Unprepared Yet Excited: Exploring Morocco on the Fly

October 25 - November 26, 2021

“Scott, you are the only free man in the world”

-Simo Ibanay, owner of Bagdad Cafe

LIS - CMN (Lisbon - Casablanca)

Morocco

Even though I was looking forward to this trip for a long time, I arrived woefully unprepared. The hours I usually spend in front of the computer researching blogs and articles about things to do and see just didn’t happen.

I’ll blame it on Thailand. After almost two years on the road, I was itching for Asia. But with monsoon season in full force, it wasn’t time to go. And getting a Thai visa during Covid times, meant jumping through a lot of hoops. I wasn’t even sure I could get in.

So instead of spending my time researching Morocco, I let it slip, knowing I’d tackle it when I arrived.

Now I was here.

I had an idea of a few places I wanted to see, but I soon realized that Morocco is a large country — many of the great sights are only accessible by long hours in a car or bus. Most people will pick a section and focus on it. But I wanted to see it all.

I started in Casablanca.

Casablanca

I was warned about Casablanca. Don’t waste your time. Not much to see. Avoid if you can.

I decided to see for myself. I hired a local taxi/driver and took off…

Hassan II Mosque

I’ve seen quite a few mosques, mostly in Turkey, but this modern mosque has a few interesting features:

It’s huge — hosting (inside and out) 100,000 worshipers. Its ceiling has a retractable roof which opens to the sky. The floors which are prayed on, are heated. And it has the 2nd highest minaret in the world — which is also square. I had never seen a square one before but it turns out to be the defining characteristic of all mosques in Morocco.

But what really stood out was the Wudu — where muslims wash their feet, face and hands before worship. Most mosques have them outside and are simple fountains, this one was underground and stunningly beautiful.

**Religion**

Even though the vast majority of Moroccans are Islamic, there is a strong historical connection with Jews. They immigrated after the Spanish Inquisition and well as during WWII. Most settled in the north.

Rick’s Cafe

Though not really the cafe from the Bogart movie; it was recreated by some very talented designers and opened twenty years ago. Walking in is like walking into the 1942 movie. You haveway expect to see Bogart and Ingrid Bergman in deep conversation in the corner. “Here’s looking at you kid”

Upstairs, the movie runs constantly. I relaxed, had a decent gin and tonic and went on my way.

The Medina

It seems that every city in Morocco has a medina. These are the old areas of town, often walled. And within them often are the Souks, or markets. There areas are where tourists flock to, and I was no exception.

The medina in Casablanca wasn’t as impressive as Fes or Marrakech, but it’s a great place to explore, take in the sights and smells and transport yourself back to an earlier time.

The Moroccan People

Morocco is about its people. They are the soul of the country. They define it. To know the country you need to understand them.

I have rarely connected with the people of a country the way I did here.

Even though they are Islamic, their history predates Islam by thousands of years. They are considered Berbers — the mountain people. But that word only goes back to the Greeks. They call themselves Amazigh, the “free people” Such a great word for them.

Their history stretches back over 4000 years. A few cultures tried to conquer them — the Greeks and the Romans amongst them, but it proved too difficult. And even though by the 11th century Islam finally managed to tame their spirit (and only by controlling their education system), they are still Amazigh at heart. Free People.

The Moroccans I connected with were open, intelligent, thoughtful and shrewd. As I was trying to understand them, they were trying to figure me out. It was often through an honest smile that they quickly reciprocated. And once they accepted you, you became a part of their family.

I still hear from several of the friends I met there. They want to know where I am. They want to make sure I am okay. But it is I who am concerned about them. They live in a country of limited resources, and Covid hit them hard. But they don’t complain.

They are survivors.

My road trip begins…

What I heard was right. A few days in Casablanca was more than enough. I rented a car and off I went.

My first destination was to Chefchaouen, about a five hour drive. Drives of this length turned out to be the norm.

**Espresso to go**

I ran into several of these entrepreneurial types along the road. Nice to stop and grab an espresso from a grateful barista!

Chefchaouen

Now, this is what I was looking for. Chefchaouen. The blue city. Or as the locals call it “Chaouen”. No one really knows why it is painted blue. The Jews that settled in this region hundreds of years ago might have had something to do with it. Whatever the reason, it’s beautiful and unique as you see.

Chaouen is also very popular with tourists and the Instagram crowd. It’s hard to resist. Walking around taking pictures is a joy. I don’t know why, but I like photos without a lot of people in them. That often means waking up early or being patient for your frame to clear. It’s worth the effort.

I stayed three nights, but two would have been fine. Once you’ve taken your photos and walked around the tiny streets, there honestly isn’t that much else to do.

Off to Fez…

THE POLICE

Now a little about Moroccan cops…

To say I’m not a fan is an understatement. They and their speed traps are everywhere — mostly in strategic locations set up to catch you. On the downside of a steep hill. On the far side of a blind curve. Or a few feet after one of the ubiquitous signs announcing a unmotivated speed drop.

It was like being a tourist rat in a trap. Though to be fair, I saw plenty of locals being pulled over too.

The good news, I suppose, is that you pay a fine right then and there and they let you go. Most fines were around $15. The police might give you a receipt for your payment. I guess it made them feel that their behavior was legitimate. I never bought it.

Though at one stop, an officer asked me where I was from? I said the US. He smiled and yelled “I love the United States!” and waved me on.

FEZ

As I drove into Fez, I noticed that a man on a scooter was tailing me. It was a little disconcerting. He sped up and slowed down as I did. Finally, at a stop light, he pulled alongside me and asked where I was going? I told him the name of my riad and he said I was going in the wrong direction. Having only Google maps as my source of guidance (which I found out the hard way you can’t always trust) I decided to follow him. What the heck.

We went back the way I came then turned into the walled city. We twisted and turned — all the while I was wondering what I got myself into. We eventually pulled over, and a young man approached my car. He showed me an official looking badge telling me he was a local guide. He knew my riad and said he would take me there. He looked harmless enough so I let him in.

We continued weaving through the narrow streets. I was hopelessly lost until we exited the walled city and continued back down the road I was on 20 minutes before. A few minutes later, we stopped and he indicated we were there. I laughed.

He told me that he would love to be my guide. I let him out saying I would call him the next day. I didn’t.

Quite clever these Moroccans.

Any question that I found the right riad vanished as I walked through the old wooden doors and saw this…

Dar Anebar. Beautiful. Regal. Reasonably priced. Great service. Empty due to Covid. It didn’t matter.

I felt like a king staying here.

My introduction to Fez was walking around the myriad of “streets” and alleys that make up the heart of the world’s largest medina — a place where no cars are allowed. It didn’t matter. It was dirty, confusing — not enticing at all. I started to dread the time I was going to spend here.

But I was wrong.

Fez is a city that I learned to love. And it is all because of this man.

I asked my Riad to book a guide for me. They said they knew someone good. That turned into an understatement.

The next morning, Momo showed up. He was born and raised in Fes. He has taught at the local college. He mostly is a guide now. As we walked along the streets, it seems like everyone knows him and says hi. But most importantly, he loves Fez.

The thing to understand about Morocco and Moroccans is that what you see on the outside is never the whole story. Like the riads hidden along darkened alleys and behind ancient wooden doors, once inside, a marvelous world is revealed — rich in nuance and beauty.

Momo also showed me how enterprising Moroccans are. Everywhere we went, tiny shops were filled by industrious workers focused on their trades. All scratching out a living.

Their colorful handywork

The furnace that heats the Hamams (baths)

Local vendor selling tea.

The ruins of a grand past…

“Follow me” Momo orders. “Be careful where you step.”

He pounds on the large wooden door that has seen better days. He pounds again. Eventually, a thin ghost of a man appears. He nods and lets us pass. I wasn’t prepared for what I was about to see.

An abandoned palace in decay.

Momo tells me that this used to be the residence of a rich merchant’s family. Twenty years ago they could no longer afford it so they left it to crumble.

We walked gingerly through the hallways, up broken steps and marvelled at the beauty that this place once held.

I could imagine what it was like in its heyday. Everywhere I looked were amazing details and workmanship. It didn’t feel haunted, but I wasn’t about to come back in the darkness of night.

I would have never found this place on my own. Thank you Momo.

Morocco through its Arts

Morocco is design. Architecture. Tiles. Rugs are the great triumvirate. The symmetry of its design can be almost hypnotic. I would often stare at the intricacies for minutes at a time. Either at the old tiles left on forgotten walls, or the carved arches. Or especially the rugs.

It was in Fez that Momo took me to a shop that specializes in traditional rugs. If you’ve ever been to Morocco, you know there are rug shops everywhere. But this shop stood out, for no other reason than Momo took me here and I trusted him.

But I’m a world traveler, why am I looking at rugs?

I sat down politely as the owner did his ritual of laying down rug after rug. But one rug in particular caught my eye. He quickly covered it by another fine piece but I had him stop so I could see it again.

Big mistake.

Let me tell you about it. It’s a Berber Kilim Rug from the Zayane Tribe in the Middle Atlas mountains. It was weaved in the mid-1800s. A rug of this quality and age is considered a museum piece. You also need to look closely at the colors. They are all come from flowers, harvested by the weavers themselves. It is very rare to find the turquoise that is woven throughout.

If you allowed yourself to study these rugs, stories would emerge. For no two are the same. They were made by women to represent their lives. They are biographical in nature — telling a story of who she was and where she came from.

This one has an interesting aspect that seems like a flaw. If you look at the bottom edge you’ll notice that it is lighter than the part above it. It turns out that the woman who made it ran out of dye and had to wait until the next season to harvest the plants and flowers to finish it. For some unknown reason, she wasn’t able to exactly match the colors. But she finished it anyway. It all makes for a great story.

After a few back and forths, I found myself somewhat stunned by my purchase. What the heck am I doing buying a rug? But I had this unexpected emotional attachment to it. I wanted it as a family heirloom. I decided to ship it to my daughter Heather for her stewardship.

I hope it remains in our family forever.

Hammam, local style

Certainly I wanted to experience a Moroccan Hammam (soaking hot springs) while I was here. There are basically two types. The pricier one is geared towards tourists. They can be simple but often luxurious. Mostly you find them at the nicer resorts and hotels. The other one is for the locals. Both are good to try, but I wanted to see where the locals go.

I arranged a driver to take me out to a popular hammam called Ain Allah. It is unique due to the fact that it is a natural thermal hot springs whose waters fill the tile pools.

I quickly noticed that I was the only foreigner in attendance. I shuffled around trying to figure out what to do. One of the attendants noticed my confused look and had me follow him. You basically start by buying a goodie bag with a loofa, a bar of black soap and Argan oil. Then I gave my bag to this shirtless old guy who was also missing a few teeth. He was my masseuse. Okay, I wanted the authentic experience and now I’m having it. Stripping down to my undies I headed to the showers, a necessary step before you enter the waters.

Ain Allah was more chaotic and less fancy, but you get the idea.

It was time to enter the Hammam. Colorful tile walls and floors surrounded a large pool filled to about a foot deep with hot water emanating from a spout off to one side. The place was filled with chatting Moroccan men of all sizes. Everyone seemed in a happy mood. A few smiled when they saw me. I settled into the hot water.

After I had warmed up, I nodded to my masseuse and he placed a towel on the floor beside the pool and had me lie down. Then for the next 30 minutes, he scrubbed and washed, then rinsed, then massaged my body. I felt like a local.

Hammams are a big part of Moroccan culture. It wasn’t unusual to see a father and son going together. I witnessed a lovely moment as a young son, maybe eight years old was scrubbing down his blissful father. Beautiful.

Volubilis

The ruins from the Berber-Roman city sit a few hours out of Fez making it a great day trip. Built in a fertile agricultural area which originally supplied olives to Rome.

This distant outpost was inhabited for over 1000 years, reaching to a distant, colorful past.

I was fascinated by the well preserved mosaic tilework.

**Ancient porn**

Being so far from Rome, I could only imagine what took place here.

Economic realities

Morocco is a very poor country. Moroccans live simply. Eat simply. They support themselves by working hard and being resourceful. Education outside the main cities is difficult to come by — often demanding sacrifices from families that can not afford it. Therefore educations often stops by the time the children are ready for high school.

Large families were the norm but no longer. And there is no such thing as state sponsored “retirement” or pensions. People plan on working until they die. Hopefully they are supported by their families.

Moroccans have survived for thousands of years. They seem to know in their heart that they will always will.

Inspiring.

Onto the desert…

It was time to say goodbye to Fez. I started early. A long drive to the Sahara lie ahead.

Rock the Casbah

Along the drive south I saw numerous decaying Casbahs — the remaining heart of ancient cities. They offered an opportunity to get out of the car, stretch my legs and explore.

Merzouga. Gateway to the Sahara.

Merzouga is a small village sitting next to Erg Chebbi, one of the impressively large sea of dunes formed over centuries by the wind-blown sand. It is somewhat a desert theme park as you’ll find numerous luxury camps dotting the dunes. I chose Ali & Sara’s Desert Palace due to the reviews and I was not disappointed. I became friends with both Ali and Sara.

Ali was born and raised in Merzouga. He is also the owner of Hotel Nomad Palace where I stayed a few nights. He was fascinated with my world travels. “You are a true nomad” he told me one night. I was honored by this, coming from someone who’s culture for a thousand years has been nomadic.

Sara is from the UK but has made Merzouga her home. She ended up taking me under her wing and came up with the amazing itinerary that I followed all the way to Marakesh.

I was driven out to the desert. Then wined and dined. Had a camel ride out onto the dunes for sunset. Was serenaded by tribal drums next to a roaring fire. And saw a billion stars.

Magical is an understatement.

My only complaint (no ones fault) was that for one of my nights I was the only guest. This place yearned for group fun.

Moroccan Food

This is going to get a little tricky. I’m sure a few of you will strongly disagree with what I’m about to say. It’s okay. It’s my blog.

Over the years I’ve eaten Moroccan food and I liked it. Especially the Chicken Pastilla (with the powdered sugar on top). And I’m game for a fluffy couscous and anything in a Tagine. Exotic. Nice spices. What’s not to love?

My first night in Casablanca I went to a well-reviewed local restaurant and sat down. I was excited to get a taste of real Morocco.

The food arrived. The top to the tagine was ceremonially opened and the stream escaped. I dug in.

This is where I’m supposed to say how the delicate spices tempted my taste buds. How the meat and the vegetables, cooked to perfection, melted in my mouth.

Nope. Didn’t happen.

The spices were underwhelming. The chicken overcooked. The vegetables mushy. Honestly, there wasn’t anything to get excited about. This experience happened over and over. I started to dread lunch and dinner. Even their famous couscous (served traditionally on Fridays) was a no go for me.

I was somewhat dismayed by this. Moroccans take great pride in their cuisine. When you see the mounds of colorful spices in the souks, you kind of expect a lovely blend of tastes that would set your mouth aglow. Why is it then than everything tasted bland?

I know others have had the same problem. And yet there are people who worship the food. Make your own decision I guess.

Then there is the bread. It is everywhere. And there is a lot of it. Luckily it is very good. I joked that breakfast was basically bread 5 ways. And because I wanted to lower my carb intake, it was frustrating to have so many options to choose from. Though often it seemed like they were the only options.

The reason bread is the main staple of Morocco is due to two factors. First is that wheat has adapted to their agricultural system and second is it’s cheap. It’s easy. And it fills the belly.

To be fair, I did have some lovely meals — with crispy veggies and juicy meat. I especially liked many of the salads I was served. I found a local lamb restaurant in Marrakesh that was authentic and delicious. So there was joy to find, it just did not happen often enough. Of all the memories that I carry with me of my lovely visit, food is at the bottom.

Even though it makes for some nice photos.

Heading west…

From the Sahara I started my long journey towards the ocean.

Todra Gorge

This was my first stop. The closer I got, the darker the skies became. As the road wound itself into the mountains, a magnificent lightning and thunderstorm pelted my small car. It became like night time. I entered the narrow gorge not knowing where I was going. No cell coverage. Google maps was useless.

After getting lost, then stopping and asking a local bystander, I ended up at a uniquely inspired hotel, Auberge Le Festival .

With rooms literally carved out of the mountain and some of the best food I had eaten in Morocco, I spent a quiet under the cold dark skies miles away from everything I know.

The next day the weather cleared and I moved on. I was sad to leave this magical little oasis.

Dadès Gorges

There is a singular reason to visit Dadès Gorges.

That is to sit at the tiny restaurant at the top of the impossibly windy road and take this picture:

Aït Benhaddou

If you’ve seen the movie Gladiator, you’ve seen Aït Benhaddou. It’s been a popular backdrop for many Hollywood films.

It is a visually stunning, historic Casbah perched along the former caravan route between the Sahara and Marrakech. It is considered a great example of Earthen clay architecture and is a long time UNESCO World Heritage site. You would definitely stop here if you’re in the neighborhood.

I had Hicham, a young, local guide to show me around. I stayed for two nights at the Bagdad Cafe and Hotel. Simo the owner took great care of me. He lives half the year in France and had many stories to tell. He loved how I’m living my life as a “free man”. We still keep in touch.

Bagdad Cafe and Hotel

Gladiator is a big deal here

Jamal the merchant.

Mirleft

I took two days to get there, but I want to focus on this gem.

There was no greater reason to come to Mirleft that to stay at Dar Najmat. This lovely hotel perched regally above Marabout beach; where perfect surfing waves crashed off shore. . I wanted to slow down after all the hours of driving and this was a good place to do so. I was also ready to see the ocean after all the hours looking at sand.

I spent two nights here and enjoyed every second of it. Especially smoking one of the cigars I patiently kept in my pack.

What looked like a great drive north, along the coast to Essaouira, was anything but. Especially driving through Agadir. But as you drive north from there, you pass an impossibly long stretch of beach with mile after mile of surfing breaks. I hadn’t heard much about surfing in Morocco, but I imagine the secret is out — though I didn’t see a soul out on the waves.

Not a good shot of the breaks, but you get the idea.

Essaouira

What a great town. Put this on your must see list next time you’re in Morocco. It’s small. Picturesque. Touristy, but not overly so.

Essaouira has a long history. This area of the Atlantic coast has been inhabited for thousands of years. In the 19th century, Essaouira became the first seaport of Morocco — having one of the best anchorages off the coast

Beginning in the late 1960s, it became something of a hippie hangout, playing host to Frank Zappa and Jimi Hendrix, among others, the latter supposedly writing “Castles in the Sand” about Essaouira

Obviously why I felt at home.

Its tiny car-less streets filled with little shops and nice restaurants were fun to explore. It’s a great place to hang and chill.

It was time to turn in my rental car. I’d had it for three weeks. I put on a lot of kilometers. But I was ready to say goodbye to gas stations and speed traps.

Next stop… Marrakesh.

Goats in a tree?

As I’m driving eastwards, I glance out my window and see something… different. I had to pull over.

Believe it or not, these tree-climbing goats are eating kernels of the Argan tree. After the goats poop them out, the farmers extract the shell-less kernels and press them into oil. Clever for sure.

Argan oil is very popular in Morocco. It used as a foodstuff, for dipping bread, or on couscous and for medicinal use. It’s a great massage oil.

I like it for the goats.

Marrakesh

Crowded. Chaotic. Scooters buzzing by. It feels like you are taking your life into your hands just being there.

Of course I was in the centrally located medina. But where else would you stay in this ancient, vibrant city? It’s a place that never seems to sleep.

As a major economic center and tourist destination, there is a little of everything in Marrakesh. Look around and gaze at the medina's myriad of souks — all laid out according to a medieval-era plan. It is a place to get lost — and without a doubt you will.

And you never know what you’ll find…

Local wisdom

I was walking along one of the alleys with my guide Rachid. I noticed a nail on the ground and picked it up. Rachid asked why i did that. I told him that I didn’t want one of the passing bikes to get a flat.

He said that by doing so, I deprived the man in a tire store the opportunity to fix the tire and therefore help feed his family.

I couldn’t argue with him.

After walking a bit further past the seemingly hundreds of Souks selling exactly the same items, another question popped into my mind. “How do these merchants make a living? Why would someone buy from one and not the one across the alley — who might be selling the same thing for more. Or less?” It seemed to me that this was not a smart way to support a family.

He said that they all believe that Allah will take care of them. So they don’t worry.

I am in awe at how talking to people from different cultures colors how I see the world.

After a few days I was getting tired of the constant buzz, I started to look elsewhere for some peace and quiet.

Mountain Biking in the Atlas Mountains

Not sure why, but mountain-biking in Morocco has been on my radar for years. Someone told me it was good and I believed them. It only made sense to try it while I’m here.

The Atlas Mountains, just south of Marrakesh is where most rides are. I learned that the trails range from remote jeep roads to technical single-track. What most organized rides have in common is that you ride from Berber village to Berber village with a fair amount of vertical in-between. The tours last between three and seven days and include a guide and support vehicle. Since it was the end of the season, I had to call around to find a company that would take me — bold of them since I could be the only rider! I was offered a seven day trip at a good price and I jumped on it.

I got picked up in Marrakesh early and was driven towards Imlil. The temperature had recently dropped and a low pressure system moved in. Suddenly the surrounding mountains were snow capped. Did I have warm enough clothes?

Imlil is a small village nestled in the Atlas Mountains. It is heavily visited by the adventure crowd. Mt. Toubkal, the highest peak in Morocco is a hiking destination that calls a diverse crowd. Tourists and locals alike challenge themselves by climbing the 13,671 ft mountain; summer and winter. And when I arrived, it tended towards the later.

Momo

A great guide can make all the difference. I can’t speak highly enough about Muhammad (Momo). Smart. Caring. Resourceful. We had a fantastic time together. And I learned so much about the mountains where he was born and raised. He even invited me to a delightful lunch at his house where I met his wife and children.

Because of the unsettled weather, our first afternoon was spent hiking the local hills. Apple orchards dotted the hillsides. The apples offer important financial support to the local families, as the fruit is often shipped out of the country at a nice profit.

By the next morning my mood had soured. The “hotel” where I stayed had no heat. No hot water. I had to dig into my pack and pull out everything I owned to stay warm.

After a non-satisfying breakfast, I had a talk with Mohammed.

In order to save money, the company had put me into a “Summer” hotel, which basically shuts down in the winter. I like adventure, but I’m not 20 years old and a few comforts are mandatory. Like heat. I told Momo that whatever it takes, we need to refocus our plans and make sure I stay in places that are more appropriate. Not fancy. But no hostels. I’d pay the difference.

He made it happen.

Momo was more than a guide. He became a friend.

As you probably know, I’m a big fan of e-bikes. But when I got to the trailhead, the bike I got had a battery, but was old and a little long in the tooth. Momo’s bike was even worse. Oh well. I hope we don’t break down.

It is at points like this where surrender is your best idea.

Up to that point, Momo hadn’t have much experience with e-bikes. He was young and strong and could easily get up these hills.

But after a few days, he became a convert. He decided that e-bikes were a great choice for these trips. Instead of suffering on the long climbs — we could keep riding. And smiling.

**Abdlkarim**. Our driver and chef.

I’ll happily eat anything this guy prepares. I think they were my favorite meals the whole time I was in Morocco.
Everyday as we rode into camp, lunch would be waiting.

Over the seven days, we rode from village to village. Up and down the canyons. Old roads, sometimes wide, other times donkey trails.

It was quiet. It was peaceful. It was ancient — like going back in time.

"I thought I had an extra tube in here"

Moroccan children can be shy. Three of these boys weren’t. But if you look closely, you’ll see the other two hiding behind them.

Hard to believe that the local farmers can survive— planting in fields like this. You have to respect them.

This adventure turned into one of the best experiences I’ve had. Anywhere.

Visiting these Berber villages was fascinating. And the education I received from Momo — telling me about the life these people live every day. It is a struggle. And yet their lives continue like it has for generations.

And then there was the great exercise. Being out on a bike in the mountains — in the middle of who-knows-where.

I didn’t want it to end…

CLOSING THOUGHTS

Morocco was a trip I planned the least for, but has become a memory I won’t soon forget.

It was multi-layered. Offering me more that I’ve found in other countries I’ve visited. Fascinating history. Visual stunning. And the people - they readily respond to a smile and are willing to open their lives and hearts to a stranger.

It is a place to visit and linger. And hopefully return.

Next stop… Thailand

Time to get warm. Time for Asia.

Moroccan Magic