Adventure in Morocco

I’m not going back, the trip is in the past. I’m posting it anyway because the country probably hasn’t changed enough to make the story outdated, and the astonishing beauty of the place deserves to be shared here.

Saturday, May 31, 2014 Mulhouse - Marrakech

A flight that drags on for three and a half hours. Everything goes smoothly until immigration. Like almost everywhere, you have to fill out a little form with your details and arrival address. The problem comes when you hand it to the customs officer with your passport. Right away, you see the lines are way too long for the number of officers working. I steer Dom toward a line further to the left that’s clearly moving faster than the middle ones. Then I firmly pull him to the far left where I think I spotted a new counter opening. Big mistake. Huge. Because that line is notorious for how slowly the security agent checks each person. At 10 minutes per person, with about fifteen ahead of us, we’re looking at two and a half hours. The wait becomes torture. Everyone gets edgy. We watch enviously as people who were way behind us initially zip through the other lines. You feel like complaining. My advice? Don’t. You have no idea how much a pissed-off customs officer can ruin your day! The rule: stay calm and suck it up. Once that hurdle’s over, a taxi and boom, we’re at the Gallia, a no-frills but charming hotel just steps from Jemaa El Fna square. This place is insane! It’s teeming with people. You stick out like a sore thumb with your camera—suddenly, a ton of people want to be your best friend! You’re basically a walking wallet!



We’ve got a meet-up with friends who are here on a work trip with their company’s social committee.



We fully embrace our tourist roles—eating at restaurants made for us, with belly dancers who insist we join in. We go with the flow, we’re not prudes, we have a great evening, no way we’re missing out on the fun...



Sunday, June 1, 2014 Marrakech

Super nice breakfast in the hotel’s patio, a real riad, beautifully decorated.



Originally, we’d planned a trip to the Atlas Mountains, but we ended up wandering around the city instead. Before we knew it, we were in the middle of the central souk’s labyrinth. It’s a feast for the eyes, ears, and especially the nose!

Nothing’s really changed, no. I thought the dancers were more Egyptian. But adventure is adventure.... 😉

Nothing’s really changed, huh. 😉

Evening! That’s a joke, right? Marrakech in distress: like the rest of the country, the city is suffocating without tourists

What’s changed between 2014 and 2020 at Marrakech Airport: A new building on the south side for departures. Arrivals also benefited from this expansion, so there’s more space! But travelers didn’t really get to enjoy this modernization until last year, when tourism professionals in the city protested to local authorities. Wait times at customs could easily exceed two hours. Since then, the number of agents has doubled, and passing through now takes about fifteen minutes. Also, there’s no longer a landing card to fill out. Between those two dates, I noticed currency exchange offices right after customs exit, with rates less favorable than traditional banks just 30 meters to the right in the departures hall. Not easy for travelers to find. Taxis have moved to a parking lot near the Mhamid entrance. For me, the biggest change is the extension of line 12, an Alsa bus... At the far end of the airport... Direct to the apartment near Majorelle. As for the rest—riads, belly dancing, hotels—I don’t know anything about them. I’ve never been there. Have a good evening.

I'm talking about Morocco without COVID. The mountains don't have a fever, nor does Bahia... True, I just thought about the difference between 14 and 20 from that perspective.

Still talking about COVID all the time, everywhere—it’s becoming deadly.

Yes, it's a beautiful piece of work that I really love. We used it in January and February this year.

What’s changed too: lots of roads and bridges everywhere. Construction is booming. Every year, I discover new infrastructure.

This year, there’s a crackdown on informal commerce. I don’t know if it’s everywhere, but I spent 10 days in Tiznit after coming back from Mauritania, and well… no more street vendors.

Since 2014, there’s also been a renewal of the grand taxi fleet. By 2020, hardly any of those old, cramped 504s left. Now, there are nice little vehicles like Tangos (not great with car brands) where everyone has their own seat. Absolute game-changer. Comfort for the backpacker. Even in the countryside.

I’ve been observing Marrakech Airport... and since I’m on vacation and it’s raining in Athens, I’ll retrace the traveler’s return journey. So, the B S L airport. Since 2014, Basel-Mulhouse Airport hasn’t seen any notable changes except last year. Facial recognition is now in service. For departure, I went through this new digital portal. And the French checkpoint toward gate 27 (Marrakech) no longer exists. Only the two police officers, often Swiss, remain for non-EU travelers, I believe. Upon arrival last February, the new technologies were installed but not yet operational. The two exits—Swiss or French—are still in their usual places. Because I pass through often, a French customs officer of overseas origin stops me every time and asks me to put my small suitcase through the scanner. “More vegetables?” he says. Yes, Officer: I don’t like Chinese onions or their carrots, and there are no mini zucchinis in France. As for the hot peppers, those are for my neighbor from Martinique. Last time, I prepared a small packet of chebakia for him, but he wasn’t on duty. Once outside, a bus takes you either to Basel on the Swiss side or to Saint-Louis, France. The fare for the Haut-Rhin Distribus No. 11 has increased to 2.50 € from 1 € previously. The drivers of this bus have changed four times. I really liked the Bosnian driver—super friendly and always smiling: a mindset somewhere between European rigor and Moroccan laid-back attitude. There’s also a bus to Freiburg, Germany, for 30 €. An exorbitant price for 60 km. For the past two or three years, I’ve seen the arrival of low-cost buses like FlixBus, but they’re not practical: two or three arrivals per day for dozens of daily flights. The project to extend the regional TER train from Strasbourg-Basel directly to the airport was abandoned by the municipality due to lack of financial means. Once out of customs, the smell of coffee makes my mouth water... and hey, since I’m a traveler, why not a little espresso? It’s a nice change from the roasted chickpea coffee of Bab-Dokkala.😉 Have a great day.

It’s a real blast! By the way, it’s almost become a ritual—the idea of getting a close shave every time we leave our usual stomping grounds...

The souk experience whisks you far, *far* away from your everyday world!



There’s a lot of talk about Berbers who come down from their mountains once a month to dye fabrics. Every time some guy offers to take us there—for free, of course—we bail. But eventually, the curiosity gets the better of us, and we decide to follow one of these guys who leads us outside the medina, beyond the city walls...



There, weavers stretch their threads over nails hammered into the wall and weave beautiful, vibrantly colored fabrics. On the ground, hundreds of skins are drying... We end up at the tanners’/dyers’ workshop. The smell is *overpowering*.



You’re *strongly encouraged* to check out the leather stalls—slippers, handbags, belts—where no matter how hard you haggle, you end up shelling out a big chunk of your budget. After that, we grab a taxi to the Jardin Majorelle, a legacy from Yves Saint-Laurent, who was a regular in the city. It’s *gorgeous*!

This is becoming quite trendy again these days... 🤪

Hi there,

Thanks for these beautiful photos—we’re just missing the smell. 😎 Marrakech, every time I’m there, I want to leave after two days, but there’s always this pull that brings us back. Does this syndrome have a name? 😄 We wanted to go back in October, but with this damn pseudo-pandemic, we’ll settle for Le Guilvinec instead. The souk isn’t as typical, but we’ll make do.

Same here. Two days in Marrakesh as a little warm-up, then bye. But landing in Marrakech—it’s almost a must. I’m getting antsy, just like all of you. 🙂

Le Guilvinec? For me, it’ll be the Saint-Ouen flea markets. Famous too.

Back at Jemaa El Fna square, I’m toying with the idea of taking a discreet photo of a snake charmer. Dom encourages me to do it calmly by negotiating the price: - You give what you want, no problem.... Encouraged, we snap away like crazy, the guys cover us in snakes in a good-natured atmosphere.



At the end of the session, the guy holds out his cap: - That’ll be 20 €, two hundred dirhams, my brother! Dom and I balk. I suggest to Dom that we offer 100 dirhams, but she resists and hands them a twenty-dirham bill. The guys get upset. "You said 100! Give us a hundred!" They’ve got us cornered, they won’t get more, and the camaraderie turns into a near exchange of insults! That evening, a good steak and fries, a couscous, a few beers, and off to bed!

Monday, June 2, 2014 Marrakech – Agdz

Those clever folks who’ve convinced themselves that with the internet, satellites, and all that jazz, we’ve got amazing "never get lost" tools should try this exercise: Estimate how long it takes to get to Agdz (pronounced Agdès).



It says 3h40? If you can do it in 5 and a half hours, my friend, you can enter a hill climb championship! And I assume your partner isn’t bothered by car sickness. Mine isn’t. And I can tell you that after a few hours of twists and turns, she lost a lot of her gorgeous tan. Still, we’ve got to talk about the breathtaking beauty of the landscapes! It’s almost unbelievable—the diversity of the places we passed through, the colors... We allow ourselves a few stops, like at a women’s cooperative that makes argan oil, the fruit of a small shrub that thrives here. It’s much more tedious to extract than olive oil, but argan oil is said to have virtues its cousin doesn’t. Basically, antioxidant, anti-aging, anti-... whatever... a magical charm that protects against everything.

The monkeys and snakes—poor mistreated creatures.

When it comes to price, it's always better to agree beforehand. That way, no surprises. Afterwards, it's too late, and it can turn a great moment into a bad memory.

The monkeys and snakes—poor creatures being mistreated.

Yeah, for snakes, it’s really starting to take a toll on some increasingly rare species. They’re stressed, dehydrated, poorly cared for, and barely survive a few months. Not as much info on monkeys, but it’s probably the same.

They’re heartbreaking. I never photograph them. I don’t blame these performers—we’ve done the same for a long time, and it still happens in circuses or dolphinariums. And when it comes to animal suffering, France isn’t much better. But still, little by little, this has to stop.

But in Djemaa, I love picking a circle of musicians, sitting down, asking permission for a few photos, and I’m not stingy. Every time, I regret not knowing Arabic—there are storyteller circles that seem to really delight their listeners.

I’m not throwing stones at these performers—we did the same thing for a long time, and it still exists in circuses or dolphinariums. And when it comes to animal suffering, France isn’t exactly innocent either.

Yeah, this is more of a heads-up for tourists.

The monkeys and snakes—poor mistreated creatures. [...]That way, no worries.

😏

It happens

A nice stop, the local Cinecittà in Ouarzazate. Dino de Laurentiis set up the studio in this spot, whose landscapes are particularly well-suited for spaghetti westerns and grand biblical epics.





We arrive in the Draa Valley. Here, the dwellings are made of rammed earth, like in Tifoultout, shown below:



We cross more stunning but very dry landscapes before reaching the valley, which is lush with palm trees.



Agdz is a small village, quickly passed through. The road turns into a path, and we follow it alongside beautiful kasbahs next to many ruins made of rammed earth...



Kasbah Azul is a magnificent place with exceptional hospitality. They serve us tea and peanuts—the spot is paradise.

We’re arriving in the Draa Valley. Here, the homes are made of rammed earth, like in Tifoultout, shown below

I’m gonna nitpick, as usual, but it’s actually *pisé* ^^ https://www.museedesconfluences.fr/fr/evenements/pis%C3%A9-bauge-adobe-et-torchis

Thanks for the photos! :)

Cob is a mix of earth and straw. Rammed earth doesn’t contain straw.

I wonder if the cob technique isn’t used here and there locally. I think I’ve seen earthen walls around.

But yeah, it’s not the same thing.

Doesn't seem like nitpicking to me at all! You're adding details to the story of a clueless traveler, excited and discovering a world they know nothing about! Every bit of insight is welcome! 😉

Torchis is a mixture of earth and straw. Pisé contains no straw

Good evening, Oh yes, it does! In Morocco, taboute (pisé) generally contains straw. And the finishing layer (plaster) always contains it—otherwise, it won’t hold. It’s very well explained here: https://www.facebook.com/DadesTourisme/photos/taboute-le-taboute-est-une-m%C3%A9thode-de-construire-les-maisons-dans-le-dad%C3%A8s-au-su/403033033120652/

That’s why in my memory there are walls where I could see straw sticking out. Thanks for your link. I’m going to bed less stupid tonight.

After hours in the car, we couldn’t sit still anymore, so we decided to walk to the village to find a restaurant. We quickly passed through a ghost town that we started exploring with childlike delight. This mysteriously abandoned village is quite the curiosity...



But... why?

At the edge of the village stands the Kasbah des Arts. Two guys are chatting in front of the entrance. We approach them to hear their story. Jackpot! One of them, the owner of the kasbah, is the grandson of the Caïd who ruled the valley during the French colonial era. He built the kasbah on the ruins of his illustrious grandfather’s house. He’s a real enthusiast. The abandoned village is his life’s passion. If he had the means, he’d rebuild it exactly as it was! That said, his kasbah is absolutely stunning! We take a tour. It’s a maze of hallways with terraces in every corner, offering views of the ruins and the surrounding valley. A real castle!



We decide to come back tomorrow evening to try his couscous. In the meantime, we have dinner in the village. It’s impossible to get even a glass of beer. But Dom and I are resourceful. That night, we sneak to the edge of the pool with a bottle of rum, some orange juice, and almonds we bought in the village square. To give you an idea of how cool the team at Kasbah Azul is—a young girl even brings us a candle!

Where's this kasbah?

Where’s this kasbah?

Douar Aslim, 47050 Agdz, Morocco

https://www.booking.com/hotel/ma/riad-kasbah-azul.fr.html

Above Agdz, the hotel doesn’t matter much to me—it’s really the region that counts. Thanks, Romuald.

I also love wandering through these abandoned villages. One I particularly liked is the old kasbah of Foum Zguid, and also the surprising ancient, empty village near Ifrane in the Anti-Atlas.

Photos of the kasbah of Foum Zguid https://www.myatlas.com/beatrice/foum-zguid-le-grand-sud

The Azul kasbah was located in the town of Agdz. ;)

😉 that’s why I was saying thanks 🙂

Tuesday, June 3, 2014 Agdz

Breakfast by the pool, then swimming until early afternoon.



Then we headed to Taliouine, followed by Tamnouagalt.



There, we visited the caid’s kasbah.



There wasn’t a single soul around, and we wandered through the labyrinth alone, barely disturbed by flocks of bats.



After the visit, we had a drink at Yacoub’s place...



And then—back to the pool (it’s scorching hot!). That evening, we had dinner at our friend Kederzach’s place, the caid’s grandson. His wife made us a traditional couscous, nothing like what we usually call couscous. Except for the semolina, everything was sweet, with chicken. We weren’t exactly thrilled, even though our friend and we kept exchanging compliments.



Almost emotionally, we said our goodbyes, and just as we were about to leave, he asked us to wait, went back to his kasbah, and gave us a jar of date jam...

Wednesday, June 4, 2014 Agdz - Boumalne Dadès

The GPS said 2.5 hours, but I’ve learned to take its estimates with a grain of salt. Still, as we drove, the arrival time stayed the same. The road was a straight line—we should’ve reached our destination by early afternoon.



We were an hour away when I realized we’d missed the road that turned sharply left. I turned around, but no luck—I couldn’t find it. It was Dom who pointed out a track, or rather, a path that was clearly the route the GPS wanted us to take. Me? I hesitated. I know all about cars getting wrecked on rocky roads—I’m practically an expert. Let’s just say I had *more* than reservations. We spotted a small group of Moroccans. They didn’t speak French but spoke Spanish surprisingly well. Eventually, we got an alternate route, which I plugged into the GPS. Two extra hours in the bag. I was shaken for a good fifteen minutes, wondering if we should’ve taken the track after all, but oh well... we played it safe. The landscapes we crossed were barren—nothing but rocks and sand swept by the wind, with the occasional cluster of palm trees or a few goats...

We finally arrive at the gem after driving a few more kilometers of rough track. The hotel is charming, with African-inspired decor.



We head straight to the pool.



Later, we wander around the village looking for a restaurant. We find a hotel complex with a terrace offering a breathtaking view. Alcohol is nowhere to be found here.



At the end of the meal, we hear the muezzins broadcasting their call to prayer, creating a sound spectacle that echoes through the valley. Their voices blend together, and we find ourselves in a high-quality new-age oriental mix!

Thursday, June 5, 2014 Boumalne Dadès

This morning at breakfast, we ran into the owner again. A physically imposing guy with a loud mouth. I’d hastily pegged him as an ex-soldier turned businessman. Turns out, this guy is exceptional. Originally from Seine-Saint-Denis, with no formal education, he started as a worker at Snecma. Go figure why—when it was the dream job we all wanted—he hated it and left after being reprimanded for his hair being too long. After several attempts, he realized being a working-class underdog wasn’t for him.



So, because recruitment was tough, especially in his area, he became an educator. They gave him the so-called hopeless cases—he was tough and used to rough neighborhoods. There, he met a colleague, Fanfan. They never left each other’s side. They took in the worst of the worst. Kids locked in basements with dog collars, fed Canigou from a bowl with their hands tied behind their backs. Cruelty was their norm. The cops were scared of them, psychiatrists were at a loss, but they took on the challenge. Girls raped by their parents, gambled away in card games... horrifying stories. Show these girls the slightest affection, and they’d immediately see you as a sexual predator, sending them into a rage. They were quick to become furiously aggressive. In a state of red alert, their alarm circuits would trigger at the slightest misinterpreted word. They could want to gut you for a smile, no joke! One time, they took in an orphan whose aunt and uncle had blinded him by rubbing chili in his eyes as punishment for everything and anything. Today, he’s a fashion designer. Google “blind fashion designer,” and it’s him! Jean-Mi and Fanfan really struggled with all that violence. Nights spent listening to their so-called tough guys cry. They were the hardest of the hard, but with the slightest opening, you could make them break down in tears with a single word. Anyway, after a while, from one failure to another, bailing out a completely wrecked ship, they came up with a different strategy. Buy 4x4s and force them to uproot themselves, cut ties, leave their stories and environment behind, and head far away to Africa. After two years of securing funding, running around ministries, and breaking down doors, their experiment took place. They were like Robinson Crusoes, living off the land. They traveled thousands of kilometers across Africa together for two years. The operation was a success, recognized by all. They did it again, this time accompanied by a Canal+ team that gave the project importance. As always, when you get attention from a major media outlet, everything becomes easier. They kept at it for a good ten years. Africa? He knows it like the back of his hand. When people talk about the inherent dangers of the continent, he laughs! It’s the media’s fault—they only cover the bloody events and distort reality to avoid discussing the deeper issues. In Nouakchott, the massacre of a group of five tourists made headlines in the French press a few years ago. Killed by terrorists, they said. Specifically AQIM, Al-Qaeda in the region. « Terrorists! Nonsense! It’s all propaganda to fund the secret services stationed there! I saw those guys coming—big shots, five of them with five cars. Their plan: sell four and leave with the fifth. They set up on the edge of the busiest market in town and organized an auction. They made 20 000 € right there, exchanged on the hood of the cars, in plain sight! You can bet that got the local bigwigs fantasizing. Over there, almost everyone has a gun in their trunk. So when they hit the road, they were followed, big time. At the first bathroom break, they got ambushed. ‘Come on, hand over the cash, we saw it, don’t play dumb.’ And the others resisted, hurling insults. It quickly escalated. Shots fired everywhere! Only one survivor. He came back completely traumatized. We ate with him to try and help him recover. The papers said he was between life and death. True, he wasn’t in great shape, but the story everyone read in the press—and even the official version—doesn’t match what really happened at all! » Anyway, back to his trips, now called "the traveling school." During one of these journeys, they arrive at the Dadès Gorges. Instant love for an old abandoned Kasbah. They bought it for 20 000 €, including the huge plot of land. Then, with the help of locals and the kids, he turned the place into the ultimate luxury hotel in the region. A titanic effort. His charisma, leadership, energy, obvious good taste, and attention to detail... it’s a success. Now they’re starting to make serious money. A lot. They’ve settled down, but Jean-Mi’s itching for more. He’s starting to think about selling. Dreams of hitting the road again in a camper van... What a character, I’m telling you!

He advises us to find Mourad, a little cobbler at the entrance to the Dadès Gorges, and ask for his father. He’s a local who’s been a guide forever. We follow the plan exactly. And here we are, roaming through landscapes that’ll take your breath away!

You come across a lot of them—those loudmouths, sometimes. There’s a mix of truth and nonsense in what they say.

You come across a lot of them, these loudmouths, sometimes. There’s a mix of good and bad in what they say.

Hi! Totally agree.

But I really liked this story—it had that crime-novel vibe, like San Antonio or SAS, super dark and totally unexpected in the middle of a travel journal, even one titled *Adventure in Morocco*.

With those girls, if you showed them the slightest affection, they’d immediately see you as a sexual predator and fly into a rage.

Over there, pretty much everyone has a gun in their trunk. So when they hit the road, they were being followed—it was obvious. At the first bathroom break, they got ambushed. "Come on, hand over the cash, we saw you—don’t play dumb." And the others resisted, hurling insults. Things escalated fast. Shots fired everywhere! Only one survivor.

That line—"they were being followed—it was obvious"—brilliant! "And the others resisted, hurling insults." Pure Céline! Just missing the ellipses... Bravo.

True. The storytelling is excellent.

I’ve heard some wild stories, told in the evenings in Nouakchott by veterans of the trans-Saharan route who smuggled alcohol between Morocco and Mauritania—all while testing out one by one the 400 pens they’d bring the next day to a school they knew. "You get it," they’d tell me, "these rogues, they’ve gotta work, right!"

Stories from a road that’s now lost.

Hi. I agree, it’s well told, but if you’re talking about the Aleg massacre, I heard that version at the time. It was just a few weeks after I passed through there. The official version was surprising because there was little mention of terrorist groups back then, especially in that region. Best regards.

Thanks Ajft, you're so cool! But I was just relaying the (epic) story from my contact, trying, I admit, to recapture a bit of that vaguely "John Wayne" vibe! It's true that travel is also (a lot about) encounters. I went on a bit about this one in the name of all the others I didn’t mention... Then, and I’m also responding to the messages following yours, about the truthfulness of this rant... I have no opinion... I repeated it as I heard it... I found the guy likable and even fascinating, but that’s just my feeling... Maybe he was just a big egocentric blowhard... I don’t know and I don’t find it important... I liked him, so I talked about it here... As I’ve said before, travel isn’t just about landscapes... Thanks again for the very kind remarks on the style—I’m still all flustered in my chair!

When we arrived at the gorges, Mourad...blah blah blah...Dad...Youssouf immediately said "sure thing" and whisked us off through the region, mainly along the Dadès.

A long time ago, the story of this walk in Morocco was interrupted when this Forum shut down. Today it’s back. Before posting a few other wanderings, I’ll finish this story even if it’s a bit dated... I’d left off at Thursday, June 5, 2014 in Boumalne Dadès...





Youssouf, a wonderful guy who we instantly clicked with. The walk is stunning. After a two-hour loop, he invites us for tea in his cave. His wife joins us with two of their kids. He has nine, and the youngest is two. He’s never had electricity, but the power lines are getting closer. It’ll reach his home in a few months. For him, it’s a revolution. At his place, he lights up with small LED string lights and batteries charged by solar power. The vibe is really warm. We chat. In the end, Dom gives him 400 dirhams (about 40 €). We part ways, touched. At the last minute, he goes to fetch some slippers for our granddaughter. Cool...



The return trip is the same breathtaking landscapes, but in the other direction—remember? Here are some illustrations...

Friday, June 6, 2014 Boumalne Dadès – Merzouga



What a journey! We left the stunning landscapes of Dadès for increasingly desert-like regions. By the time we arrived, we were right in the Sahara! The access to the hotel is barely a path—you just follow the car tracks. When we finally reach our destination, we’re exhausted and ready to crash! Here, birds rule the roost. Probably because of the pool nearby, but the chirping is enough to drive you crazy!



At Kasbah Mohayut, we had two choices: sleep in a luxurious room or head out to sleep in a tent in the desert. Since my sister recommended it, we went for the second option. We were by the pool, wondering how it was all going to go down. Time flew by, and we started getting impatient when a tall guy in a djellaba and blue turban showed up. He led us and a young German couple to a far-off courtyard, way behind the hotel. There, four camels were lying down—our ride through the desert. We’d originally thought we’d go by 4x4. We set off for nearly two hours of riding.

We arrive at a small camp nestled in the dunes: our village. There are five of us and that’s it!



Before long, we’re off exploring, tackling the dunes (it’s a tough climb!). There’s a little wildlife around, mostly noticeable by the footprints left in the sand.



Sitting at the top of a dune, we watch the sunset. Then Simon (yep, our young German, freshly married to Caroline) treats himself to some sandboarding down the slopes.

Saturday, June 7, 2014 Merzouga – Agdz Spending the night in the desert is absolutely amazing. We slept like logs until the cold woke us up at dawn. That’s when you really understand the point of all those blankets we’d scornfully pushed aside when we first got into bed! Bassou wakes us up at six. Our goal? The sunrise—we climb back up to the top of a dune to watch it rise. You’ll get a kick out of the sink with its makeshift mirror...









After that, it’s camels, breakfast, and back to Agdz, which we’re happy to see again.

Sunday, June 8, 2014 Agdz – Marrakech The five-hour drive flies by without any hassle. We savor the diverse landscapes. Driving gets a bit intense when you're stuck behind a truck struggling to climb a hill through a series of hairpin turns. At one point, I seize an opportunity and pass a group of cars on the white line without hesitation. Two cops flag us down. They throw out a number (7000 dirhams), chat among themselves. I plead guilty without arguing. In the end, they let us go. Corruption doesn’t seem to be a given around here...



Then it’s time to return the car and head to Jemaa El Fna Square. We try out my sister’s recommendation at Place des Ferblantiers, the Cosy Bar. The place is lounge-style, with comfy armchairs and "Sahara blues" music playing—unless it’s a live singer channeling Harry Belafonte: we’re definitely in the mundélé zone. From the terrace where we’re dining, the sunset draws everyone over for that perfect postcard-worthy photo!



Nearby, dozens of storks have made their nests. Around the square, kids are shrieking with joy, racing around on bikes or rollerblades. The vibe is pure fun—we’ll definitely be back!

Monday, June 9, 2014 Marrakech – Rabat We take the train. About 4 hours to Rabat, where my sister and her husband pick us up. We’d been warned: their house is huge, set in a garden that’s just as proportionally grand.



Expat life has its quirks that can feel awkward, like the natural ease of employing household staff. It still feels a bit posh around the edges! They have a guy whose job is to open the gate to their property whenever he hears their car horn, no matter the time of day or night. The gray remote control I use at home is a human being here. Though, to be fair, his situation isn’t all that different from workers everywhere. I’m told that, by the way, the "remote controller" wouldn’t trade his job for anything! Anyway, after a few drinks, we all head to the Belgian Circle where an extraordinary meeting is taking place. The young woman who runs the circle is leaving the country, and we’re chatting to find her replacement. While the debate gets passionate, she hands me a swimsuit, and I relax in their gorgeous pool. Later, Dom and I, who haven’t seen the sea in months, take a stroll on the beach.

When we get back, the new boss is chosen: it’s Karim. A larger-than-life guy who drives around in a red convertible 4L, owns two farms, and is preparing for the next FIFA World Cup with a ton of accessories he pulls out of boxes. Dom and he hit it off right away. No surprise—this guy is as charming as they come...

Tuesday, June 10, 2014 Rabat A visual tour of the city.













We lingered chatting with one of the girls my sister works with in an association that promotes the work of women from the mountains, especially their handmade terracotta pottery...

A city that’s surprising in more ways than one. And my sister is an enthusiastic guide, quick to chat with people wandering through the souks, sometimes in Arabic where she’s, as often during our trips together, simply amazing. The evening was a celebration of Belgium’s national holiday, moved up for “obvious reasons,” as the ambassador put it in his speech (Ramadan was happening at the same time). Against all odds, our inclusion in my brother-in-law’s group was accepted, and we endured the hour and a half drive to the consulate in Casablanca for the event. Dom, not exactly comfortable with protocols, arrived a bit awkward, but you’ll see—she’ll warm up fast!



Forty-five seconds later, you won’t be able to stop her from dancing!

From: Consulate General of Belgium On behalf of Consulate General of Belgium Sent: Saturday, June 14, 2014 05:31 AM To: Subject: Your memento from the evening organized by the Consul General of Belgium

Hello,

Please find below your memento from the evening organized by the Consulate General of Belgium on the occasion of the National Holiday.

Thank you for honoring us with your presence.

The Consul General of Belgium

Wednesday, June 11, 2014 Rabat – Essaouira



We take the train back to Marrakech. In Kech, we meet up at the station with mister locationman, who gives us the same car, just cleaned. The road is an endless straight line, but you don’t feel like overtaking too much or speeding. With a disastrous road accident record—one of the worst in the world—the government has ramped up checks. They’re everywhere! As we approached a roundabout, a cop stopped me. He pointed out that I’d ignored a priority sign when entering the roundabout. Apparently, the sign clearly indicated it was a reversed priority. Fine. I put on my best remorseful driver face, full of regret, and waited for absolution. But we’d run into a real stickler. He checked everything—passports, *whatever*—and took notes. It was endless. The result: 5000 dirhams. The rest of the drive was tense. The mood was ruined. The road seemed like it would never end... When Essaouira finally came into view, we started to feel alive again. The sea was there—we imagined evening walks on the beach... But the city was blocked. A music festival, which at that moment was nothing short of a pain in the ass. We struggled to find the hotel. The GPS was completely off. I asked a cop. He told me it wasn’t there at all! Our hotel was way out on the Agadir road! I couldn’t believe my ears! I was sure I’d booked a place with a sea view. With a heavy heart, I took the road he indicated. We headed toward the suburbs—ugly enough to make you cry. After a drive on a dirt track, we arrived exhausted, morale at rock bottom. We barely listened to the guy showing us around the place. We didn’t care—we just wanted to see the room. It was cute, but the balcony was stuck in a concrete space. Here too, I remembered a terrace praised in the reviews. I asked the guy if he could give us a room with a balcony *with a view*. Whispered discussions... A *mundélé* took a firm tone. "Go check if room 24 is free. If it’s ready, give it to them!" And let me tell you, that room 24 saved the day! We suddenly realized we were in paradise! The room and the place were just amazing!





That evening, we headed back to Essaouira. The city was in full festival prep mode, starting the next day. For the sound check, bands were already playing—and it was really good. A festive vibe was everywhere. We didn’t have too much trouble finding our smiles again!

Thursday, June 12, 2014 Essaouira We wake up and discover our new place. The ceiling of our room is a dome pierced with colorful stars. Fun. Then it’s continental breakfast, followed by the pool...







And we’re off—the Gnaoua Festival, "world music," has begun. All the Moroccan youth have made the trip. The scent of cannabis lingers in the streets. Dom and I wander through it all with pleasure.







Leaving the city center, the beach is packed. A whole crowd has settled in. A strange mist... like a foggy film has set an avant-garde mood. We’re in Antonioni territory.



In the evening, we linger on the terrace, sipping an orange rum.

Friday, June 13, 2014 Essaouira – Marrakech You know the road... We didn’t rush to take it! We lingered by the pool until late in the afternoon, encouraged by our hosts ("you can stay as long as you want, the room hasn’t been booked..."). We didn’t need to be told twice!