"Don't worry they're friendly"

It was day 5 for Derek and I and we had just sat down for breakfast. The Germans who had come along for the trip from Marrakesh to Taghazout ( a small surf and fishing village), stayed back at the shady apartment we rented. Over a juice de orange, and a fresh loaf of bread we discussed what we thought of Morroco. Overall, we agreed that Morac was interesting, beautiful, and friendly, but our trip was missing something. That something was answered later that afternoon when went to check a surf spot called Devils rock. Pulling up to the spot, it was hard to see the surf, through the distractions of a "hash salesmen" who was without a shirt, in swishy gym teacher pants, and had on a weird baseball cap which read along the lines of # 1 Uncle. However, once we got out of the car our mood quickly changed because the surf was pumpin. 4 to 6ft, 6 guys in the water, and only 2 who could actually surf. That is where Imad came in. Imad was skinny Morocan man, with an extremly energetic voice, a white tank top (scattered with fishblood) and board shorts. Before we could say anything, he pointed to his tank top, then to the two fish hanging from the celing, smiled, and said dinner mate. A British accent on a Morrocan man? Can't be. Actually it can be, Imad learned his PERFECT english from working for a british surf camp years before. Immediatly we were fast freinds, and he treated us like we had know each other for years. He rented us his own private boards for cheap, and we arranged a full-day surf tour with him for the next day. Imad owned a small surf shack on the right hand side of the beach, right next to devils rock, where we could hang when we weren't in the water. The surf was perfect and the next day on our tour was just as good. Out in the water Imad, who also surfed great, would encourage us to surf well and tell us about the three meter hammerhead sharks that live right around where we were surfing. "Dont worry" Imad said, "they're friendly." Great waves, good friends, and no one in the water. Sounds straight out of the Endless Summer film, but it was just that good. Later that day we said good bye to Imad and the Germans, spent one more night in Agadir and headed off to Cairo. On the plane Derek and I offically decided Morocco "rocced". ( we are such losers)