Elina Naboka surrenders to Morocco's coastal compulsion, toing and froing from point breaks and backcountry. To be torn between camera and surfboard is a desirable dilemma. Think about it, the waves Elina chose to photograph are even more telling of the waves she chose to surf.
Photos: Elina Naboka // @lilellij.
A sight for salty eyes and a welcome reprieve from a morning of leg-burners, Elina makes tracks inland. Somewhere far beyond the tourist-trodden coastline, north through the mountain range, Elina finds a different side of Morocco. Culture, tradition, language, and food, rich and preserved for thousands of years. Elina quietly observes it through her lens. 
I had been dreaming of visiting Africa for a few years by then. Listening to African music and reading Bruce Chatwin’s books convinced me that our paths would eventually cross. At that time, I didn’t know it would be Morocco.
Years flew by, and I found myself deeply in love with surfing, living just next to Morocco, only a two-hour flight away. I knew the time of year I should go, but I didn’t have a concrete plan. Two weeks before the trip, all I knew was that the swell was coming, and I was taking my cameras: Sony A6500, my Minolta X-700, a handycam, and a point-and-shoot Olympus (and a handful of film).
Around that time, I had recently met Simon Hetrick, a professional surfer from the East Coast, now my boyfriend. He was thinking of going as well, so we teamed up—he as the surfer, me as the filmmaker.
In the first days there, I couldn’t believe my eyes, the sickest point breaks I had ever seen, and pure, unspoilt land all around. After days of frothing on waves, I needed to see the real Morocco, beyond the coastline and away from tourists. And luckily, it wasn’t hard to find.
We drove inland to find local night souks, somewhere up north through the mountains. I tried to be respectful of the place, I didn’t feel like flashing people with the camera. Instead, I chose the strategy of a quiet observer.
There is so much that makes Morocco a special place, in my opinion. While fast-growing tourism is slowly changing some coastal villages (unfortunately and fortunately at the same time), traditions and daily routines are still deeply preserved by local people. Some still speak the Berber language, one of the oldest living languages, with roots tracing back over 4,000–5,000 years, or roughly to 3,000 BCE. Children learn it from their grandparents and parents in spoken form. We were lucky enough to hear it from our local friend Muhammad.
It is also a Sunni Muslim country, and I think that shapes the atmosphere and rhythm of life in a very visible way. People are respectful, kind, and open.
Moroccan cuisine and fishing remain at the core of the communities. And I hope I get to eat octopus tagine at least once again, inshallah (as our Moroccan friend would say).
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