Jumping in Paradise Valley

In Morocco, it became a familiar sight to be the last ones picked up, leading to a ritual of squeezing through fellow passengers to secure seats. Our interactions with the drivers followed a predictable pattern:
"Where are you from? Pakistan or Afghanistan?"
With introductions out of the way, our journey commenced.

The drive to Taghazout offered an intriguing blend of scenery. As we ascended into the mountains, the rugged beauty of the rocky landscape unfolded before us. Pausing to capture the vista between the Atlas Mountains and the Oasis, amidst the frenzy of photo-taking, I ventured to the cliff's edge with my Insta360 camera, capturing enchanting drone-like footage while the warmth of the sun embraced my skin.

During a stop en route, we delved into the production of argan oil, a staple experience of Moroccan tours (probably my third one). Amidst glimpses of rare plant species, a moment of amusement arose when our guide pointed out cannabis plants, prompting an awkward silence among the group. Sensing our reluctance to respond, she tactfully moved on. It’s quite funny that even as a group of adults just hearing the word “Cannabis” is enough to have us looking around at each other, guilty, as if we were all going to be charged just knowing what it is.

Upon reaching the summit of the mountain, the breath-taking panoramic view left us speechless. As we began our descent, we paused at an edge-like balcony to capture some photographs. It was here that I struck up a conversation with a South African couple of Indian origin. Spotting my Kara on wrist, they assumed I hailed from Punjab. My British accent caught them by surprise. "No, I'm from London," I replied, anticipating the inevitable follow-up question: "Originally?"
I found myself explaining my Afghan background, much to their astonishment.
“We never knew Sikhs lived in Afghanistan”. If only I had the smooth skin of an Afghan it wouldn’t be hard to believe.

Continuing our journey down the mountain and into the valley, we were accompanied by the curious sight of donkeys serving as makeshift "taxis," their weary forms adorned with worn cloths bearing the word "Taxi." Witnessing their exhaustion, I couldn't help but empathise, feeling a strong urge to liberate them from their tiring duties.

As we traversed varied landscapes, transitioning from lush forests allowing sunlight to peak through the gaps of the trees to create a scenic pathway with crystal-clear streams running below our feet which we had to use perfectly placed rocks to cross over, to rocky terrains flanked by azure waters, the intensity of the sun forced some to remove layers of clothing and tie them around their waists. The adventure took a thrilling turn as we navigated into rocky outcrops completely changing into a more desert-like environment. A river on the right of us with some of the soothing water I had ever heard… this was Paradise Valley.

In order to get to the jump point into the water, we had to use some of our ‘rock-climbing skills’ (literally just a couple feet up and down). Moments of amusement ensued as I realised I had outpaced the group, eventually finding myself at a cliff's edge with only two British companions. Their spontaneous decision to strip down to their bikinis and take the plunge into the inviting waters below left me momentarily stunned.

"Is it cold?" I asked.

"No"... It was.

After a brief hesitation, I joined them, momentarily forgetting my mother's warnings about unseen dangers lurking beneath the surface. An Asian woman’s WhatsApp is full of conspiracies.

I patiently waited for my friend to join me at the cliff's edge. However, he opted out of the exhilarating plunge into the water below. Determined, I slipped into my swimming shorts and made my way to the edge. By this time, two others had already taken the leap, while a couple lingered for five minutes, the man comforting his apprehensive partner. Ah, the sweetness of love. With a light-hearted demeanour, I made playful remarks, attempting to coax the hesitant woman into joining us. Eventually, she moved aside and chose a lower angle for her jump. As I positioned myself for the leap, I realized my earlier banter might have been ill-timed, causing humorous outburst from the rest of the group. At least I was entertaining the non-jumpers.

"See, it's daunting," echoed the woman's voice from below. At that moment, there was no turning back. ‘Do it or you'll regret not doing it later,’ I reassured myself.

I leaped.

In the split second between the jump and the water's embrace, a surge of adrenaline coursed through me, reminiscent of the moments before skydiving. The thrill was undeniable, leaving no room for hesitation as I soared through the air. Upon impact, the water enveloped me, momentarily submerging me in its icy depths. I propelled myself upward, eager to feel the warmth of the sun on my skin once more. As I emerged from the water, I couldn't help but notice a few individuals revelling in the cold temperature. Psychos.

Nevertheless, the sensation was exhilarating. Encouraged by the rush, I decided to go for another plunge... and another. Each jump elicited the same blend of excitement, anxiety, and fear, yet I savoured every moment. Despite my attempts to envision a graceful dive, reality often mirrored a flailing potato being tossed against its will. But hey, it's all part of the experience.

Returning to solid ground, we walked back towards the food where we indulged in Tajine. On our way back, we encountered native Moroccan men most likely in their 60s, trying to sell souvenirs.
“As-Salaam Alaikum”, greeting us as we walked past. We replied respectfully, “Wa alaykumu salam”

We found ourselves sharing our meal with an opportunistic cat. Seated amidst a stream, some dared to immerse their feet in the water, enticing small fish to perform their exfoliating duties. As for me, the thought of ticklish sensations proved too daunting to bear.