March 12, 2023

Okay, I’ll reiterate what I said earlier about stereotypes. Northern Morocco, coming out of Tanger Med to Chefchouen, and south of Chefchouen, is not what I thought of as stereotypical Morocco. It’s very green.

For the past few days, we’ve ridden through what I thought Morocco would look like: desert. Not Sahara Desert sand dunes, but just desert. Our friend Michal referred to it as “African Utah”, and that’s a pretty good description. It looks a lot like parts of Utah and New Mexico, with flat-topped mesas that look kind of like Monument Valley, and vast rocky desert with adobe-looking buildings sticking up. Some of it reminds me of riding through the Navajo Nation.

It’s also practically overwhelmingly friendly. Old men dressed in traditional Gandoura wave from the roadside as we go past. Young children wave, and many run into the road and stick their hands out, palms facing us, wanting to slap hands as we pass by. Others make twisting-throttle motions, wanting us to rev the bike up (the best: a young boy of maybe six, holding his mothers hand, looking down as if he’d recently been scolded, and with his other hand to his side where his mother couldn’t see, making the twisting throttle motion. I laughed in my helmet and revved the bike a few times for him). None of these people can see our Texas license plate before we go by, or the Polish number plates of Lukasz and Marcin. But it’s obvious we’re tourists from our bikes and gear. And it’s obvious that we are welcome here.

After returning to the bikes from the Berber Camp, we loaded up and headed down the road again, this time towards Dades Gorge. We stopped in Tinejdad for lunch, and there the owner of the restaurant, who of course spoke no English, told us that we should do the loop from Todra Gorge, just north of Tinghir, up to Agoudal and back down to Dades Gorge. I had actually planned to do this loop, but I wasn’t sure if Lukasz or Marcin would be up for it, as I was aware that at least part of it was unpaved. While sitting there, Lukasz googled it and started reading off his finds on the internet:

“World’s Most Dangerous Road”
“Difficult piste”
“Takes eight hours or more to complete”

With each quote, he was definitely more convinced that they would take the direct route to the hotel. I was more convinced to do the loop. And Marcin wanted to follow me.

We finally agreed that they would follow us through Todras Gorge and another hour or so up the mountain, but if the road turned bad, they would head back.

I’m glad they decided to at least try the first part, as I think they enjoyed it and got a good look at some incredible Moroccan scenery.

I’m also glad they eventually had the good sense to go back down and take the main road to our hotel in Dades Gorge.

We split off around 5pm about 20 miles south of Agoudal. It turns out the road to Agoudal, with the exception of some potholes and some shallow water crossings, was great, and we were able to make good time. And the road just after Agoudal was exceptional, except for a bit of snow. I was telling Diana that it was a shame Marcin and Lukasz hadn’t joined us when we rounded the corner and ran smack out of pavement, into a muddy, snowy, rocky two-track.

End of the “road” part of the road. Or viewed another way, the beginning of the good stuff.

Now I was glad they hadn’t come this way. And I was loving it. Diana wasn’t too sure at first; with the exception of the Dalton Highway in Alaska, this was her first taste of off-road. And this was no highway.

The snow and mud only lasted a short distance, and once we dropped a bit in elevation, it was dry. The “road” is about the width of a car. It’s dirt, with lots of rock; not loose rock but the kind that juts sharply out of the ground. One side drops steeply for several thousand feet. It’s not a cliff, but if you were to drop a motorcycle off of it, you wouldn’t be pulling it back up. You’d live though, as long as you could slow your tumble to a stop.

There are definitely some epic views up here.

The scenery was spectacular. We were at high altitude with clear skies and distant views. I turned the GoPro on and off several times over the course of the ride, but somehow now I have no video from the GoPro. I am bummed about that, but fortunately Diana had the nerve (and sense, or lack of it) to capture some video with her iPhone from the back of the bike.

The dirt road eventually turned back to potholed pavement and we continued through Tilmi and several other small villages until we arrived at Dades Gorge. To be honest, the Gorge itself isn’t as impressive as Todra, but the overlook just south of the gorge is a popular photo spot. It was too dark as we passed by this evening, so we decided to wait until morning and return.

We arrived at our hotel for the evening, La Gazelle du Dades, just as the sun was setting, and met Lukasz and Marcin as they were arriving. This hotel didn’t have the greatest reviews online, but it turned out to be much better than expected. The room was comfortable, and dinner was good. I think some of the online reviewers must have been expecting a five star resort for their thirty bucks. You get what you pay for, and we felt like the rooms were good quality for the money we paid, though the dinner may have been a bit over-priced. I’d definitely stay there again if we were headed back through this area.

In the morning, we led Marcin and Lukasz back up to the scenic overlook and the gorge for some quick photos.

Outside our hotel the next morning, ready to go.

At the overlook near Dades Gorge.

At the top of “Not-The-Most-Dangerous-Road-In-Morocco”. But still one of the scenic spots.

This was our last day riding with MotoJary (the Polish guys), as they were headed back toward Spain and we had another week to go in Morocco. We rode together toward Ouarzazate, and had lunch at an outdoor grill before saying our temporary goodbyes and going our separate ways.

Our last meal together. It was time for something besides tajine. Turned out to be some good pizza.

Saying goodbye to Marcin and Lukasz, or “Doober 1” and “Doober 2”, as Roza calls them.

March 17, 2023

We spent a couple of nights at Bivouac Lot of Stars outside Ouarzazate before heading further west to Taroudant.

This place (Bivuoac Lot of Stars) was a small oasis in the middle of the city. Nothing fancy; in fact, a bit the opposite. But comfortable.

Lots of peacocks here. These were hanging out on the wall next to the door to our room. More were on the roof of our room. And yes, they can be loud.

But tthey are also cool to look at.

The owner’s scooter got a new 2RTG sticker before we left.

Our hotel for the next two nights was on the west side of Taroudant, and somehow we had to ride through Taroudant to get there. This seems sensible, since we were approaching from the east, but we had been on a two=lane highway for miles, and when we got to Taroudant, we went from highway to alleyway in the blink of an eye. It’s more than a bit weird to go from wide open desert to suddenly in between shop stalls, following pedestrians, donkeys, and bicycles at a walking pace.

This lasted for about ten minutes and then we were back on the open highway again. In another fifteen minutes we were turning onto a dirt road to our destination, Le Tour du Toile.

We’ve spent a couple of weeks now in various hotels, tents, and bivouacs in Morocco, and this place has to be one of the most serene and peaceful places we’ve stayed. It’s in the desert, in what feels like the middle of nowhere, but once you enter the walls, it feels like its’ own oasis. The people were very friendly — this seems to be the story of Morocco — the room was comfortable and the food was great.

And they insisted I park the bike in the courtyard right outside the front door..

I had originally intended to do a loop through the Anti-Atlas Mountains, but we were so comfortable here, we decided to just relax for a couple of days.

From Taroudant, we headed north towards Marrakech over the Tizi n’ Test Pass. You can google it and you’ll find many articles describing this pass as one of the “Most Dangerous Roads” in Morocco. There seems to be a theme here. Nearly every pass is “most dangerous”. At first I thought this must be a term assigned to any road that is less than straight and flat; a title given by city dwellers, YouTube vloggers, or luxury tourists who experience these roads for the first time while riding in a limousine or rental car, perhaps accidentally detouring off the intended path.

Later I decided that perhaps these “most dangerous” monikers were bestowed years ago, when the road was the primary connection between two places, in this case Taroudant and Marrakech, and thus there was a lot of commercial truck and bus traffic on the road. I can definitely see how these roads could be considered more dangerous when faced with an oncoming bus or gravel truck veering around a switchback at a very unsafe speed.

Today, the Tizi n’ Test Pass, much like the “Death Road” in Bolivia is mostly a tourist road, used by cars, motorcyclists, and bicyclists for tourism purposes. There are still locals living along the road as well, but the main road from Agadir to Marrakech has long replaced this small mountain pass. Traffic is almost non-existent. We passed perhaps a dozen cars in a couple of hours on the road.

It’s a great ride, and highly recommended, although it would have been much more pleasant without the construction work that was happening on the Marrakech end of the pass.

March 18, 2023

Those who know me or have read my previous travels know that I tend to avoid cities, especially large cities. I might be the only traveler that rode entirely across Colombia while intentionally bypassing Medellin, Bogota, and Cali. Lately I’ve taken to saying “Nothing good ever happens in big cities”. I’m just not a fan of hordes: people, traffic, and the fast-paced stress that comes with these places. I much prefer to take the unpaved, more scenic routes to small, and even tiny, villages. For me, that’s where the real people are, and where you can find the most genuine and authentic local experiences.

So when we began planning to visit Morocco, I was of course hesitant to put Marrakech on the list. I had heard the horror stories about the hassles from guys wanting to sell you “authentic hand made” Moroccan crafts — most often made in China — and the thieves and pickpockets in the medina. In the end, we decided we needed to “check the square” and see Djemaa el-fnaa. An added incentive was a night food tour that we had seen on the television show “Somebody Feed Phil”.

In order to make the experience a bit more bearable for a hermit/curmudgeon like myself, I booked an apartment a good twenty minutes’ drive away from the square. On the far east end of Marrakech, the Atlas Golf Club was a nice gated compound of mostly vacation homes. It’s surrounded by desert; I’m not sure if the “Golf” part was a pipe-dream, a sales promotion, or just a failed attempt, but there’s no golf course that I could see. However, the apartment turned out to be nice, and the parking area felt safe enough for the bike.

When it came time to figure out how to get to Djemaa el-Fnaa, we were nervous, as we had heard lots of stories about getting ripped off by taxi drivers, with everything from no meters, to intentionally going the wrong way, to just plain price gouging.

In this respect, I got extra lucky. A neighbor in a nearby apartment was out doing some work in his garden, and I stopped to ask if he spoke English.

“A little”, he said, with a French accent. Of course it turned out his English was quite good. He is from Switzerland (and coincidentally named Patrick), and his wife Algerian. This is their winter home. As they have no vehicle here in Morocco, they rely on the services of a particular taxi driver, and he was nice enough to hook us up. Zakariah, our cab driver, picked us up at the apartment, took us to the marketplace, and picked us up from the market six hours later for the return trip, all for about twenty bucks.

Jamaa el-Fnaa is not for the claustrophobic or people who hate crowds. The food experience made up for the stress I felt in the hordes of people. The food tour was supposed to last three and a half hours, but in fact was closer to four and a half. And it wasn’t small samples either. We had what seemed like several full meals in that time.

Djemaa el fnaa square, late afternoon. Not too crowded. Yet.

A bit later, but still before dark. The crowds are coming.

One of the stops on our food tour was this olive vendor. We sampled close to a dozen different types of olives, each one explained to us in detail by the seller as he handed them out. This is one of those times when I wished I was a typical tourist, and could buy a couple of large jars of olives to take home on the plane. But we’re packed to the gills already, which on a positive note, means we don’t spend money on kitsch. Or hand-woven Moroccan rugs.

Another stop on the tour was this “bakery”, which for the most part is a very large oven. For many years (centuries?), this oven was the community oven. Residents would buy their ingredients, make their bread products, then bring them here for the baker to cook for them. This has been a tradition throughout the small towns in this part of the world. Note the paddles on the right side, on poles that are probably fifteen feet long. An indication of how deep this oven is.

Hard to tell from this photo, but the oven can hold over 200 loaves of bread at once.

Diana with Chef Hadj Mustapha. Chef Mustapha appeared on the “Somebody Feed Phil” episode, but is more famous here for being the chef to the former King of Morocco. We enjoyed a meal of tangia here (as opposed to tagine, which we had almost everywhere else in Morocco, tangia is similar but prepared and served in a different type of earthenware pot).

The meat is cooked in this twelve foot deep hole in the ground, cooked in the ashes of the coals from the local bath house.

This couscous dinner was one of the final meals on our food tour.

Our food tour group, with Ismael (our guide) in the center.

On two of the nights in Marrakech, we ate dinner at a gas station. As unappealing as that may sound, this cafe at the gas station has been featured on a food show on BBC (we found out after we went there at the recommendation of another neighbor in our apartment complex). The place is called Al Baraka. It’s no Buc-ee’s, but in addition to gas and a mini-mart, it also has this great restaurant with local cuisine at reasonable prices, and a mosque.

Not a great photo, but this is Al Baraka, on the outskirts of Marrakech, and not far from where we stayed. The right side of the photo is the gas station and mini-mart. The left side is the indoor dining portion of the restaurant, and the center is the outdoor portion of the restaurant. Just to the right of the outdoor portion is the entrance to the mosque. We watched as dozens of worshippers entered during the evening call to prayer. It’s worth watching the BBC episode in the link above to get a real feel for this incredible gas station meal, said to be “The best chicken tagine in Marrakech”. I wouldn’t disagree.

Looking out from one of the terraces at our apartment at the Atlas “No-Golf” Club. Nice place. Just no golf.

We had intentionally diverted through Marrakech in order to say that we did…something I rarely ever do. The food tour made it worthwhile though, as we not only had the opportunity to learn about local food and food culture, but our tour guide did a nice job of weaving in some education about the Muslim culture in Morocco as well.

Speaking of which, we were two days away from the beginning of Ramadan, which we felt was a good time to head back north to Europe. Although we were told that there would still be plenty of places open during the day for us tourists to find meals, it was feeling a bit like we would be outsiders imposing on their religious traditions. So we once again loaded up, and headed for our last night in Morocco.

March 20, 2023

The night before leaving Marrakech for Rabat, I received a message on my phone from the owner of the apartment that we had reserved for our last night in Morocco. The message said “Apartment is only for family and married couples with marriage papers.”

I was a bit confused at first. Then I realized he wanted to make sure we were married, as this is a traditional Muslim country, and they will not allow an unmarried couple to stay in a hotel room or apartment together.

So I responded: “Yes, thank you. it is just me and my wife. Our passports show that we are married (same surname).”

The response came immediately: “You told me you are two men. you are not family. I can’t accept you.”

Now I was really confused. “No. Perhaps you have me confused with someone else?”

Again, the response came quickly, this time with a photo attached of what appeared to be a “boudoir”-type photo of a man laying in what looked to be a bed of rose petals. “This is your photo.”

I would have been cracking up if I wasn’t so tired. Instead, I was getting irritated and about to tell the host to just forget it and we would get a place somewhere else.

There was a brief pause before the messages started flooding into my phone:
“Sorry”
“Sorry”
“Sorry”
“My mistake”
“I’m very very very sorry.”

I chuckled a bit and shook my head. there wasn’t much more I could do. This is a very Muslim country and their religion definitely discriminates again gay men. That much was out of my control.

We eventually smoothed things out and agreed to accept an apartment from him, with a bit of an upgraded parking situation (an underground locked parking garage, which always makes me feel better about leaving the bike).

When we finally did arrive and check into the apartment, the owner was again very apologetic and very nice. He suggested a couple of options for dinner that night, and we chose the seafood place a few blocks down the street.

When we arrived at the restaurant, there was no English menu, and the staff spoke no English. So I took out my phone, opened the Google Translate app, and used the camera to translate the menu. It worked like a charm. We found a seafood plate that included fish, shrimp, mussels, fried calamari rings, salad, and french fries, and was offered for two people or three people. I told the waiter we wanted the seafood plate for two.

When the food came, they brought two huge plates of seafood. It was enough to feed four people easily. I began to get nervous. I was convinced that when I told the waiter we wanted the seafood plate for two, he must have misunderstood me and took it to mean that we wanted TWO seafood plates for two people. The quantity of food was overwhelming.

This was just half of the amount of seafood they brought to the table.

The bigger problem though was that we had a money problem. This being our last night in Morocco, I had intentionally spent all of our Moroccon Dirham except just enough for dinner. And this place didn’t take credit cards. Worse yet, my ATM card had expired just before we left the US, and I failed to notice (and the bank didn’t automatically send me a new card). On top of that, I was carrying two credit cards: one which I had no PIN for, so I couldn’t get cash from an ATM with it, and the other one had been declined by the last several ATM machines.

I was having visions of washing a LOT of dishes tonight.

The food was great, but I would have enjoyed it more if I hadn’t been so worried about how I was going to pay for it. So when we finished and I asked for the check, nervously, I was shocked when the waiter brought the bill and it turned out that, yes, all of that food was truly just one order for two people. We had enough money to pay for dinner after all.

We didn’t spend any time in Rabat, the capitol of Morocco. It was just a stopping point on our way back to the ferry at Tanger Med. I don’t feel like we really missed anything. As I said earlier, we’re not really city people. I’m sure there are some nice mosques and historic sites in Rabat, and some nice beaches. But we’re not really beach people either. So we left Rabat early the next day to make sure we arrived in plenty of time to catch our ferry back to Spain.

Morocco had been a great experience. Overall, Morocco is the friendliest and most welcoming country I’ve visited thus far, and the places we went varied widely and were so different than anywhere in Europe we had been in the past year.

It’s interesting to me that so many Europeans that we’ve met talk about wanting to come to the US to see the desert in the Southwest, and those that have made the trip talk about how beautiful it is. So much of Morocco looks a lot like Arizona, New Mexico, and parts of Utah, and is so much closer to home. And as a motorcyclist, they can ride there with just a brief ferry trip. I would highly recommend Morocco as a great desert destination to European motorcyclists looking to save a ton of money and experience the beauty of true desert scenery.

And if that isn’t enough, then head for Utah.