EXPLORING THE ATLAS
Air is chopped in the distance. Our ears swell as an ill-defined dot appears, growing larger in diameter. The helicopter flies hastily in our direction as if ready to fire. The pilot comes to a hover just overhead, unnervingly close to our mast.
The pressure differential around the main rotor blades is deafening, the soft sea around us now turbulent. Our precisely trimmed sails slam from side to side. I am stone scared. My breath is held, as I raise my hands to protect my eyes from the sand dislodged from Desirée’s creases. What do they want? What did we do wrong?
Ten miles off the coast of northern Morocco, the helicopter tilts to circumnavigate Desirée. The men aboard hang out of the open fuselage, and cheerfully wave and smile. I release my breath. They take out their mobile phones and take photos of us. We raise our arms and wave back, and off they go.
Our details are relayed to a nearby Moroccan Navy ship. We have them in sight but they are not on the AIS. As they approach we can see each other on deck with binoculars. We study one another, holding our course. After determining we are not a threat, the ship alters its course. That is our first welcome to Morocco.
Mohammedia is on the bow. A port city placed between Rabat and Casablanca, it
