Tarifa, located on the southern-most tip of Spain. is known as a surfer’s paradise. Across the sea, only twenty kilometres away, the Moroccan coast is visible. To the sun-bleached surfers, Tarifa is an idyllic holiday spot, but a Red Cross employee is reluctant to set foot on the beach. He knows what comes across the waters by night and by dawn: numb, hypothermic, African refugees, or even a sadder sight: the bodies of the drowned souls who do not make it. We see one boat approach, terribly overloaded and rolling frightfully in the sea. Sharp cliffs along the coast break many boats apart. Most of the refugees cannot swim; they will not reach the mainland alive. And if they do, they run the serious risk of getting caught. By now, depending on the weather, the relief workers and police officers know how things will go: Tonight, they will try again. So, they methodically patrol the area. Another harrowing image of a cemetery full of numbered graves: the identities of many of the dead cannot be retrieved. The filmmaker tells the story of the doomed, but indirectly poses the question of guilt: to what extent is Europe responsible for this?