I am on Essaouira Beach and it is a very busy place. It’s June, the windy season, and yes the wind is relentless driving along an abrasive mist of sand and spray. Lying on my towel and reading a book is not really an option here but luckily there are lots of others. Stripping down and ripping along the foreshore crisscrossed by 50 or so other kitesurfers could be fun, or I could jump into one of the double skipping rope competitions, play a game of beach football or join my children and their friends in some hopping races. If I had a really healthy appetite for risk however I would not miss this oportunity to join the suicidal enthusiasts somersaulting backwards off the sea wall, or even compete with the kids trampolening high into the air off the brightly coloured bouys that wash up on the shore. But actually all I do is sit back and watch all this amazing activity, humming along to Jimmy Hendrix as the whole beach, together with the sea and the islands beyond dissolves in the shimmering atlantic light.


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