On September 17, 2024, I arrived in Tamraght. Two days later, I already knew this little village would become my home.
On September 17, 2024, I boarded a plane to Morocco with my best friend, Léa. We had booked a two-week stay at a surf camp in Tamraght, a small village I knew absolutely nothing about. At the time, I simply saw it as another adventure—two weeks to learn how to surf, soak up the sun and discover a new country. I had no idea that this journey would completely change the course of my life.
After living in Ireland and Australia, then in Barcelona and Edinburgh, travel had already become a part of my life. Yet deep down, I still felt that somewhere, there was a place where I would truly feel AT HOME. I simply did not know that place was called Tamraght.
I still remember arriving at Agadir Airport. As we got into the car that was taking us to the village, I watched the landscape pass by through the window with the curiosity of a child. Very quickly, one thing struck me: the simplicity. I saw three people riding on the same scooter, a goat walking calmly along the side of the road, children playing outside, and strangers smiling at us for no reason. Everything seemed chaotic and yet incredibly ALIVE. No one seemed to be in a hurry. There was something deeply human in the way people lived here. I did not know anyone, and yet I already had this strange feeling of being welcomed.
When we arrived at Manzili Surf Camp, that feeling was confirmed. The team welcomed us with a warmth I had rarely experienced elsewhere. Very quickly, I felt at home. Conversations were simple, meals were shared naturally, and everyone took the time to show genuine interest in one another. I could not explain it yet, but I already felt that this place had something special.
The stay, however, began in a rather unexpected way. During my very first surf lesson, I lost a toenail. A few days later, I was stung by a weever fish, and then I got a severe sunburn. My face became so red that everyone started calling me Maticha, which means “tomato” in Darija. Even today, everyone still calls me that. Many people might have seen all of this as a series of unfortunate events. I felt the opposite. I had the impression that my body was finally releasing everything it had been holding onto for far too long. Without dieting and without trying to lose weight, I lost nearly five kilos in two weeks. I was less bloated. My stomach felt lighter, my sleep became deeper, and for the first time in a long time, I felt as though I could breathe fully again.
What affected me most was not the surfing or the landscapes, but this way of living. I grew up in Paris, where I had learned to race against time. Everything moved quickly there. We ran after the metro, appointments, goals, and deadlines.
In Tamraght, I felt as though time had a different value. The days were shaped by the sun, the tides, and shared meals. People took the time to drink tea, to talk, and to walk to the beach without checking the time. No one seemed to be trying to optimize every minute of their day. For the first time in a long time, neither was I.
I think what touched me most was that here, nothing and no one tried to be perfect. The roads were sometimes uneven, the houses were simple, and the walls showed the marks of time. Nothing looked like the polished images we see on social media. And yet, I found all of it incredibly beautiful. The local people may have had fewer material possessions, but they had a kind of richness that deeply moved me: generosity and sharing. Meals were prepared with fresh ingredients bought that very morning at the souk. There was a lot of laughter. There was a lot of sharing. This is where I understood that a meal could nourish far more than the body; it could nourish relationships, conversations, and the heart.
There were also the animals. That may sound insignificant, but for me, it was not. As a child, I dreamed of having a dog. I was fascinated by animals and could spend hours watching them. Here, dogs sleep on the beach, cats wander through the streets, and they are simply part of everyday life. Every time I saw one, I smiled. It was as though the little girl I once was had finally found a piece of her dream. I took it as a sign, as though this place had gathered, without me even asking, everything that had always made my heart come alive.
During the second week, I met a woman, and as we talked, we began imagining what it would be like to come back and live here together. The idea began almost as a joke, but deep down, it already felt obvious. When I returned to France, I could not stop thinking about it. A few weeks later, I booked a place to stay so that I could come back for longer. Many people around me did not understand the decision. My family probably thought it was just another passing idea. But this time, it was not an impulsive choice. I was not running away from my life. I had simply found a place where I felt deeply ALIGNED and ALIVE.
I fell in love with Tamraght, yes, but also with the woman I became here. A woman who lives more outdoors. A woman who begins her days in the ocean, buys her vegetables at the souk, watches sunsets without checking the time, and has finally stopped trying to be perfect. Tamraght did not change me—oh no. Tamraght simply allowed me to rediscover a version of myself that I had put aside for far too long.
This is also where the idea for IMMERSION RETREATS was born. I want to share what this village gave me: another way of living. A life that is slower, simpler, and more connected to nature, to others, and to oneself. Because, deep down, what I found in Tamraght is a way of inhabiting the world that finally resembles the one I have always carried within me.
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