Three months around Europe

Ouarzazate to Tangier

It is very difficult to get accurate road information in Morocco. Google maps told there was a road through the desert from Mhamid to Foum-Zguid, the hotel manager was unsure, but a Dutch motorcyclist assured me there was a road.

“ Look it is drawn on my Dutch map. So it must be OK”

Anyway I rode the 300km to Mhamid and as I got deeper into my ride, the desert changed from rocks to sand. There was a single strip of bitumen and I had to veer into the sand a few times to avoid large military trucks
Might is right is the road rule here.

Mhamid is right on the desert. The sand creeps up the main street like waves at a beach. Unlike Merzouga there is little infrastructure, but the dunes come right to its front door and beyond, held back by a Canute like fence e of palm fronds.

I stopped at a small cafe on the outskirts of town. Mr Himi, poured me a cold coke and tried to sell me a 4wd trip into the desert.
“ Too hot for camel and too much sand for your bike. 4wd very nice. “

I could think of nothing worse after the freedom and airiness of the bike to be cooped up with other people in a 4wd, driven by a taureg wanna be rally driver.

So much for Dutch maps. There was a track, not a bitumen road and it was closed due to sand

I gave up on a camel trip and desert road to Foum Zuigd and headed back for Zagora. At 4pm it was 44C degrees. I had to keep my visor down as the hot wind blasted my lips . My jacket was open to catch the breeze and as the sun dipped it became pleasant ride between the rock walls of the ancient river valley.

Accommodation in Zagora was of the European desert hardship variety with a price range to match – but a tout found me a nice room with dinner and breakfast for $35. I changed the oil in my bike and cleaned the air filter.

I also haggled over some desert jewelery for the wife. Some nice desert amber pieces, bracelet of turquoise and amber and some green topaz. The haggling was not intense, very gentlemanly over numerous cups of mint tea. Eventually we settled on half the initial opening price and for around $150 I had numerous brownie points.

The road cut through the mid Atlas range. The bitumen faltered to dusty gravel for about 60km and and my only road companions were shepherds and a few nomads trekking into the mountains. I spent the night in a hotel in Tata and had dinner watching desert Arabs flicking their robes as they walked up and down the main street. This was not the plastic desert , I had experienced further east, but the real McCoy with some hook nosed , hard looking men hanging around the hotel lobby.

The next morning I followed the signs to Sidi Ifini- a coastal town the Spanish only handed back to Morocco some 30 or so years ago. The road followed the ridge between the desert and the mountains, then after climbing the coastal range I caught my first sight of the blue Atlantic, with lines of surf and white sand beaches.

Despite the guide book claims, Sidi Ifini was disappointing. It is home to a large fish canning factory and the much vaunted art deco and Moorish buildings were being displaced by modern holiday developments. I rode down the main street , took a few shallow breaths and decided to keep heading north.

I found an apartment at Mirleft, overlooking the beach and stayed for two days. The wind was hot off the desert , exceeding 40c but the water was a cool 21c .

The surf was small but it was great to just wallow in the waves and snorkel – but the fish life was sparse - particularly if you are used to diving on the Coromandel.

My route took me to Agadir – a town destroyed by an earthquake in 1960. The disaster so overwhelmed the recently independent Morocco that they just bulldozed everything into piles and threw lime over it and rebuilt.

It is a pretty city, hugging the narrow plain between the mountains and the sea. As I drove through at 11 am there was still a sea mist coating it. There were numerous beaches but I headed on for Taghazoute, the reputed surfing capital of Morocco.

Abdullah found me just after I stopped for a mint tea in the town square. He owned a surf shop, mobile phone shop and several other enterprises.

After numerous cups of tea, he made arrangements for me to stay in an apartment with cable TV, balcony, air conditioning , wifi right on the beach for less than $30 a night. He locked up my bike in his spare shop , and also threw in use of a boogie board.

I stayed eight days in Taghazoute, surfing , swimming, reading, drinking tea and just getting to know the fishermen, the waiters and the surfers. At 5 am a dozen or so dories would head out for fishing. Four hours later they were back in with a few calamari, dog fish, bream and skate. The catches were pretty sparse, but they sold quickly in the market.

It was an idyllic routine made pleasant by spending time with Abdullah and his family, trying out the different tagines and breads. I saw one other European , an elderly Hungarian lady whose accent and look reminded me of Ingrid Bergman in the film Casablanca. She had spent more than 50 years here , after fleeing the Hungarian uprising and making a new life for herself in Morocco. She dressed elegantly in that mid European style and held court in the local auberge where I took breakfast. Surrounded by her dogs she puffed away on a long cigarette holder and switched effortlessly between Arabic, French and English as her audience demanded.


It was time to move on as I had to meet the wife and sister in law in Marrakesh. It is strange after 30 plus days of being alone , speaking everything but your native tongue to be thrust back into a domestic routine. We had our three daily meals, I shaved every day and felt myself grow distant from the locals.

Marrakesh with its souks, big central square and easy going population is a gentle introduction to North Africa.. We walked, rode the tourist bus, haggled and bought nothing, ate splendid lamb and beef sofltly cooked in a tagine and enjoyed the hospitality of our hotel. The waiters were obviously fans of Del Boy from Only Fools and Horses as everything was lovely jubbly

Leaving Marrakech, I headed for the Atlantic coast visiting Casablanca, Rabat. It is a wild coast with a mist that hangs around till around 11am, booming surf and the world's largest sardine fishery. The coast road took me to Tangier where I was to catch the Genoa ferry to head to Eastern Europe and Turkey.

If you do have a motorcycling tour bucket list – then put Morocco on it. It is varied, hospitable, inexpensive ( fuel is $1 a litre) . It will enchant and challenge but it will not disappoint..