6. Maghrib, Maghrib, Bring the Magic

 (Day 42 - 44, 3.293km cycled)

Am I stupid or what? (The answer is yes)

It is 5:30am. My feet accidentally tickle the hairy, brown toes of my bench-neighbor. He squoze into the way too tiny space that was left on the cantina bench. The cantina bench of the ferry "Valetta" from Almería to Nador was my bed for the night. A 50€ ticket granted me access to the ship, yet not to one of the prestigious VIP-recliner seats in the front of the boat. Honestly, I did prefer the bench in the cantina over the seat anyway. How do people sleep in these? I don't understand it.

Anyway, because of the small foot intimacy with my brazen neighbor, I was now restless. I needed to see what's going on, because soon I would be arriving. Wrinkly, like my shirts that are always stuffed deep down at the bottom of my bags, I packed my things and went on deck to catch a first glimpse of my destination. Africa. 

Maybe I could already see a giraffe or a lion from the deck. I didn't know what I was expecting from Morocco but I surely know, I had plenty of unintentional ignorance for culture, country and people in my bag. Did I do my research on Morocco beforehand? Not really to be honest. Like swimming in a cold lake, I figured it's best to dive right into Morocco before even dipping your toe. That's why I am asking myself now, how stupid am I to go to Morocco without even doing some good research on the country that spans >2.650km of my journey. That's a quarter of the whole journey! For illustrative purposes, and to make it more understandable: If you had a cake and three friends, how much cake would each of you get? Exactly! 2.650km (roughly)

(I hoped this graphic example helped you to understand my emphasis on how important Morocco is for my journey, because I myself don't understand numbers, unless they are visualized through food.)

To be fair, I had a rough idea about Morocco. 

1. Morocco is hot

2. Morocco is dry

3. The berries in Lidl and Aldi come from Morocco

4. Morocco has a lot and particularly high mountains

5. Moroccans speak French, Spanish, English and Arabic, however that depends where in Morocco you are. 

So with this extensive knowledge readied up and packed inside my brain, I now saw the first lights on the coast that would be Nador. I kept thinking to myself "You must be a special kind of stupid to do this tour." And with a last breath of the fresh sea air, I bundled my excitement for what was to come, stopped looking for non-existent giraffes on the dark coastline and went down to disembark the boat. 

1. Nador harbour from the boat

Bringing the Heat

Before I could disembark, an all-black dressed, good looking Moroccan man was waving at me across the whole cafeteria. I was sure that he couldn't be waving at me because I didn't know him and why would anybody know me? Ignoring him, I kept looking at my phone. Suddenly the good looking man stood right next to me with his hand on my shoulder and introduced himself as the police and commanded me to come with him. I hadn't even set foot on Moroccan land and I was already being detained by the police. What a start. It turned out, I just needed a stamp in my passport. It made sense now, why all the Moroccans were queuing in front of the small office the night before. I had assumed that maybe they all really really need a pee and that's where the toilets are. Turns out it is immigration. 

With three rapid and well trained beats on the inkpad and one that transferred the visa stamp into my passport, I now had an official permission to roam Morocco for 90 days. 

I rolled off the ship, past the waiting cars, past the foot passengers and kind policemen waving me goodbye on my way out and into the harbor area of Nador. 

To clean up my first misconception, I immediately saw three bank ATM's. In fact Morocco has many ATMs. In every decent town there is a bank. Multiple banks actually. And of course there are, after all, it is a relatively modern country. Why would it not have banks and who would be so stupid to think they don't have banks? 

The answer is me. 

On the internet in a travel blog, I had read that there is only one ATM in Marrakech and I, like a fool, had kind of believed that. I mean, I did not really believe that, but then what did I know?

The conclusion of that: I am very gullible. Noted, accepted and ready to work on during my travels ✅️

Fresh cash in my pocket and an internet-capable sim card in my phone, I departed on my first Africa journey to Saka. It was supposed to be 1.000m in elevation and 100km in distance. Round numbers, just what I like. It would be a shame if something was to change that. 

The climate in the morning was pleasant to ride and I had beautiful coastal scenery to look at. Stray dogs were laying around lazily, smiling at me happily but most important, peacefully. I saw an abundance of classy Mercedes W201 series, for which the Moroccans have an undying and tasteful love🤌🏻. I saw a McDonalds, a cart drawn by a donkey, people on old beaten up bicycles and lots and lots of Spanish, German, French and Dutch licence plates. 

2. Coastline in Nador

3. Typical W201 Mercedes in Nador

4. More classic Mercedes on the National Road

The new impressions were many and I was kind of thankful that it was still so early that the towns were asleep and I could focus on my cycling and all the new things that I was seeing, feeling, and smelling. 

I was soon reaching the national road to Guercif which passed through Saka and by the time it was 10am, the sun had reached a high point and started grilling me like a fish on a charcoal grill. It was at that point in time that I realized just how hot cycling in Morocco will be. July had set new temperature records across the world and Morocco was suffering a heat wave that had cities like Agadir reach record temperatures of 50°C. I can't tell you how hot exactly it was but it was probably around 40-46°C while I cycled to Saka. Luckily, there are always a shop every 20-30km along the road to stock up with water. 

5. Hot plains of Afso

When I reached Saka, I was exhausted and sat down for my first ever Tajine. A delicious warm first meal. A Moroccan-Netherland national on his summer holiday engaged me in a conversation over lunch. Until then, I had heard much about the kindness and hospitality of Moroccans and my first contacts with Moroccans confirmed this assumption as Hassan was very friendly and even insisted on inviting me for lunch. 

When my belly was full and lunch was over, I realized, my plan to stay in Saka wasn't planned through well. There was nowhere to stay for the night. The locals said the next hotel or hostel is in Guercif (another 50km away) and camping in the wild wouldn't be safe. Maybe, I shouldn't have read that article about wild animals and particularly wolves in the Moroccan mountains on the ferry because now I was paranoid about getting eaten in my tent by a wolf on my first night. 

So I fixed my flat tire with the help of some curious kids, departed Saka, fixed my tire 1km outside of Saka again, broke my valve, departed again, and then fixed my tire again 10km down the road because my fixes were all trash. At that point I was exhausted. All I wanted was to arrive soon because I had been up for so long, it was my first day in Morocco and I had been cycling for a long long while in extreme heat. I have had enough of the tubeless setup that I was currently using for my tires. It now gave me frequent problems to deal with (only the back tire though). I whipped out my emergency tube, mashed it into the tire and after pumping up the tire for the 4th time that day with my teeny-tiny hand pump, I was off to do the last 40km. 

The last 40km were a fast descent down 400m of elevation, supported by tailwinds. I was blasting down the barren, dry mountain where left and right, the fields were just sandy, rocky and occasionally decorated with dry bushes. Reaching into the Guercif region, olive trees started to appear everywhere. There were huge plantations of these trees, all around the Guercif valley. 

6. Olive plantages on the roadside

It was a welcoming news sight after having cycled through mostly barren land the whole day. Although agricultural activity was very present around Guercif, the Lidl-berries I saw looking for were nowhere to be seen, yet. 

As I arrived in Guercif, I bought an ice cream on the stick, payed a small, very persistent child trying to sell me tissues, to show me a good restaurant, ate half a chicken and then fell into my bed, exhausted, into a deep sleep, while the functioning AC cooled my overworked brain. What a start to my long awaited adventure in Africa. 

I am not Alone

A mechanic with more teeth missing than teeth left in his mouth repeated the words "tres gentil, tres gentil monsieur". He was clearly happy to have a tourist ask him for tube-patches for a bicycle tube. Since I was now running on an inner tube in the back wheel only, I knew I needed patches for the case that this tube was to get a hole. This tube had been my backup. Now I was kind of backup-less. My solution for a new backup was to find some patches and my search led me to a bike-shop that looked like somebody had exploded a canister of oil in your grandpa's 27-years unopened clutter shed. (Picture related) 

7. Mechanic shop in Guercif

But all that counted was that I had my patches and the mechanic was ecstatic about my visit. 

On my way out of Guercif, gunshots drew me towards a gathering of people. In hindsight, putting it like this, my reaction to go towards gunshots is pretty counterintuitive. However, it was a kind of festivity, where nomad tribes competed in a war-charge contest. The attack-charge had 8-10 horseback warriors ride in a more or less organized line towards the judges, and fire their muskets into the air at the sign of the judge. This festival has a name which I do not remember but if anybody knows what it is called, please let me know. The fact that the rider were wielding their guns not in a very organized manner but in a way that showed the viewer that:

A. The muskets are extremely heavy

B. The riders have weak arms

C. The riders are very uncoordinated

D. All of the above

And if you look closely in the following video, you can see that answer D. is correct. So because I didn't want to get accidentally shot by a musket-shot that was fired in the completely wrong direction, I decided to cut my visit to the festival short. (The Moroccan muskets are also called Moukahla)

The following 80km to Taza were what I can only describe as hot. The olive trees had disappeared as quickly as they had come and I was cycling through a desert-like landscape. After lunch, around 2pm, the headwinds had reached such an extreme heat that it felt like I was cycling inside an oven while somebody blows a hairdryer in your face. My water had reached tea-temperature and afraid I might suffer a heatstroke, I had to rest in the shadow of an abandoned house next to the road. I would have also sat under a tree, if there had been one.

8. Suffering the 46°C heat

9. The surrounding landscape

Luckily I reached Taza after my break and the next day, I was on my way into the mountains of the Middle Atlas, the Tazeka National Park. 

It seemed like a good idea to take the short route up the mountain and to climb the first 1.000m in elevation in a matter of 11km distance. While the views were absolutely stunning, the dirt tracks that were only used by donkey carriages and shepherds, started beating and abusing me and my legs, the second I attempted to master the inclines that reached as much as 28%. 

- What the fuck was I thinking when I planned the route? -

Anyway, this self-abuse lesson was a hard one learned but took nothing away from the beauty of the national park. With the higher altitude also came a more pleasant climate as well as a beautiful and lush flora. 

10. Ascend through a shaded needle forrest 

11. View from above, Taza in far background

12. Farming plains at ~1.000m altitude

13. Post descend picture

But most importantly, I knew: My girlfriend who wanted to ride with me for a week on a rented scooter, was on her way to meet me that evening. Having cycled alone for over two months, the prospect of having a companion that, to top it all off, was my girlfriend, for a week gave me the energy I needed and I was looking forward to social connection with somebody that isn't a stranger. 

The descent down from 1.600m altitude all the way to 600m was an extremely enjoyable one and at the end of the day I could finally close my girlfriends in my arms again. What a beautiful day. I am not alone. 

14. Not alone

Here I want to say my biggest thank you to my girlfriend who took the extremely long and very exhausting, hot and dangerous ride from Marrakech to Taza in only one day. Thank you for your courage and for the time, money and effort that you have put into being able to visit me. The value of this visit is truly immeasurable and I am grateful beyond words. Thank you for being there.

I am not alone is also a constantly lingering feeling throughout my journey in Morocco. In multiple ways. 

People are hospitable, friendly, curious and very helpful when it comes to a white boy on a touring bike cycling through their country. Whether it is having a flat tire, looking for a place to sleep/eat or whether I have lost my way. People will approach me and try to help out. 

15. Fixing a tire

But there is something else. No matter how  remote a place might seem, whether it's in the desert, in the mountains, or in the vast fields of fruit trees, there is always somebody around. I have been in places where I was absolutely sure, so sure I would have bet my left pinky on it, that there won't be anybody living or working, just for some dude to show up out of nowhere. 

You think you're alone but when you look around there is always somebody sitting under a tree, walking across a field or living in a makeshift hut in the desert. It is crazy. 

On the one hand it is reassuring, on the other hand it makes wild camping very, very creepy. Who knows who these people are? And while you haven't seen them yet, you rest assured, they have definitely seen you already. 

I am not alone. And it comes definitely with both its advantages and disadvantages. 

16. Camping behind bushes for view protection

Hello my friend! Where are you from?

Moroccans are quite a handful, in more than one way. In a café in Zrarda, a man with a voluminous, perfectly styled perm insisted that my girlfriend and I spend the night at his place because he wanted to show us his beautiful city and invite us for dinner and breakfast. An offer that no sane person could deny. Moroccans are famously hospitable but since there was a rather strict goal of kilometers to reach each day, we had to decline multiple times until the kind man had to leave with a slightly bruised ego. 

Just minutes following the hearty invitation, I was already on my bike leaving the town square, another man came running, desperately shouting for me to wait for him. Unfortunately, I listened to him. When he reached me, he grabbed my shoulder and with great excitement about the fact to have caught me, asked me where I was from. At the words "Allemagne" his eyes lit up, his face came dangerously close to mine, I could now see his one, coffee and tobacco stained brown tooth as his mouth forms a big grin and he went into a rhapsody about my visit to Morocco. Bits and pieces of this appraisal were "Thank you for coming here, [...] les Allemagnes sont tres gentil, [...] Morocco loves you, [...], viva Angela Merkel, viva USA, viva France, viva Espana, viva Israel." As this verbal overload of impressions left me shocked and confused I saw my chance to escape the uncomfortable situation but as I turned my shoulder to head out, he gripped stronger and asked me what all of this had been leading up to, his grand finale: "Donnez moi d'argent pour un cafe s'il vous plaît." All of this, just to shock me enough to give him money. AND I GAVE HIM MONEY! WHY?! Why did I give him money? I don't know why but I have some theories.

- Maybe I saw the money as an easy and quick guarantee to escape this very very uncomfortable situation (keep in mind, this was on the town square where roughly 3 cafes? Full with people stared at this scene) 

- Maybe I was in awe at the determination and effort on his side to draft and perfect this horrible acting.

- Maybe I had been subconsciously peer pressured by the staring eyes of the surrounding Moroccans to not be a greedy European. 

Whatever it was (probably theory 1), I handed him the equivalent of 0.50€ and was on my way. 

These situations laid the foundation for my understanding of the Moroccans. Rither they want to be your best friend just because they like you and want to be the best host in their own country everrrr. Or they want to pretend to be your best friend so they can eventually ask you for money. The dilemma is that you don't know which case you have in front of you. In both cases you will be approached with the words "Hello my friend! Where are you from?"

You only know if you have the kindest, most hospitable person, or a crazy coffee-toabacco-spitting maniac in front of you until you engage in the conversation. It's a mystery box. 

So I both love and hate the sentence "Hello my friend! Where are you from?"

Moroccans who have understood and perfected their craft will make you think you have a hospitable, harmless friendly Moroccan in front of you and wayne you in safety long enough, just for one of their friends to come along, be introduced and start to sell you bracelets. 

Needless to say, I am now a proud owner of a 2€ China-made bracelet from "african wood" which has the sole purpose to remind me that I will not let myself be scammed like that anymore! 

We conclude: I am not only gullible but also easily manipulated. 

And now, my friends, it is time to take a deep breath, digest the first Morocco blog and wait until my slow writing has produced another blog that is well behind the time at which I am actually experiencing these crazy stories. 

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