Trail Friends

When I think of Morocco, one thing I'm going to think of first is the friends I've made here. I've made School Friends, Local Friends, Neighborhood Friends, and a special kind of friend that I've never had before: Trail Friends. You might immediately know exactly what I'm talking about, but just in case you're thinking "What is this type of friend of which you speak?!" I will tell you.

So, I ride my bike to and from work on this path you see pictured above. Isn't it gorgeous? It is the most beautiful commute I have ever had, and probably will ever have. I marvel at it every single time. Some mornings in the winter, it's dark and there is a full moon setting over the ocean. "Breathtaking" is not enough to describe those mornings. Other days, it's windy on the ride home and the waves crash against the shore, letting fly a spray that shoots into the air. Sometimes that spray rivals the nearby buildings in height. In addition to these visual delights, I sometimes get to pass by my Trail Friends. These are people I have never once spoken to. We have never shaken hands, never shared an "atay" (Moroccan mint tea), never exchanged a "labes? kulshi bzien? al hemdullila!" But we love each other all the same. We've passed by one another so many times that as soon as we see each other, we break out in a smile, we wave, and we do that oh-so Moroccan greeting: the hand over the heart, tapping just a few times, saying "you are special to me." These Trail Friends are all men (and that's probably a whole other story I could get into), yet these friendships are completely innocent and platonic. We share a love of being on the Trail– me biking, them walking or running– and that's all there is to it. I'm going to miss these Trail Friends and their waves, their hands-over-hearts, their quiet encouragement telling me to keep going, that they're cheering me on. I'm going to miss this commute to beat all commutes.

I'm going to miss Morocco.