North Africa · Morocco

Hello everyone. After a dozen 4x4 trips to this country before COVID, I’m planning another departure at the end of 2026 and early 2027—around three weeks starting December 27th. Main goal: Merzouga to Chegaga, sand, sand, and more sand. Mostly camping and a few campgrounds here and there.

If you're interested, feel free to DM me.

Best, Michel - Disco64

Hi, we're looking for a guide to show us around Essaouira. We're 11 adults and don't want to go through an agency. If you have a contact to help us discover this city, that would be great! Thanks

Hi everyone,

After 40 years of traveling in Morocco, I want to explore a new area by 4x4—the Western Moroccan Sahara, which I don’t know very well. I have plenty of tracks and itineraries, but I’d love some info to help me decide on the best route:

Part 1:

I want to do the ASSA - SMARA crossing. Basically, I have two options: the first follows the Draa River and goes through M’SIED, and the second is much further south, passing through LABOUIRAT and heading straight to SMARA.



If you have any details on road conditions, driving restrictions, etc., I’d really appreciate it.

Part 2: SMARA - BIR ANZERANE - DAKHLA – here, I also have two routes. The first heads west from Smara toward Sidi Kathari. The second goes east from SMARA and gets pretty close to the border at one point (about 10 km away). Both routes meet up about 150 km later and are nearly identical from there to BIR ANZERANE and DAKHLA.



Again, any info would be great.

Thanks, everyone.

Hi there,

Here’s a first draft for a 14-night itinerary during the Christmas break with two teens. We’re especially fond of hiking (nothing too extreme, though), which is why we’re drawn to the south.

- Marrakech (2 nights) - Aït Ben Haddou (1 night) - Dadès (3 nights, though we’re thinking of doing a day trip to the Todra Gorge on one of those days) - M'hamid (1 night) - Erg Chigaga (1 night) - 4 nights to slot in - Marrakech (2 nights)

Okay, I realize this involves a lot of driving, and we’re still debating the return route since we’d like to avoid the Tichka Pass in January, but going through Taroudant seems like it would add *a lot* of time. 😕

If you’ve got other suggestions for an itinerary with great hikes, I’m all ears!

Also, the 4 nights total in MRK isn’t really our preference, but since we’re arriving/departing super early from overseas, we’d like to be a bit rested before the long flight.

Another question: For hikes (aside from the desert one), is it better to have a guide with us, or are the trails well-marked?

Thanks for your help!

Hi everyone, Our trip to Morocco will be from November 3 to 17, in the High Atlas. Basically, our route would be: Marrakech - Aït Benhaddou Skoura - Tinghir - Merzouga Merzouga via the N12 to Zagora Zagora - Draa Valley - Marrakech

It seems to be the low season, so I’d love to travel without having to book accommodations in advance. In other countries, pre-booking has restricted us and kept us from visiting unplanned sites. Freedom is important to us, but I’d also like to avoid arriving somewhere and finding nothing available. What do you recommend? Book ahead or not? Your advice is always helpful, and thanks to anyone who can shed some light on this for me. Roberto

Last October, we landed in Marrakech to spend a few days with family exploring Morocco’s roads. Transport: a rented Dacia. Accommodations: small guesthouses.

Our first stop was just a few kilometers from Marrakech, at a lovely house perfect for relaxing and recharging before continuing. It’s called Bleu House, a little paradise on the outskirts of Marrakech. The welcome was very warm, with a beautiful pool and a lovely garden.

Next, we headed toward the Tichka Pass. The road has really improved in recent years—it’s much easier to drive now. No more getting stuck behind trucks, and today, the construction is practically finished.

Morocco has turned green after the recent rains. It’s a joy for the herds and shepherds.

Hello to all Morocco lovers,

First of all: a big thank you to everyone whose insightful, funny, lively, and exotic posts we’ve enjoyed. It’s a joy to find such lovely writers on this forum, who’ve given me tons of ideas and addresses to prepare our trip.

Our plan: to explore Morocco from November 2nd to December 4th. We’ll have our own vehicle (a 2011 Renault Grand Scenic, in great condition), shipped with us from Sète to Tanger Med. Returning from Nador.

Our profile: 75 and 62 years young, so old but happy to be, in very good health. Seasoned travelers—it’s practically our whole life. Lovers of beautiful landscapes, historic sites, fine craftsmanship, and road trips. This will be my 3rd trip to Morocco, but the first two were 20 and 17 years ago. I’ve never been north of the Essaouira-Marrakech line (though I’ve gone further south). As for my husband, a lifelong expat including in Muslim countries, it’s his first time in Morocco.

He’s the one driving. He’s very experienced, cautious, not necessarily fast, but used to driving in all conditions (and countries, including the most creative on the road). But I don’t want to tire him out, and he no longer drives at night (and we’ll be there in November).

I’ve decided to show him a bit of everything by taking a road trip along beautiful backroads, with daily distances averaging 180-200 km (except on highways, which will be rare), regularly broken up by rest days. I’m counting on a speed of 40-50 km/h, plus stops/visits along the way.

Since I’ve read so many posts, I’ve narrowed it down to some very specific questions.

1) Coming directly from Rabat via the highway, we’d prefer to skip Marrakech*. Still, we’ll need to sleep somewhere nearby. We’ll head toward Skoura the next day. Does anyone have a well-located address for this route, possibly east of Marrakech? Ideally, we’re looking for a small town, easy parking, clean accommodation (minimum) with average comfort (or better if available), a bit heated, and if possible, pretty and/or nice—but above all, a place to sleep well, wash with lukewarm (ideally hot) water, and have a decent dinner.

(*Explanation for the "no-go" in Marrakech: it’s a shame, because there are truly beautiful things in this city, but I think the vibe won’t suit us—it’s an understatement for "it’ll put us off" / "make us flee" / "traumatize us." Not because it’s too crowded and we want to stand out from tourists (we’re part of them), but because of forced henna on your hand, or spending 10 minutes every quarter-hour saying "no thank you" to a "guide" who’s as much a guide as I am a trapeze artist. Knowing us, it’ll wear us down. The country is vast and beautiful, and our time too short to waste our memories just days after arriving. And I don’t want to ruin things for my peaceful husband, or he’ll demand we turn back—and Sète in November isn’t exactly thrilling either.)

2) Which route to Skoura (in 2 days)? I see two options: either via the Tichka Pass, with a night in Telouet before reaching Skoura, or via the R307/N23 from Demnate, with a night near Megdaz before descending to Skoura. So: Tichka Pass or R307/N23? I have a slight (big) preference for the second option, even though I know the other route is very beautiful too. Of course, before deciding, we’ll check the weather and the current state of the R307/N23—does anyone know where to get info on the road conditions? But even assuming the road is "passable," is it a bit too tough in itself? In short, is it reasonable? If a kind soul could share their experience, a thousand thanks in advance.

That’s all I’ve written for now. I’ll save the other questions for later posts. Thanks again to those who had the patience to read this and to those who can respond. Happy Sunday to all!

Fran

hi there,

I’m just a few days away from my trip to Marrakech—I’m leaving from November 13th to 20th and bringing my parents along! I’d love to plan my stay as best as I can, and I’m sure the forum crew can help. So, here are my questions:

- Where’s the best place to exchange money without getting ripped off? The owner of the riad where we’re staying told us to avoid doing it at the airport because it’s really expensive and to do it in the medina instead, near Jemaa el-Fna square.

- Which traditional hammams do you recommend that are reasonably priced? How much should we budget for one? That’ll help me plan my expenses.

- What are some nice restaurants in the medina?

- I’d also like to know roughly how much to expect for a tea, a meal, a taxi, a djellaba, and babouches. I don’t want to get overcharged and would like to know what to expect.

- What are the must-do activities and places to visit?

Thanks in advance for your help....

Hi I’d like to know if the road between Msemrir and Tamttatouchte is doable with a standard car (Dacia Logan). Thanks a lot

Hi there,

We found a guide who offers the trip from M'hamid to a camp (departure at 3 PM, tea, meal, camel ride, overnight stay, breakfast, and return to M'Hamid by 11 AM the next day via the sacred oasis). He quoted us a price of 380 € for April. What do you think of this rate? This might sound like a silly question, but is it common to negotiate the price for this kind of thing (we're booking from France)? It’s still a big part of our travel budget.

Thanks

Hi there,

We're a family with two kids aged 7 and 2, planning a trip to Morocco from December 21 to 28, 2026. We're thinking of spending 2 days and 2 nights in Marrakech, then heading out on the third morning to the Erg Chebbi dunes (Merzouga or Khamlia, still deciding), and returning to catch our flight. The plan is to go via Skoura, the Valley of Roses, the Dadès Gorges, Tinghir, to reach the Merzouga dunes. On the way back, we'd stop at Tamnougalt before returning to Marrakech.

A few notes, since traveling with young kids slows everything down: - Ideally, we'd like to travel by shared taxi or bus - I don’t want to stop and sleep in Ouarzazate, as I’ve already visited.

Questions: - Does this seem doable in December (especially the Marrakech-Ouarzazate stretch)? - Which overnight stops would you recommend between Marrakech and Merzouga? We’ll spend 2 nights in two different places, then 2 nights in Merzouga, and 1 night in Tamnougalt. - I’d prefer shared taxis, but can they drop us off a bit farther than city centers (e.g., if our hostel is a few kilometers from Boulmane Dadès, or not in central Merzouga but in Khamlia)? Basically, is it possible to travel a little off the beaten path with shared taxis? - We love family-friendly hostels—if you have any recommendations, we’re all ears!

Thanks, fellow travelers, for your tips! Mélanie

Hi there!

With our two teens, we’re heading to Morocco for two weeks at the end of December and beginning of January. It’ll be our first trip that’s more "off the beaten path," even though we’ve visited several countries before. Given the overwhelming amount of info, I’m feeling a bit swamped with the prep this trip requires, and I’ll admit I’m a little lost when it comes to figuring out what’s realistic to visit in two weeks 😕 So, all your tips, personal experiences, and suggestions are more than welcome!

- Which places should we prioritize during this time of year? (I’ve read that some spots are less accessible in winter?) - What’s the best way to get around? (rental car, train, private transport, buses, etc.? — just a heads-up, we’ll have a few suitcases!) - In terms of "safety," are there any areas to avoid? - Any recommendations for reliable local tour companies (beyond the big names like "Get Your Guide") that offer excursions or private transport to help us explore the country? - A doable 2-week itinerary that lets us enjoy the country’s diversity without having to change accommodations every two days?

Thanks so much for your advice!

Hi everyone,

I’m planning a trip to the High Atlas in Morocco and have a few questions for you: - Why do so many people recommend avoiding international agencies for car rentals? Can anyone explain why? - Is Booking.com reliable, and has anyone rented a vehicle through their service? There’s a pretty big price difference compared to local Moroccan agencies. - Is there a detailed road map included in the rental car? - Is Google Maps enough to get around the High Atlas? This will be my first trip there.

Thanks so much to anyone who can help with this destination I’ve been dreaming about for years. Have a great evening, Roberto

Hi everyone. We’re planning a two-month trip to Morocco and Mauritania this fall (2026). We’d like to use this trip to get some bodywork and paint done on our VW T4 camper bus. Does anyone have recommendations for trustworthy auto body shops (either personally tested or firsthand recommendations)? Thanks in advance.

Hi there,

Last February, I made a trip using "public transport" from France to southern Senegal via Spain, Morocco, Western Sahara, and Mauritania.

It’s a journey of about 5,000 km, where I took trains (as far as Marrakech), ferries (to cross Gibraltar and then to reach Casamance from Dakar), and mostly buses on the long desert straightaways. I hadn’t planned any stops in advance or booked any hotels, except for the very first train to Spain, which left plenty of room for the unexpected. Why travel by land and sea? In recent years, flight-free travel has been gaining popularity. On social media, posts explaining how to cross Europe by train as quickly as possible go viral. Traveling without flying—and making sure people know about it—has become a great way to earn a badge of eco-responsibility: an essential totem for anyone wanting to prove both their dedication to the ecological cause and the wisdom of slow travel. I haven’t flown in years, and this journey to West Africa could easily be filed under "responsible travel." But it wouldn’t be honest to say that: in reality, it wasn’t really my aversion to flying that motivated this long trek. I see overland travel primarily as a way to experience the world’s geography at a grounded, earthly pace—the pace of the locals. Besides, I’ll be flying back, which disqualifies any claim to being a model of sustainability. So no eco-badge, and no adventurer’s badge either: you won’t find any heroic tales of camel rides in lost lands or mineral train wagons in this account (popular with influencers, the Mauritania iron ore train now attracts tourists from all over the world, turning "the experience" into something you "have to do at least once in your life"). This five-part story, written on the road, has no other ambition than to recount a journey through places and people, and to share the thoughts they inspire in me. As simply and, I hope, as humbly as possible.

I’m posting the episodes here, which you can also find on my blog (with more photos) at the following links:

Episode 1: Spain, from Avignon to Algeciras

Episode 2: Morocco, from Tangier to Tarfaya

Episode 3: Western Sahara, from Tarfaya to Guerguerat

Episode 4: Mauritania, from Guerguerat to Nouakchott

Episode 5: Senegal, from Rosso to Saloulou

To help those who might want to make the same trip, I’ve also put together a summary of the route with recommendations—you can read it at the end of the story and on the blog: From France to Senegal Without Flying: Route and Itinerary Recommendations

Happy reading, and safe travels!

We're planning a 2-week trip in late February/early March for a road trip in the High Atlas with a rental car, and we'd love to avoid booking our accommodations in advance. Is that doable, easily manageable, or risky (are accommodations available, expensive, or not great)? Thanks for your tips! Annie

In early March, full of carefree joy and happy to return to Morocco, we landed in Marrakech under the sun. We spent just one night in Marrakech at the Hôtel Toulousain, as we did on our previous trip. And we booked our 3 nights for the end of our trip, the second half of March... Ouch! Ouch! Ouch! But we’re not there yet...

Our first goal is to reach Magdaz, a mountain village in the Tessaout Valley, sometimes called the lost valley. We discovered the village of Magdaz on this forum, and we were charmed by the photos and comments from travelers who came before us. The road is easy—it’s dry, and the tarmac takes us right to the village gates at over 2,000 meters above sea level. We arrive in the afternoon and are left speechless by the beauty of the place. A jewel of Berber architecture! Perfectly restored granaries and kasbahs!



A young man from the village guides us on the visit and opens the doors to the terraces overlooking the village.

Several magnificent collective granaries have been beautifully restored. The warm colors of the stone capture the light wonderfully. It’s stunning!



We won’t find anything decent to stay overnight there, so we head back down a bit and settle in at the Assounfou guesthouse. Lovely welcome. The place is in excellent condition and very clean. It’s spacious, but we’re the only ones there. First day full of promise!

Hi, This autumn, we’re planning to explore the Oriental region and we’re wondering where the best place to land would be. We’ll have three weeks ahead of us and we’ll be renting a car. Any tips would be much appreciated. Thanks.

The story of a trip to Morocco, from the first to the last day—otherwise, it wouldn’t have made sense... Marrakech... then four days on foot in the desert, alone with a guide, a camel driver, and two dromedaries... and Marrakech again. Everything mattered, even the smallest details, so this is a (very) long story. Behind the descriptions and anecdotes, there’s emotion, intimacy, and... soul-searching. All the things it’s strangely easier to share this way, all the things it’s strangely easier to share with people you don’t know... I have beautiful images in my eyes, but only a few are visible—if you read carefully, you’ll understand why. The other photos are imagined, created upon returning with souvenirs and a bit of staging. But everything is authentic.



Since I’ve been back, sometimes at night I open my eyes and don’t know where I am... Sleepless night, starry night, night of communion, connected night... In that suspended moment, between wakefulness and sleep, which makes you so receptive... Communion with whom? Connected to what? Lila gnawa... lila de derdeba.

The desert, a solitary path. You step in, and you’re immediately in the essential...

Wednesday... My companion drops me off at Orly Ouest... There are two hours before boarding. My MP3 player turns on but that’s it. It freezes—no commands work, and nothing fixes it... Smile... A trip without music, then? And the first anchor falls away.

(Photo...) ... Passport, tickets, receipts, labels...

Nose pressed to the window for the entire flight... Descending over Marrakech, at low altitude, a pretty mosaic—shades of pink and ochre dotted with green, but also, to the right, less harmonious, aligned cubes. Housing developments under construction? A bumpy, turbulent landing—the plane circles for a long time before touching down.

Welcomed by the familiar, unchanged sound of creaking doors and seats in the little taxis. In Casablanca, it was red Simca 1000s with meters; here, they’re yellow, and you have to negotiate the price. I have no talent for that, so here’s 100 DH!

Traversed and forgotten

Marrakech... Sunny, luminous, sensual. Torn between tradition and modernity... Shimmering and fragrant, very noisy... rather polluted? On the road, horses and donkeys still mingle with vehicles... and watch out for traffic when crossing! It’s always a strategic—and athletic—adventure: at what exact moment do you sprint to the opposite sidewalk? And why aren’t any street names marked?

Afternoon on foot, heading to the Bab Doukkala bus station... A landmark: the McDonald’s, then a square with a fountain. Then turn left onto Avenue Hassan II. There’s a bus to Zagora Friday morning, but I can only buy the ticket tomorrow. On the way back to the hotel, at a kiosk on the corner, I buy *Tel Quel*, which I read with great interest online.

Thursday... Early morning, walking to Place Jemaa el-Fna, calm and almost deserted... I don’t get a good deal buying two small daggers for my kids. No talent for haggling—it takes more than charm for that... So I’ll pick the rest of my gifts at the artisan center on Avenue Mohammed V, where prices are marked, and it’s a pleasure to watch the craftsmen work... For my daughter, a satchel and earrings. The satchel smells like goat. The earrings are hand-chiseled in front of me by a very young man with nimble fingers—marvels of delicacy and fragility. Then I linger for a long time in the souk alleys. Scents of leather, thuya and cedar wood, wool and copper... Familiar smells... Childhood memories...

Dear daggers

Earrings

Back at the bus station, an unexpected change: no bus Friday morning, but a departure tonight at 8:30 PM... I have a little time before packing, so I take a long detour: Boulevard de Safi, then right onto Avenue El Mansour to the Majorelle Garden... A quiet pause. Rare plants, all kinds of cacti—smooth, fuzzy, bristling with spines... strange, squat, or stretched-out shapes. An infinite variety of greens, and that famous blue... The song of birds, the sun and shadows playing in the water basins... Time flows lazily. I write postcards—they’ll arrive long after I’m back...



Back to the hotel. Avenue El Mansour, Boulevard Zerktouni—okay, but why are the small street names never marked?!! I get a little lost...

I hope you got my MMS, because before leaving, I left something for you at the front desk...

8 PM, night has already fallen. Arriving at the bus station, and then... Then, a step back... A dense crowd, a tangle of buses... Where to go?... Rare woman, lone foreigner, backpack... I’m quickly spotted, surrounded, poorly guided... Someone with a badge finally points me to the right sidewalk. The bus isn’t there, and the sidewalk is already packed, mostly with men. Will I even get a seat?... Three young men are particularly insistent... They want to know where I’m going and why, if someone is with me, if I’m expected... I answer with a smile. A bit tricky—choosing words, staying polite while evasive... Their French is hesitant, my Arabic is more than rudimentary... Actually, I shouldn’t have tried... Their tone becomes a bit... aggressive, and their eyes light up. Uh-oh... They say they’re students, but what of?... Want to know what I think of the Quran and Allah, what I think of holy war, if I’m "for the Americans," "for the Palestinians"... Other travelers intervene... And the bus still isn’t here... The speech turns fanatical... Then, my smile freezes a little... A small wave of panic, so I send a "freaked out" MMS... (But who else could I send it to?) Then, in this dark crowd, a light dressed in white... Nabila, a young student heading to Zagora for vacation, she speaks French... She plants herself in front of them and scolds them thoroughly. I didn’t catch everything, but it worked! The three troublemakers retreat. Plus, they weren’t on the right sidewalk, and their bus is about to leave without them...

Nabila and I manage to board and sit side by side... The bus leaves two hours late. The trip is long, a bit uncomfortable, slowed by many stops—it was very cold...

Friday... A little stiff, a little dazzled, a little chilled, arriving in Zagora at dawn with the sunrise... Magical! Craving something warm... And then, a heartfelt gift—kindness and hospitality—Nabila invites me to her home. Warm welcome from her mother and siblings, not at all surprised to see me show up so early to share their breakfast! A few hours in their company... We exchange addresses, and the youngest brother, Nouamare, gives me a children’s storybook...

Noon, at *La Fibule du Draa* Lahcen Sarti, the owner... I finally put a smile and a face to an email exchange... He shows me the trek route on the map, laughs when I tell him about my night on the bus, and sends me to rest by the pool... No swimsuit, so a lounge chair and a book... A book that will accompany me into the desert and which I’ll finish in Marrakech, in the Koutoubia Garden...



Saturday, Day 1... When I wake up this morning, I know the desert sand will also absorb my blood...

Early departure for four days and three nights, alone, as I wished, with a young guide, Mohammed, and a younger camel driver, Abdou. We’ll be together 24/7, and we won’t see a soul until we reach the fixed campsite on the third evening. Everything we need is loaded onto two dromedaries. And in those baskets, there are miracles—a *Prévert*-style inventory I’ll discover bit by bit, like... a tray for glasses, a basket for bread, a sugar loaf and small glasses for tea, but... large glasses and sugar cubes for coffee, spices, oranges, vegetables, raw eggs!... That won’t break, *La Vache qui Rit*... And so many other unexpected wonders, so surprising in the middle of the desert... (*La Vache qui Rit* is the desert butter. Every morning for breakfast, it was coffee with Nido powdered milk and *kesra* with *La Vache qui Rit* and Aïcha apricot jam... A delight.)



Start of the journey, and the beginning of a long, long walk... We’ll cover 80 km in three days, crossing all kinds of landscapes until the real desert of sand and dunes... I’ll drink water from wells, eat raw vegetables, sleep on a mattress that saddles the dromedaries by day... I’ll forget all the warnings and all my hygiene references... My body will quiet its complaints. No heat, no thirst, no fatigue, no trouble of any kind... just woken by the cold every morning around 6 AM... I take off my watch. Like my companions, I’ll live by the sun’s rhythm...

Abdou leads the dromedaries, so he walks at their pace. Sometimes, we’re grouped together. Sometimes the two guides are together, and I walk behind. Sometimes we talk. Nothing is forced, no discomfort. It’s a simple, harmonious dance—one foot in front of the other, following your shadow as it turns with the sun... Each step leaves behind the useless, the cumbersome, the superfluous... Room for intimacy... Room for silence... Room for the inner self... Facing yourself... I find seashells, and with my eyes closed, I smell the sea...

... One foot in front of the other...

I take out my camera... Capacity for a hundred shots, but it’ll be 10 photos, no more. It freezes—no commands work, and nothing fixes it... Smile... A trip without photos, then? And the second anchor falls... I think of my MP3 player...

... A few photos among the ten...

Noon... Unsaddling the dromedaries, which immediately wander off in search of food. And before the meal cooked by Mohammed, the mint tea ritual, prepared by Abdou in a tiny teapot... Thick, frothy, very sweet tea... He serves it on a tray with dates, peanuts, and raisins... And it’ll be like this every day, noon and night...

We gradually get to know each other... Mohammed, 25 years old... Calm, very introspective, almost ascetic, he knows the desert well and loves it... So at ease that he’ll walk in slippers or barefoot, no matter the terrain... When I’m behind him, the advertisement on the back of his sweatshirt makes me smile... There’s a date: January 8, 2003... A little wink from life? (I have a clear memory of that day.) Abdou, barely 20, with a round, jovial face. The mint tea master... When he hands me my glass, he says "Bismillah," and I respond in kind... A joker and a foodie. Thrilled that I only eat vegetables, he’ll have double the meat!

... Abdou and his teapot...

... Mohammed...

Late afternoon, a well... Abdou waters the dromedaries, and Mohammed fills the canteens. The caps aren’t watertight, so he wedges a piece of plastic bag found in one of the baskets and screws it on top... Forget all hygiene warnings...

First night in a tent at the foot of Jebel Baní...

... Jebel

Sunday, Day 2... Crossing and ascending Jebel Baní... A mineral, lunar landscape—rocks the color of burnt bread and anthracite gray. I pick up pretty pebbles, and Mohammed finds me a fossilized stone... Lunch in a deserted nomad oasis... When we resume our walk, the wind picks up. A wind that only blows in April, violent, terrible—the *Sahli*... Swirls of sand and gravel. Where’s the sky, where’s the earth... everything is dust, everything is yellow and opaque... The gusts are so strong they make us stagger. At times, we even have to crouch to avoid falling. In the acacia forest, Abdou and the dromedaries are only a few meters ahead, yet we can’t see them... We’ll later learn that on that day, planned excursions were canceled... That a group got lost and had to be picked up by 4x4... But Mohammed has a sense of the desert. He’s calm, he guides us... so we continue, and I trust him. He wraps a *chèche* around my head—a fragile barrier against these onslaughts... We have to keep moving, and it’s difficult... But the desert has accepted me, so without resistance, I accept it... And the sand gets everywhere... in my mouth, crunching between my teeth, in my eyes, ears, and nostrils... in my hair... A fine ochre layer covers my face and body, even under my clothes. I’ve become a sand woman... Communion... Fusion with the mineral. I absorb the desert’s prodigious power, just as the desert absorbs my blood...

We walked for four hours, pushed by this furious wind, before stopping for the night under an acacia... There, we had to set up the tent, which they did with difficulty. Then we had to weigh it down... So the utensils and the mint tea tray served as shovels to cover the edges with sand. Then Abdou took care of the dromedaries, holding one of their front legs bent with a rope to keep them from wandering too far... Then we brought everything into the tent and collapsed... but not for long.

Mohammed prepared kingly meals at noon and night with the wonders in the baskets: finely chopped raw vegetable salad, vegetable tagine, soup (and not from a packet!)... Even the canned sardines were garnished with thin orange slices... After this exhausting day for all of us, I told him that bread with *La Vache qui Rit* would be enough... He looked at me with a big smile and said his evening ritual phrase: "Now, Laurence, sit down, take your time, take your book..." He pulled his sand-filled utensils from the miraculous basket, his stove, some vegetables, and made us couscous (and not from a box!), couscous he rolled between his hands... Meanwhile, Abdou took out his sand-filled teapot, his sugar loaf, the peanuts, the dates... The mint tea ritual, like every day, noon and night...

Outside, the wind keeps blowing, stirring up sand whirlwinds... So I won’t go out like the other night to brush my teeth and hair. Just a wipe on my face to remove the dust... Mohammed turns off the gas lamp, and I curl up in my sleeping bag. The dromedaries have moved closer to my side of the tent, and the moonlight stretches their shadows on the canvas. They’ve settled in and make strange noises... We fall asleep very quickly...

Monday, Day 3... My two companions are still asleep when the cold wakes me at 6 AM, like every morning... Everything seems so calm—the wind has stopped... I untie the tent door and... A pure blue sky, gradually tinted with pink and flaming orange. The sun rises before my dazzled eyes. A day of light begins: no trace of yesterday’s storm, except sand... everywhere.

So, breakfast with sand... Then we shake out everything that can be shaken, sending clouds of dust flying... Then Abdou gives the dromedaries back their fourth leg, and we continue the journey.

After the expanses of stones and shrubs on the first day, the rocky ridges of Jebel Baní, and the acacia forest on the second day, the landscape changes, softens... We arrive in the desert as you imagine it, as you dream it, as you’ve seen in thousands of photos: endless golden dunes, in harmonious hollows and curves... The desert of sand... vast, fascinating...

Last meal for the three of us... Tonight, we’ll arrive at the fixed campsite, and we won’t be alone anymore. The break stretches on... So, a little apart on the smooth sand, I write a few words... an obvious truth... entrusting a secret to the desert. In a small box, I’ll bring back some of this magical sand...

.. A secret in the desert...

Abdou grabs my notebook and draws the dunes. Mohammed draws Abdou and his dromedaries... I learn to do dishes with the contents of a single glass of water... A tiny bird lands on my bag... A bird!... in the middle of nowhere!... The dromedaries seem to relish the acacia branches, thorns and all...

Desert drawings

We set off again... The dunes are higher... Easy to climb, the desert has sensual, feminine curves. A giant’s hand would fit its reliefs like a caress on a soft, supple body... The setting sun gives the landscape colors of amber and spices, cinnamon reflections... The sand offers me pink pebbles and pieces of white quartz that sparkle... I also find a black stone... Mystery...

Pink pebbles, fossilized pebbles, sparkling pebbles, and a black stone

Late afternoon, arrival at the fixed campsite at the foot of Erg Lihoudi... The guardian, Lahcen, a whirlwind of chatter and energy, welcomes us with mint tea. He quickly pegs me: "You do yoga, right?" He tells lots of anecdotes about his "clients," ending every sentence with: "No problem! *Machi mouchkil*... *Machi mouchkil*, no problem!" Around the tents, dozens... hundreds of big black beetles swarm on the sand... As I shudder, Lahcen gently picks one up and wants to put it on my hand: "*Machi mouchkil*! It doesn’t sting!"... I hold out a hesitant palm... Despite Lahcen’s infectious enthusiasm, I don’t like this last evening. Two groups arrived by 4x4 to spend a night in the desert... Noise of engines, cameras, voices, and exclamations... An intrusion into my bubble... I keep my distance... They’ll leave very early the next morning...

Memory of beetles

Tuesday, Day 4... Standing still on a sand dune, I see both the full moon and the sun in the same sky... A luminous face-off. Magical, overwhelming... Then the moon paled, and the sun blazed brighter. It wasn’t quite night anymore, but day wasn’t far off... The Sacred, Mystical universe unfolded before me... A moment of grace that made my heart beat a little faster... Something indescribable gradually filled me, with infinite gentleness, to the depths of my soul... Facing this unlikely encounter, hesitations, reluctance, and fears seem so trivial... What are we if not fragments of this universe where everything is united... everything is connected...

Then comes the intention of a new message: "I’d love to put a face to..." But in this exchange scattered with misunderstandings, could you receive the intention without interpreting it?...

I stayed a long time on that dune, under the spell... Standing, barefoot and rooted... heart open... Receptive... in Unity between the infinitely small grain of sand and the infinitely vast universe... I hadn’t come to seek anything, yet the generous Earth offered its energy, its subtle strength to every cell of my body, and filled my soul with light... In exchange for this blood spilled on the sand over these four days?...

Give to Receive... Receive and Give... like a signed pact.

What exiled me from my life, disrupting all my bearings, drew me here... A necessary passage through space, withdrawal, and silence... for another birth?... The real desert after the symbolic desert... Pausing for a moment, as if at a crossroads. Connecting before continuing... If this path leads to the essential, then this path has a heart and will continue...

At the foot of the dune on the way down, I found a little Fatima’s hand made of beads. A gift from the desert...

Gift from the desert, good luck charm?

Mohammed and Abdou leave Erg Lihoudi with other people—our shared adventure ends here... Emotion... looks and gestures speak louder than any words... Thank you, from the bottom of my heart...

Return to Zagora in a rickety, bumpy 4x4... After the track, we cross a vast palm grove... Shimmering colors, lush vegetation, palm trees growing in wheat fields... Tender green of the ears, faded green of the fronds, all shades of green contrast with the ochre and pink stone walls... My eyes rediscover green... My eyes rediscover colors... On a narrow path, the 4x4 finds itself facing a donkey carrying three children on its back... Impossible to pass. Who will back up?... Well, roaring progress bowed to four-legged tradition: in a cloud of dust, the 4x4 reversed for several hundred meters... The donkey passed calmly... On its back, the three children waved their hands...

Noon, arrival at *La Fibule du Draa*... Smiling welcome from Lahcen. He offers me a shower—I refuse... Even if he seems a little surprised, he has the delicacy not to show it too much... Strangely, I don’t feel dirty. Yet my clothes are the same, and my body hasn’t seen a drop of water since the day I left... But I want to keep the warmth and the smell of sand on my skin... reconnecting with forgotten, instinctive, animal sensations... So, I transfer my meticulousness and civilized conditioning to my bag... I take everything out, empty it, shake it... hunting down the smallest grain of sand... Futile effort! (I still find some today...) The afternoon stretches lazily by the pool... I contemplate my pebbles and make a lovely encounter...

The Zagora-Marrakech bus leaves at 7 PM... It’s the night of the full moon, and as soon as night falls, the sky fills with stars... Points of light without beginning, without duration, without end... Tiny lights so distant and so close...

Wanting to share this moment... And with whom else? If you look up, you’re the only one seeing the same sky as me. So, the intention of another message. But in this fragile, stumbling exchange... marked by misunderstandings... could you receive the intention without interpreting it?

The trip is shorter than on the way there, but barely more comfortable. A speaker right above my seat blares music and incantations the whole way... Halfway through, the same unusual stop in a village lit up and bustling as if it were daytime (Taddart, I think...). Along the main street, the ground is checkered black and white. Butcher stalls display entire beef carcasses... Smells of smoke and grilling... People are busy... Others, seated, are eating... in the middle of the night.

Arrival in Marrakech at 2 AM. Taxi strike, no room until tonight... Uh-oh! My backpack draws attention: a car stops and offers to take me for 80 DH... Trust... Five minutes later, I push open the door of *Le Toulousain*... The guard offers to let me finish the night on one of the lobby benches. I unfold my sleeping bag and slip into the desert’s scent... No sleep. But with my eyes closed, I see the stars... You came to pick up my bulky envelope.

Wednesday... Difficult early morning... Now, I feel dirty, my clothes bother me, my shoes hurt... Craving a long hot shower, wanting to find my body, wash my hair, put on cream, do my nails, and... It’ll be a long shower... cold! The hotel is charming but a bit run-down.

Clothes from 4 days...

Afternoon on foot in the quiet Hivernage district, searching for a childhood memory that may have changed names: the *Holiday Inn* hotel... I didn’t find it, or didn’t recognize it. Long stroll in the Menara Gardens, and return to the hotel at sunset...

Thursday... Last day... Wanting to see the Marrakech Museum because the founder was a friend of my father’s... So, the familiar route: the McDonald’s, the square with the fountain, Avenue Hassan II, Bab Doukkala... but this time, I pass through the ramparts, and in the old city—sensual, charming, enchanting—I get lost, found, and lost again... I tracked down the museum and the Ben Youssef Madrasa at the end of a maze of alleys... Followed scents of mint, olives, honey, and cinnamon... Savored, moved, the same donuts as in my childhood—golden fried dough rings with a hole in the middle, tied together with a blade of grass... (I don’t remember the name...) I filled my eyes with pretty things and exchanged smiles... Received, just like that... A gift... a ring for my little finger... Someone called out to me: "Hey, gazelle," and it made me happy...

.. Still lost!...

Afternoon in the sun in the Koutoubia Gardens. I finish my book—sand falls from between the pages...

.. Started on the plane... read in the desert... finished in Marrakech...

Melancholy of the last evening... So, on the way back to the hotel, I buy *kesra* and *La Vache qui Rit*...

Long, long sleepless night... Flight in a few hours... Happy to see the ones I love again, too.

Thoughts, emotions, sensations, images... Questions... One question... So, more than reason, going over and over the question... What there is to live, it’ll have to be lived...

The desert, a solitary path... like all paths that lead to the essential...

3:30 AM, your message, read by the metallic voice of a voicemail. And you, facing physical failure, past mistakes, fear... A solitary path. Also. Like all paths that lead to the essential...

Based on your experiences, do you have a professional to recommend?

Hi there, I'm heading to Morocco for 10 days as a backpacker, with my car and a tent canvas if needed. Does anyone have great experiences in this country around the Tétouan and Tangier areas? I'd love to spend time with locals, rent a small room, and take part in daily life. If you've got any addresses to share, that'd be awesome! Thanks a million for your replies!!!😉 Christine

Hi, I'm looking for a taxi from Dakhla airport to downtown Dakhla. If you know a contact ?????

As I’ve mentioned elsewhere, I inherited my love of travel from my parents and some of my grandparents. A strong passion, but one that was unfortunately limited by our family’s modest resources. Back then, living in northern Alsace, a simple trip to the southern part of the region—with the Wine Route as our destination—felt like an extraordinary journey to a land of plenty for the little boy I was in the late 60s and early 70s. Everything seemed so huge when you were still just a kid. Back then, I was overwhelmed by countless sensations—I was already highly sensitive, with a keen mind and a nose and taste buds that were developing like a pro’s. Which, as I’d later realize, wasn’t always an advantage.



Those magical days always began with a gentle late-spring or midsummer morning. The interior of the white Peugeot 404, license plate 210 LZ 67, had already soaked up the sun before the engine purred to life, and the cabin gave off a scent I could still recognize today—a fragrance I found so pleasant. Back then, I had no idea it was just the smell of warm plastic from the car’s interior. Yes, the scents of the 404 on sunny days became my madeleine de Proust... What’s more, the whole family was unusually cheerful because those moments of relaxation and leisure were rare. Everyone worked, and no one had an easy job or was well paid. Without the *Trente Glorieuses*, these experiences might never have happened.



Once we crossed the canton’s borders, I felt like I was light-years away from my everyday surroundings, and every kilometer plunged me deeper into *terra incognita*. It was thrilling. Far from my so-called "medium-sized" town, wheat fields, cornfields, and cabbage patches stretched out, punctuated by tall poles connected by long wires and topped with vegetation—like giant clotheslines without laundry, where magical beanstalks might grow to touch the sky. Back then, I was still far from tasting their product, which was simply beer. At the time, there was still a significant local hop production. Fun fact: it wasn’t until 2002 that Anglo-Saxon scientists proved hops and cannabis belong to the same biological family.

After the fields, the landscape took another step up as it rolled past the little boy’s eyes, often glued to the windows. First came modest hills, then a succession of rolling slopes that soon formed an unbroken chain. Their 700 meters in altitude felt like Himalayan peaks to me—impressive, inert giants, a whole new world. Gazing at them, an intense emotion welled up somewhere between my stomach and lungs, nearly taking my breath away. What mysteries, what treasures did these heights hold? And then there were the cherries on top—the crowning touch that made the scene even more magical: proud, majestic castles perched on the summits like impassive sentinels. Monuments from the past, yet firmly rooted in the present on their rocky spurs. The little boy’s eyes sparkled—he’d been given a castle for Christmas, complete with battlements, towers, a drawbridge, and fully armed knights. He’d watched and lived *Ivanhoe* on the only French TV channel that existed back then.

Only once did my paternal grandfather join us on one of these trips. A tall, intelligent man with a face that could shift from stern to mischievous, clearly full of humor and charisma. Sadly, his relationship with alcohol had taken a toll on his life and, by extension, those of his loved ones. He had a strong personality—if his boss crossed the line, he wouldn’t hesitate to punch him, which meant he went through a lot of different jobs. Back then, you could quit one job and easily find another. It was quite something to see him in his final stages, hallucinating pink elephants and even drinking perfume when he had nothing else left. The last time I saw him, he’d slipped away from the doctors and nurses while hospitalized in pretty bad shape—at least, I assume his liver was the issue. We were sitting down for a family lunch when the door burst open, and there he stood in his pajamas, eyes twinkling with mischief, clearly pleased with the dramatic entrance. That theatrical moment didn’t spare us from burying him a few months later at the age of 71. One day, my mother told me the family doctor had quietly remarked that it was a shame—with his robust constitution, he could’ve lived to be a hundred. Yes, the family doctor—this was the man who’d come treat you any day, at almost any hour, just for a phone call. It really existed, it’s not a myth!

That day, his wife—my paternal grandmother—was also along for the ride. Everyone agreed that Jeannette was a good woman. She worked as a waitress at *Le Tigre*, the biggest brasserie in town, right in the center. Most customers preferred to be served by her, including local dignitaries and even the mayor. As a kid, I didn’t find her very fun, open, or warm—she seemed a bit stern. Back then, women in their fifties already had the face and build of grandmothers. Same went for men, don’t get me wrong. I had no idea about the struggles she faced because of her husband. I didn’t know that 30 years earlier, she’d had to flee Alsace while pregnant, under threat from Nazi fighter-bombers. I didn’t know she’d had several miscarriages, and that my father—her only surviving child, born prematurely in March 1940 at the other end of France—weighed less than a kilo at birth and was so tiny he could fit in a shoebox. Hard to imagine he’d grow into a strapping man nearly 1.80 meters tall, tipping the scales at 100 kilos. When you come back from summer camp in early August and ask why she didn’t pick you up with your parents, and they gently tell you she’s "in heaven," you don’t realize she passed away at 54 after suffering greatly from stomach cancer that had spread.

Back to that family outing, that enchanted parenthesis. I even remembered where we’d had lunch when I passed through Dambach-la-Ville decades later. One of those charming, flower-filled towns Alsace produces in abundance—and preserves so well. This one sits high on a hill, and I was a bit stunned on the parking lot because the view stretched far, revealing the Alsace plain below—its fields, villages, hills, and forests. The world seemed so vast and enticing that day, even though I was only glimpsing a tiny fraction of it.



The region was already very touristy, but I wouldn’t notice the downsides until much later. That Sunday noon, I discovered a large restaurant filled with diners. I can still see the enormous piece of meat they served me, decorated with a little wooden skewer topped with a flag. I kept that one for a long time. Those were the golden days of rich, flowing, thick sauces—so flavorful—and the era of the world’s best fries, made on the spot with the best potatoes. To top it off, I was *exceptionally* allowed a small bottle of apple juice, Orangina, or—even better if possible—Sinalco. Yes, Sinalco—like Orangina, but better. A brand that must’ve disappeared in the 70s, but why, and what a shame! Since then, Orangina’s little bubbles have taken the brand to the other side of the planet—it’s now Japanese.

Year after year, I’d eagerly await that ecstatic moment when the most beautiful castle in Alsace, the Haut-Koenigsbourg, appeared in my field of vision. The perfect model, the archetype that blended into the landscape at the height of a child’s dreams. The trip home always felt like a reality check—less jarring than an alarm clock, but more diffuse and melancholic. From then on, there was only one wish: *When do we leave again?*

Hello, I’m retired and planning a roughly 3-week motorcycle trip (1200gs). The dates aren’t set in stone yet, and everything’s open to discussion—I’m pretty flexible with the planning.

Hi everyone,

I’m planning a 7-day trip to Marrakech for a sports camp, and I’ll be traveling with just a standard carry-on backpack.

I’d love to hear your best tips and tricks: • What clothes are absolutely essential? • Any advice for managing the heat while traveling light? • Which accessories have been the most useful for you? • Mistakes to avoid on a first trip to Marrakech?

I’m also open to your recommendations for neighborhoods, restaurants, or activities not to miss during my free time.

Thanks in advance for your advice and experience! !

I'm heading out on a fully self-sufficient trek in Morocco (10 days) from Imilchil to Aghbalou. Can I find screw-on gas canisters (Coleman, Primus) in Marrakech (any addresses?) or in villages between Imilchil and Aghbalou? If not, are Butagaz canisters for camping gas (small 230g size) available? Thanks in advance for your tips!

Hi there,

I bought a one-way flight (Ryanair) and a return flight (EasyJet) to spend a week in Morocco in April. My passport expires 3 weeks after the return date. Some websites say the passport must be valid for 3 months at the time of entry. However, it will still be valid both on entry and return, but its validity will only be 1 month at the time of entry (and 3 weeks on the return date, everything prepaid).

It's an individual family trip.

The consulate can't give me an answer—they're still looking into it (really!)

Will Ryanair let me board in Beauvais in 3 weeks?

Thanks for your advice—this is a bit urgent 😕😕😕😕

Hi there,

I’m heading to Morocco in September 2026, and part of my trip takes me through Merzouga. I’m looking for a 4x4 driver-guide to explore the area with my partner and me.

Any recommendations?

Have a great day

I’d like to drive to Morocco from Paris via Spain. I was really surprised to see the ferry crossing prices—around 500 €—but especially the crossing time (about 1 hour). Normally, I pay 3000 € to go to Tunisia from Genoa, but that’s for a 24-hour crossing. My question: is it cheaper to buy the ticket on the spot, as some Moroccans have advised me? Though I’ve also heard the opposite. What do you think, considering I need to get to Tétouan around July 17th and return from Tangier around August 4th? Thanks in advance

Hi everyone,

Even though I come to Morocco four times a year, it’s been a long time since I’ve made the trip by car. I need to refresh my knowledge! I’ll be traveling in early October. I have a car that’s about 20 years old. The plan is to cross via Algeciras/Ceuta.

A few questions:

1) Does this crossing still exist? If so, do I need to buy the ticket in advance or on the spot? From whom? Any advice is welcome!

2) What documents are required for the car?

3) If anyone is making the trip around the same time, it could be fun to drive together 😊

I know there are experts on this forum.

Thanks in advance