction. Can you paint a picture for me of the wave? It wedges off this thing and then it fucking breaks. The next day when it got real big there were 20 waves in a set and you could jump off your wave and catch the next one. Fucking crazy, right? You might do nothing for a hundred metres and then your window in front of the photographers is done. How was your personal ambience? I was having a shocker. I was in it from the start of the trip to the end. It looked about four foot and it was eight foot. We got this acid shit in our eyes when we paddled out and it felt like it was eating our eyes away. So that was fucked. I was paddling out and just like looking at Jay, saying, what the fuck are we doing out here! We thought there were ramps but we were swept into the beach. We tried to surf a little right. Me and Jay would come in from these surfs blowing up at the same time about how bad it was and Matt would be psyched. We were still doing good shit but having fucking trouble landing shit. And he was saying, this is epic! I was super bummed. What was the best thing you saw in Maroc? The blue city called Chefchaouen. We drove in there at night and when we woke up we walked up to the top of our terrace and everything was blue. The road was blue. The houses were blue. We went walking around and everything was rendered and painted either light or dark blue. What was the worst thing you experienced? He was so lucky! Talk to me about it? We were went there and me and and Jay smoked some hash and we were so high we went and ate snails. Like abalone, a little chicken-esque, too. Then we went up and cruised on top of this rooftop bar and watched the city. After that I went to a super club. How super was the super club? Fucking huge, man, it was psycho. I got pushed up against the wall by four security guards. I was in that club for a couple of hours then another one. Were you a dancing bear? I was hanging out with some Moroccan chicks. They were brown-eyed and had brown hair. What about Casablanca, an Islamic Paris on the Atlantic. How was it for you? We went to this place called Ifrane, an alpine snow town in the Atlas mountains. The day before we were online picking a house to stay at. There was this one that was real sweet but it was euros and I was, like, fuck that, that sounds too expensive for one night. It looked sick. Old school. It fucking had a garden. Snow out the front. We turned the fireplace on and everything started going downhill from there. Jay goes to the toilet downstairs and sees all these lipstick kisses on the back of the door. On the terrace there was graffiti that said, you died tonight! And in the backyard there was this creepy dude cutting up wood. All the mirrors were smashed. One bed had all these weird stains. It was so sketchy. The lady who rented us the house kept asking us if we wanted hookers. It was wigging me out that we were obviously staying at a haunted hookers house. I slept with my fucking shoes on and shit and tried to green out but I totally kooked it. But I got to sleep for one second and felt this thing poke me in the back. Are you fucking kidding me? I started stressing out for hours, trying to put alarm clocks on to wake everybody up. By the time we got out, it was, fuck yeah, we survived that. I was so tripped out the next day but psyched that it happened, just cause you got that story to tell. Did this present problems? You gotta creep into your place and have a beer and fucking hide the can. And tell me all about your airs! So much tweak! The theatre! And then when I saw Creed and he was doing it, I knew that was the fucking titties. Tom Pringle used to do it too, indy grabs, and put his crane arm over the head. It looked so sick. I think if you do a big air and you bone it, it shows how passionate you are about airs. You can do an air and not bone it and land it all the time. Yeah, there is, with the crane arm, with the legs tucked in. Theatre airs? A good theatrical air. Like airs flying across the stage. A Swan Lake air! That air on the cover? Already a member? Sign In. Want to join? Sign Up. What happens when you give 19 surfers 32 hours in a pool and tell them…. When transgenderism and surfing collide. Reportage from a three-day surf circus. Jake Paterson and Matt Myers deliver insight from the front lines. While Macy Callaghan and Marco Mignot take home event wins. The S. A mid-comp check-in at the year's final stop. Surf culture exists — and we need to protect it. Send us a pic, and you might win a new custom. Fireworks, winches, and quasi-floating skate features. And the Academy Award for best supporting actor goes to Skip to content. Live Now — Ep. Reading Time: 8 minutes. Comments Comments are a Stab Premium feature. Gotta join to talk shop. Sign In Want to join? Oct 22, Oct 21, Oct 20, Oct 19, Oct 17, Oct 16, Oct 15, Oct 14, Oct 13, Oct 12, News Cinema Hardware Travel. Style Features. About Stab Contact Us Advertising.

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