It's 6 am. The first rays of sun penetrate through the small window of my room along with the melody of the drops of the downpour that has just passed echoing in the streets. The walls of Chefchaouen dye the atmosphere blue and gold. Today is not a day like any other. With this sunrise my last day of cycling in Africa officially begins. The mixed emotions that vibrated within me since my encounter with the pillow a few hours ago prevented me from sinking into the usual deep slumber in which I usually dwell during my nights. Excitement makes me want to jump out of bed, while my attachment to Africa has reached such a dimension that it begs for a new extension of my stay (and possibly indefinite too). One more day, just one more day it implores me. Thus I rise, trying to subdue the indomitable power of a mind subjugated by forces pulling in opposite directions.

To reinforce the enthusiasm I decide to postpone breakfast until later, when I am already on the road. Waiting for the canteens to open and taking the time necessary to enjoy it, as I have been doing these last three days, would be an invitation to succumb once again to the power of attachment. It's been three days of failed departures, and my time is running out. On the other hand, I have designed special measures to not let myself be defeated. I have made sure to have the bike packed ready to go from the night before and to be on the street early enough. In this way, all the businesses would still be closed minimising distractions. Thus, by the time I leave the hotel, I find the corridors of Chechaouen empty. Except for a few wandering souls wandering around at dawn, I am alone on this morning in which the sky is not yet defined between light blue and stormy clouds.

From the top of the city, I begin the descent through these unforgettable celestial alleys. I decide to push instead of pedalling, perhaps with the desire to slow down the departure, while at the same time struggling not to slip on the cobblestones still wet from the last downpour. After turn after turn in multiple corners, I arrive at the entrance gate of the city, at the foot of the street that leads me to the road to Tangier. Already mounted on the bike, and ready to take the first step on the pedal of this last day, I see the dark clouds stay behind the hills and the blue sky opening right in front of me. Oh, what a day! After this last week of continuous rain, until the very moment before leaving my room, it seems almost as a personal gift from destiny to see the sun shine. It is as though all the stars have aligned to give me this little moment of glory. Small in the holistic sense, but gigantic within the small internal universe that I inhabit.

So I take off, dazzled by the beauty of the undulating landscape that now shines from the bath of remaining drops stubbornly resisting evaporation. The descent that began at the top of Chefchaouen now continues along the extensive road that leads me towards the highway to Tangier. A sinuous slide along which I slide between the mountains, enjoying the views, the wind that caresses my face and draws my smile, the warmth that warms my skin as I lose meters of altitude. Later, I find that the road is actually more like a freeway. It is true that it brings noisy traffic and its associated risks, but today I am anaesthetised to all the inconveniences. Today nothing disturbs me. Pedalling along a long and progressive descent, makes everything much easier, especially being surrounded by the stunning sierras. The first 55 km to Tetouan pass by without hardly realising it, and 20 km further I get cross the last hills until I finally reach the plain. From there, the signs on the side of the road announce it’s 50 km to reach Tangier.

From that moment on, the whirlwind of emotions, images and thoughts flow through my mind until the commotion overcomes me. From time to time they lead me to bursts of crying. It all begins with a thought that invokes an image and an image that invokes others. One chaining to the other, launched in sequence into the untamed chaos. Like a river growing over the wall of a dam, they generate pressure in my viscera, ascend through my chest, jam my neck and finally flood my eyes with tears until they overflow. Lost in this mental chaos, my absorption is so great that I completely forget that I am pedalling in public and that I am already on the streets of the outskirts of Tangier. I don't care what those around me think, be they pedestrians or people in vehicles. What alarms me is that the overflow of emotions is such that I don't even register all those people and places that are probably "happening" around me right now.

That's why I must do my best to focus. This internal introspective process, which I have been in and out of since I left Chefchaouen, interrupts the state of pure presence in which I want to be experiencing this moment. I love the memories that surface in my mind without being able to control them, but the truth is that they divert my attention from what is happening around me now. Consequently, I must force myself not to get carried away by thoughts and emotions of the moments that have already passed because there will be time for that later. Although they are a treasure to me, they are paradoxically clouding the magic of what is happening in these last few kilometres. In this debacle I continue, entering and leaving the present to the past and vice versa. In the moments that I manage to be present, I can appreciate my surroundings, this urban environment that outlines my last day of cycling in Africa. With every kilometre that I get closer to the Mediterranean, the urban fabric of Tangier becomes denser and more opulent as well. The sophistication of the architecture is progressively more imposing, more luxurious and clearly more Westernised. Large boulevards and avenues, increasingly taller and higher-end buildings and better-kept businesses. It is evident that the greatest concentration of wealth in Tangier is centred on the shores of the Mediterranean, where I end this significant part of my trip.

I remember those days of my first trip to Europe back in 1998, when I would ran into travellers coming and going with travel stories from Morocco. It was also my curiosity that brought me closer to this country through reading stories in books and travel guides. On that first backpacking trip around the world, I had to choose between going to Turkey or Morocco, as an 'escape' from my European route. I chose the first one. However, throughout the previous days in which I deliberated between one and the other, Tangier emerged in travellers' stories as a dodgy, if not dangerous, place. Well, I don't really know what has happened in the last 18 years in this city and in this country, because I don't see or feel anything like it in the remotest sense. Maybe, throughout this period my experiences have adjusted my perception, I don't know, but being here now, nothing is so far from the image (and wild fantasies) that those stories painted in my imagination. This city has a level of development that could well be classified on par with many cities in Mediterranean Europe. Roughly speaking, it could certainly be located on either this or the other side of the sea, and if it weren't for certain prevalent aspects of Islamic culture, you wouldn't know the difference.

In and out. I continue alternating between the images of Moroccan modernity that surround me and the past feelings that emerge, stirring the emotions of my inner universe. The commotion, my eyes overflowing with tears. I don't want it to happen to me but I can't avoid it. Arriving in Cape Town was the point that marked the end of the first half of my route across Africa. If that one was marked by deep emotion, today I break when I turn onto a street and at the end of it I see the electric blue of the Mediterranean Sea. There on the horizon, framed in the urban perspective. From now on, I decide to abandon all attempts to contain myself and go with the flow, because the truth is that any attempt at resistance is absolutely futile. There is nothing I can do to stop this wellspring of emotions.

Upon reaching the coastal avenue, the perspective opens almost 180°, revealing the views of the sea. My heart races. I feel excited, palpitations, sweaty palms, my breathing is laboured and I shake when I hold the handlebars. I cross the avenue dodging a traffic of disorder and excess, which has nothing European and everything Moroccan. I reach the sidewalk, I get off the bike slowly, I go down a small staircase of just three steps until my feet and wheels sink into the sand. The weather is pleasant, it is neither cold nor hot, but I can feel the sand on this May afternoon cooling my feet. At the beginning I am forced to push with quite a bit of force. However, with the goal already in front of my eyes at less than 50 meters (and after everything I've pushed in these years) I don't suffer even the slightest sense of discomfort. The physical force I exert on the handlebars to push the bike forward out of the soft sand is directly proportional to the speed with which I feel myself loosening up emotionally.

50,40,30,20, 10 metres…..4,3,2,1. A thin layer of seawater arrives. It filters between my sandals, bathing my feet and the front wheel of the bike. I arrived. I reached the final point of my journey through Africa. Here, on the shores of this Tangier beach, where the black continent ends. I am overflowing with happiness, with an absolute sense of accomplishment. The excitement has subsided and a feeling of deep serenity is slowly taking over. The fountain of emotions that I have been trying to contain in the last 50 km finally fractures the walls of the dam and everything flows completely naturally. I cry, I laugh, I smile while catching tears and I cry again, and I laugh, and I smile. I am, without a doubt, putting on a crazy show to those who pass by me walking their dogs on the beach. I can't blame them because they probably don't have the slightest idea of what I'm experiencing right now. Full happiness and fruition. Today, I don't need anything else. I am in a state of bliss, absorbing the process of life millisecond by millisecond, where everything emerges and fades away instantly. All feeling of “I” ceases. It is complete attention. It is seeing that everything is much larger and immeasurable than any idea of oneself. Magic.