7. From the High Atlas to the Desert

(Day 45-58, 4.293km cycled)

1. Nomans land close to Khenifra

Freeing Fresh Fruits

In Morocco too, like in France and Spain, along the way there is always something to snack on. Trees that just happened to grow in the wild or next to agricultural plantations, like an unwanted child, bear delicious fruit that nobody harvests. Nobody except me of course! While France had its apples, pears, plums and peaches, Spain some figs and almonds, in Morocco you can find delicious figs, plums, apples and sometimes even berries!! Is it the berries I find in Lidl at home? No. Unfortunately not. I am still searching for their sweet delicious origin...

Cycling with my better half through the middle Atlas, from the Tazekka national park to Marrakech was a little like a holiday for me. It was beautiful days where we went at a slow pace, picking fruits from wild trees, enjoying frequent breaks in cafés, drinking avocado shakes,that the Moroccans love, and having pretty picnics next to a public water fountain.

2. Plucking figs

3. Selection of local fruit

4. Plum farm

 

It was a time of sweet delicious indulgence, accompanied by the stunning views of the Middle Atlas and swift descents down the hills that climbing up was always a fierce fight.

In general, food is a major vent for me on this journey. It helps to comfort me on hard days and provides me with the necessary nutrition for my frequent and long rides. 

5. Classic veggie-tajine with lentils and beans

6. Minced meat tajine with tomatoes and cheese

7. Camping dinner, veggies and tuna

8. Baghrir breakfast with cheese and sausage

9. Beanssss

10. Msemen with Cowhead Cheese and Moroccan Tea

11. Tajine in a clay pot and Moroccan salad

The Muffin Man

The roads we chose were now often off the beaten path and came with a wonderful calm and quiet.

12. Empty roads Khenifra region

13. Landscape view Khenifra region

14. Traditional well and water-indicator stone (right)

Cycling remote paths also meant that sometimes a protective shepherds' guard dog would chase me on my bike in pursuit of my calves (that are by now not juicy and not tender anymore but tough and steely from the past +3.000km). Luckily, I managed to outrun the beast dogs because I was going downhill.  This memory was quickly shoved to the  back of my mind. For now at least.

Travelling remote also meant not being in the reach of hotels or campgrounds, which is where we got to experience just how hospitable and kind the Moroccans can be. 

The first day riding together with my girlfriend was dominated by numerous tough ups and downs with steep and exhausting ascends. At lunch, we had covered 55km and I was extremely happy to get a break and sit down for a while. We sat at a small shop and had a dish that consisted of a choice of meat, rice, Moroccan salad, carrots, olives and fried dough, served with a bread that all together formed a DIY-Sandwich-kit. 

15. Sandwich-kit

All the while, a small boy with a pink childrens bike that was perpetuated with a motorcycle chain didn't leave our side and was just happy to gaze at the foreign couple. He was very kind and when we went to the market after lunch to buy some vegetables for dinner, he brought his friend and they both followed. 

At the market, I was suddenly approached by a tall, lanky man with only a couple of teeth left. With a serious expression he demanded me in French to follow him. His tone suggested that I had to follow and "No thank you" wasn't going to be acceptable. Around the corner he had parked his car and proceeded to open the trunk of his old Renault kangoo. To my surprise, he revealed a neatly organized display of delicious looking pastry. He had morocco-style croissants, pain au chocolat, honey cakes and more that made my mouth water, even after just having had lunch. He started stuffing a paper bag with an assortment of his selection and handed it to me, who was unsure if I was forced to buy all of that from him. Sheepishly I looked at him who, with a still very serious face, a sideways nod of his face told me "c'est un cadeu pour toi, mon ami" which translates to - "this is a present for you my friend". From there on, he was in my memory as the muffin man. (Although he didn't even have muffins)

16. Bread car (in another city)

To add to this delicious surprise, when my girlfriend and I were preparing to leave the market and continue the journey, the shopkeeper, from who we had purchased the vegetables for our dinner, decided that we looked like we need a huge canary melon and shoved one of his biggest, yellow melons in my hands. Overwhelmed by kindness, we stuffed the melon somewhere into the bike and departed. Of course, the kids followed to send us off until the edge of the town. 

Our lucky kindness-streak didn't end there. After crossing the valley of Sebou and its brutal ascend, I was simply too tired to cycle any further and we stopped in what I can only describe as a goat town. I call it like that because this tiny village had more goats in it than people. We asked the old men drinking coffee in a cafe overlooking the town square if there is a place to set up camp for the night. Confused by this clearly unusual request, they sent us to the town chief. After some discussion, he suggested we stay at his place. The family took us in for the night, insisted that we have dinner with them and even cooked delicious breakfast the next day. All without ever accepting any form of money from us. As the family wants to stay anonymous, I have pixilated their faces in the pictures.

17. Beef stew and Seffa Medfouna for dinner

18. Msemmen with olive oil, cheese and marmelade for breakfast

Not every day on my journey was like that but this one in particular goes to show how kind Moroccans can be. 

I say: hospitality, approved ✅️

Race to Marrakech

Departing the mountains of the Ifrane National park, where we saw Barbary Macaques, it was a long and fast descent into the fruitful plains around Beni-Mellal and onwards to Marrakech. 

19. Barbary Macaques at Ifrane National Park

I had fixed small issues on my bike here and there and also set up an entirely new tire in the back, after a frustrating episode of multiple flats in one day. I must have enjoyed my days a little too much and I got caught up fixing my bike and enjoying wild fruit, because I suddenly realized that in order to be able to say goodbye to my girlfriend at the airport, I needed to push some long days. The only problem was that having been riding for 7 days straight without a break, my legs were more than tired. 

20. Fixing my bike at a car shop

21. Brand new rear tire

I don't want to make it more exciting than it is but I managed to crush these 250km to Marrakech in 2 days, even with legs that felt like noodles. Noodles that no Italian would ever call "al dente". No, they would say "what the fuck did you do to my pasta? Did you cook if for half an hour or why is it so soft?" I can not emphasize too much, just how tired I was when I arrived in Marrakech.

It was a bustling and lively city on the saturday that we arrived. For our last dinner together we treated ourselves to a restaurant with European prices, which means a lot in Morocco. It was, hands down the best Couscous I ever ate! After some sweet, delicious ice cream, we went back to the hotel where I hit the bed like a rock and didn't get up before we packed up and took an early train to Casablanca. Now I had to say goodbye again. As wonderful as the times shared had been, it was time to continue by myself. 

22. Delicious Couscous

The High Atlas

Two days, one in Casablanca and one in Marrakesh had passed and I felt (at least somewhat) revived. My legs could walk again and I even had stocked up on some medical supplies for my diabetes. 

I could have now taken the easy road into Agadir, the frequently traveled one. One that would save me over 1.000m of elevation. Ooooor, I could take the Tizi n' Test pass that takes me up to 2.120m. Trying to make my own life more difficult for me, I chose the pass that crosses the High Atlas. *Long deep sigh*

To be fair, the best views on my whole journey had been in the mountains. These moments are always memorable and give you a great sense of achievement. Down the road, I wouldn't have the chance to climb mountains like the High Atlas again. And did you even travel Morocco if you didn't summit one of its high mountains or riden one of its famous passes? The answer is no. Agadir beach holiday doesn't count. 

23. Tizi n' Test pass (1)

24. Tizi n' Test pass (2) looking down into Sous-Massa region

25. Tizi n' Test pass (3)

26. Tizi n' Test pass (4)

27. Tizi n' Test pass (5)

28. Tizi n' Test pass (6) Barrage Ouirgane

29. Tizi n' Test pass (7)

30. Tizi n' Test pass (8)

In one day, I rode up into the Atlas, which is also where I experienced multiple "Hello my friend, where are you from?" Moments that drove me crazy. I was forced to buy a bracelet (for measly 2€) because the man was begging me to buy it because it's now the low-tourism season. Pretty heartbreaking if I didn't know that this is an orchestrated rip-off scheme. I still keep the bracelet as a reminder that I won't let myself get scammed anymore. 

The views were, as promised, great to say the least. 

This night I camped in a dry river basin and here is where my paranoia started to begin. What paranoia Lukas?

After I had set up my camp, I was on the phone with my mother as a pack of stray dogs came running and barking at me, making it very clear, I wasn't appreciated in their territory. To my luck, some villagers passed by and tossed a few rocks in their general direction. The dogs immediately pissed off, to my reliev. 

31. Camping spot for the night

That night, I was sleeping calmly, a dog came back and barked at my tent for probably half an hour. I was kind of paralyzed and didn't know what to do. I shined my flashlight at him eventually what made him disappear but it added to my insecurity and distrust of dogs now. 

At dawn, I packed up and started my day with a good and nice dose of diarr..... let's call it stomach unrest. I was unaware of the cause for this unwell feeling in my digestive tract bjt the bike-train has no breaks and needed to continue upwards the mountain. The day was wonderful and the views, climbing the gradual incline of the pass, were breathtaking. The only thing bothering me was the fact that I ate a bit of cheese for lunch. This piece of cheese was a big mistake. Just as I had reached the final stretches of the climb, my bowel started movements. It was clear, I had fucked up. There really wasn't anywhere to hide and relieve myself except for quickly tossing my bike in the ditch and climbing/skidding down a really steep incline, away from the view of passing by drivers. Needless to say, it was the most uncomfortable poop I probably ever had. And of course it's all only the cheeses fault! Damn you laughing cow pasturized cheap industry cheese! 

At the end of the day, despite all the stomach rumoring,  I reached the top of the pass and camped at a small cafe. With the first light, I packed up and started the absolute breathtaking and wonderfully fun descent down into the Souss-Massa region that most of you will know for its capital: Agadir. 

Dogs

In Tarroudant I had slept in a Hotel whose offer I just couldnt turn down. It cost 4€ a night for a private room. Of course the "bathroom" was shared and nasty but overall I had a good sleep there. Mybe the Moroccan delices I had bought in a bakery helped in comforting me. 

32. Room key

33. The rooms windown into the hallway

34. Feels like a cell

35. The shower

36. Terrace view

37. Mint vendor. Very important for Moroccan tea

38. Cookies

39. More delices

I wanted to ditch the touristy areas and I decided to not ride into Agadir. That decision caused me to do a big detour because I messed up my route-planning. 

On this detour, I passed by a guard dog on a narrow path that made it impossible to keep distance to it. As soon as I had passed it, the dog turned around and started attcking me, coming running with forocius barks and bared teeth. Only with all my adrenalin-fueld strength, I was able to catapult my bike up to maximum speed and outrun the dog by a tiny margin. Needless to say that this sprint left me exhausted early in the day and also shocked. 

The route following this incident took me through many rural, monoculture-tent farms, with narrow roads and an abundance of stray dogs. Scarred from my earlier experience, I naturally kept watching out for more attacks. And surely enough, while passing a corner, another stray that had peacfully rested in front of a house jumped up and chased me, barking, accelerating towards my legs. This time I knew I had no energy to run from the dog and my last resort was a strong forceful shout at the dog. It was enough to surprise and startle the dog and it let off the chase. 

So this was the second attack in one day and O have had enought. 

It sounds so harmelss and a bit comical to be "attacked by a dog" because it implies I got out alive and safe but I promise you, when a growling beast is chasing you on your bike, there will be no laughing. Getting chased by dogs was also a problem because I stopped seeing the stray dogs as weak, poor, ill fed, creatures but as a threat. That day, I realized that potentially all strays can attack me and since there is A LOT of stray dogs in Morocco, it added a massive element of stress into my day. 

I now always carry throwing rocks with me and I even thought abiut attaching a stick to my bike that I can use to keep dogs at distance. 

Please don't get me wrong, I like dogs. I like the kind of dogs that are well kept on a lead and where the owner had visited dog-training with his favourite carnivore. But thats not what the stray dogs in Morocco and around the world are. They are territorial, scavengers that are a massive nuisance. 

The abundance of stray dogs in Morocco also means that many of these dogs lay dead as decaying cadavers on the sids of the road, killed by cars. And sure enough, I have seen the process of decaying at every stage now From skin to bones to dust. The smell is the worst. And you smell it often, very often. 

My Moroccan Beach Holiday

Past Agadir, my route took me back to the coast and the seaside-towns of Mirleft, and Sidi Ifni. These towns are, what people told me, "beach home retirement towns" for Moroccans. So essentially, where reasonably wealthy Moroccans go to retire.

They lay on the beatiful beaches south of the Souss-Massa region, away from the mass tourism in Agadir. Here Morocco presents some of its prettiest beaches, just waiting for me. It's the perfect recipe for a time of listening to the waves, sleeping on the beach, laying in the sand and working on evening out my cycling tan!

All I had to do was strongarm the hefty headwinds that were trying to blow me away from the coast. After arriving, I spent my first night, sleeping on the stunning Legzira beach. The beach most prominent feature is the rock arch that spans into the ocean and can be passed under by the many local tourists that come to visit. In the morning, local fishermen go on the hunt for crustaceans and fish and the tiny hotel village, that formed at the bottom of the steep road that winds down from the elevated cliffs, offers restaurants, convenience stores and rooms for tourists. 

The rooms were too pricy for me and whilst pushing my bike across the beach, a local, who was working at a sunbed rental, called me to him. He gave me tips on how to avoid getting in trouble for camping on the beach with the police. The police was stationed in a white unsuspicious container a bit further down on the beach and would surely notice a tent that just pops up on the side of the beach when otherwise all tourists leave at nightfall. 

Together with the owner of a surf-school we hatched the plan that I could set up my tent just next to the shack of the surf school and it would blend in to not get noticed. 

It worked. I never was bothered by the police, only stray dogs that were living on the beach in abundance were offended by me camping there and spent over an hour barking at my tent. 

40. Lgzira beach

41. Lgzira Beach Hotel village

42. Lgzira Beach Rock Arch

43. Sunset at the beach

Unshowered and sandy, I decided that as beautiful as the beach was, I needed more comfort and packed up to depart for the camping at Sidi Ifni, a propper village just 15km down the coast. So I changed into my cycyling pants, lushed my bike up that picturesque but steep path out of the hotel settlement.

The camping at Sidi Ifni was disappointing. It reminded me more of a supermarket car park than anything else. There was not a single plant to provide shade and its location was just at the foot of the cliffs of the town overlooking the beach. This meant that it was presented on a plate to all locals that would hang out on the cliffside at day or during the evening. The fact that the toilet and shower facilities appeared not to have been touched by a maintenance or cleaning staff in decades didnt help. In Sidi Ifni I found a market for delicious charcoal grilled fish. The restaurants would smoke up the whole street where hungry locals mingled. I could also profit from Moroccos amazing patissery culture, stocking up on amazing cookies and a sponge cake with sugar icing and almond flakes. (I know you must think that this is very diabetic-unlike behaviour and you're probably right. But burning all these calories while cycling I have to make sure I stock up enough again when I get the chance)

Having spent an alltogether pleasant day in the town, I decided that I would depart the next day, cutting my planned beach holiday short but making my way into the every more dry becoming lands, departing for the Saharan desert. 

44. Fish restaurants smoking up the street

45. Late night treat

46. Desert Carnival in Sidi Ifni. Who wants to go for a ride? 

In summary, my Moroccan beach holiday consisted of two days that I both, partially, spent in my sandy cycling gear. Wonderful.

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