Journey Beyond Travel A journey into Morocco behind the scenes-cities, mountains and desert.

The brightness of the white canvas caught my eye as I whizzed around the corner, trying to keep up with Pit as we made our way through the narrow roads of Bang Nai Si. But there was something beyond the canvas - a story being told, emotions being displayed in full view to those who passed by. Too far ahead for him to hear my shout out to pause, I abandoned my thought of stopping. But the vision in my head never left.

It was 38 degrees as we made our way up the black asphalt road through Khao Lak. Fronds of palm trees provided a meek effort to shade us from the punishing sun. Head down, sweat dripping down my neck, hands burning on my handlebars, I focused on the ride. But then a boat, grounded two kilometres from the water caught my eye. What was it doing landlocked? And then, another bigger boat, this one displaying a monument with a date. I could make out in English - December 26, 2004. Sounded familiar. Wait, when was the tsunami? The news had said that was in Phuket?

We steered off the main road, heading towards the water. Boarded up hotels, land overgrown with long grass, houses long since abandoned. People feared the giant wave, the unknown power of the sea that came and trespassed the land that day, stealing their loved ones. The lack of voices produced an eery quietness that was penetrated only by the sound of our pedals. We rode on, past posts marked only with a simple line and number, evidence of the height the watery monster had reached before receding back to its murky home, taking along with it the joy and livelihoods of the people who had inhabited that land, leaving only fear and sadness behind.

In silence, we wound our way back the way we had come, the roads now taking on a new life. New houses showing signs of hope, shopkeepers tending their wares. Children calling out "sawasdee" to the foreigners daring to expose themselves to the sea posed for a photo, and I fell behind. Which way had Pit gone? What road had he taken? Hesitating a moment, my gut said to veer left. As I turned the corner, it was not my friends, but the startling white canvas that again caught my attention. Slowing down, I popped off my bike to take a closer look. A boy squatting, a giant wave looming over his head, a house in one hand, an old man in the other, crouching over, trying to shield them. As the young boy turned artist slowly made his way to me, I then understood, and as he wrapped my purchase, we both knew that our memories would never be forgotten.