So our adventure begins, we settle into our new means of transport which admittedly has some advantages over a bike: 1) space 2) air-conditioning 3) less nagging for a break from the co-pilot 4) some additional margin of safety. The flip side of the advantages is 1) much slower 2) much less contact with the local population.

We drive south from Fez through Ifrane, which is referred to as little Switzerland in Morocco. Being a resident in Switzerland I can only agree with the comparison, as it does not compare at all to the land around it.

Katherine is getting a buzz from being in this place that is so different. I enjoy watching her while she acclimatises to her surroundings. It took me some time to be comfortable here, and it is hilarious to see her dealing with the hussling, proximity and road habits.

We make it to just north of Midelt, and just to ensure full immersion into the adventure while earning adventure points, I set up the tent in a dry river bed in a long valley. She is going from comfort to spartan to ascetic… without complaining (too much :-)).

So having somewhat recovered from the symptoms of yesterday’s dehydration, today I await the arrival of Katherine, not having any idea how our trip will continue. The original plan was by bike, and she had been under strictest instructions on the quantity she would be allowed (or able) to take along. She had indeed packed accordingly…

The day is spent with bike logistics and finally Arbie takes us for another typical touristic tour of Fez.

I finally decide that since I do not know how many days it will take to repair the bike (since it would seem there is a BMW hospital only in Casablanca) I will not take the risk with Katherine’s little time away from work. I therefore arrange for a 4×4 which itself becomes a story since it is the rental car owner’s own personal car. Anyway, it will do, we arrange it all Moroccan style with a smile.

After a nice dinner we are set to depart on stage 2, this time joint adventure. A new currency is born: Adventure points.

Turns out dehydration has two components, water, of which I probably had enough, and electrolytes, of which I definitely had far too few. Already at the Berber house I had felt a lack of appetite, and slight problems with balance, and slightly tired. This morning I woke up and I could hardly walk, so bad was the balance. The night had been restless, and I woke up to a cold sweat. Quickly established as dehydration, and thank God (enshallah) I had the right medicine. Be warned when driving a bike off road at above 40 degrees, you sweat a lot and it is not only water you need.

That cured and slept off, it was time to get the bike to the mechanic. But nothing convinces a same day repair. Justifiably so when it is over 40 degrees and you are not allowed to drink. So let’s hope for the best tomorrow, Morrocan wizardry is what is needed.

For dinner I was invited home to my guide, Arbie. Dinner was good, and now I have to visit his mother again… After a couple of joints and sharing photos it was back to the Riyadh, and a little walk showed once again that the clothing rules are changing. On TV, the programs show mostly western clothes and a seeming attempt to emancipate women.

On the street in the medina the story is different. In the cafe at night are without exception only men. The woman sit on the pavements. It is still a very divided world. Ramadan, apart of no food, no drink and no smoking (and you adapt by doing those in the privacy of the Riyadh) at about 19:15 the daily fast comes to an end and for about 1.5 hours the medina is deserted only to explode into a hive if activity thereafter. Everybody is out, and again, personal space does not exist. Interestingly also my conversation with Arbie. The word on the street is that the recent bombing in Marrakech was in fact orchestrated by Obama, Sarkozy and Mohammed, the king of Marocco. But people here do not speak. If they would, would also Morocco follow the destiny of revolution of it’s neighbors across the Arab world?

I am getting sick of the city again and long for the space and liberty of the desert. Tomorrow Katherine will arrive and see Fez and then we set out to the northern Atlas, as a test drive with the BMW towards Marrakech. If all works out well, bike and girl are content, we will move directly towards Quarzazate.

So sitting out on the pavement watching the evening hustle and bustle go by, there is an old woman begging. The guidebook talks of giving as a pillar of Ramadan, yet I saw no-one but me giving her anything. Next on the way back to the Riyadh, waiting in the door, I can only suspect for me, was a woman who’s hands were full of glue, an addict of another chemical, and so the benefactors of Moroccos development live right next to those left behind. And yes, in my heart there is a strong sense of social justice, general, not just specific to Morocco.

So I left after having promised to return.

At the bottom of the valley the bike started to give problems and for the next 4 hours the trip continued at 35km/h, in 42 degrees. And so I crawled through the mountains to Fez, to find a mechanic. Anyone who knows cities here knows that it is not easy to find a needle in a haystack. But upon arrival in Fez I was promptly stopped by a probably uncertified guide – Arbie Ferrari, but he seemed a good man and since there is no BMW in Fez, my bike is now in the hands of a local mechanic.

He does have a local police BMW 650 from some years ago in his workshop, this makes me a little more comfortable. Next my tour guide started the usual tour, view over the city, mosaic and pottery works, medina, rip-off dinner, leather works etc. But is was nice enough. Ramadan in August is torture, in this heat not to drink anything at all. The latter evening was spent in the air conditioned Riyadh reading the reference bible lonely planet.

What a day! After leaving my beautiful mountain tent location I carried on, elated by a beautiful night, silence and serenity. I drove towards Tazarine Des-Zerada, and then turned towards Merhraoua, taking another right into a beautiful road (GPS – a beautiful trail) that turned out to be a dead-end, but well worth it.

It started to rain, a break from the heat, and was reminded how slippery it gets when the surface is wet and the underlying ground dry. Coming out from a river bend the bike just slid from underneath me, and the panniers were tested for waterproofness. A friendly local came along to ask if everything was OK. Even in these remote areas, you never walk alone.

At the end of the road I arrived to a house and the very friendly inhabitants explained that there was no way acros the mountains from here, Even if i was very insistent. Getting back to the road I turned right, same concept, let’s see where this goes. This road in fact did take me across the mountains of a beautiful environment,  hills as far as you can see.

At some point (GPS my hospitable berbers) I was stopped by a persistent and willfully little boy (6 years old as it turns out). His insistence in turn helped me to overcome my own confrontational fears, and a look across to his mother showed an equally welcoming smile.

When I finally parked my bike the little boy’s face was so proud. And so my wish of the previous night became reality. The hospitality was tremendous with food and tea that was exceptional, apart from the dessert containing rancid goat milk. When the same was offered for breakfast in concentrated version, I politely declined.

The house was built by Atertouri himself before marrying Saadia. It contained 3 rooms, one was largely a kitchen, one a living room, and a third that I assumed the family bedroom. It was made available to me and I can only guess the family slept in the living room. The three children, 10, 6 and a young girl approaching two, were super friendly. Saadia is a master of using the corner fire to prepare tea and food. She knows exactly how much wood to use. She was also very chatty but less able to use her hands to mimic what she wanted to say by comparison to her silent and introspective husband. I had to look at all their pictures, and had to show them my family and explain my marital status. At least showing them pictures stopped any discussion of taking one of the local girls as a bride.   

I was not the first biker to stay there, as pictures of a Dutch biker showed. The experience must have been good, judging by the insistence of the little boy to stop me. I handed over a Swiss army pocket knife, and after many a tea overdose and stuffed like I was in Sicily I was only able to leave after promising to return. All of this without being able to communicate in language. Interesting enough, Saadia did not count the money I left them, she just put it away. She may of course have counted it later.

These people are incredibly poor, but very real. The use of mobile phones have greatly improved their ability in emergencies, even if they have to hold the antenna to a piece of steel in a particular room to get any signal. Upon leaving, one of the boys – of all the things he could have wanted – wanted the pen they had used to write names and addresses. Ironically, the pen is from a Swiss private bank. Unbeknown to him, the differences could not have been starker.

Today Morocco gave me what I came in search for. Peace and quiet, silence, and lots of dirt roads.

  Setting out from Al-Hoceima, after breakfast with three Italians from Parma, taking the N2 to Targuist, a windy tarred beautiful road. Then a little piece south on the N8 and immediately south again in the direction Beni-Ammart. 

     At first I was disappointed to find it tarred, but hit some town, drive through it, and offroad paradise starts. In a beautiful environment, mountain gorges and cliffs all around, the roads wind along the mountains.

  Around Tizi-Tfir a pine forest takes over and you can just inhale the stunning pine smell, so different to the normal dry windy dust. There I drove into the forest and alas, found what I came for. Total silence. It is just such a scarce and rewarding moment. At some point after a steep descent into a gorge the road forks, and of course you do not expect any signs. Left or right? I took right, on a tight bendy and steep pass, covered in fine sand, even on the steep parts. On the way I drive past small settlements amongst Cannabis fields, with a less friendly crowd, distrust in their eyes. They are very poor, and live in almost slum conditions – so far I have not seen the inside if a house. This road ended at a house, and as I realized I had come to end of the road, I had big eyes looking at me. I took all the gear off and greeted friendly, and with that started communication with neither side understanding anything. But after some initial confrontational fears, the nature of a decent human being is inherently friendly, helpful and hospitable. I was invited to eat something, I should have said yes, but also I had my confrontational fears… A mistake, perhaps I would have seen the inside of a house by now. They pointed me in the right direction, which implies around here pointing to another mountain and directing through another gorge… :-). The right way was left, and sometimes it pays to go right. There is always a road, and there are always people, and most of them are great!

It is a harsh enviroment, hot, dry, windy and dusty. You wonder how the same beautiful girl who is herding sheep or riding a donkey would have turned out in different circumstances, a Harvard degree, and would her life be happier? I cannot show her to you, because Berbers are inherently shy. But I will still make it into a house, and I will still get my pictures! So over another mountain and a beautiful descent into Tahar-Souk, that is noteworthy for people being particularly inquisitive and friendly, with some foreign language skills.

From M’hamed I learnt that South Africans are not that popular in Marocco since political support for the Western Sahara dispute was more on the side of Algeria. It is however perfectly good to be Alleman, perhaps because it is Mercedes that drives Marocco. A beautiful surprise was a sudden lake not visible on my map on the road to Taïneste, the dam wall makes an impressive Construction between two mountain cliffs. No photos allowed unfortunately.

So tonight I find myself at N34 38.098 W4 08.510, 1118m. Try it, it makes for great sunsets. All you hear is nothing, silence, and the occasional complaint from a donkey. In my field of vision of 30km, I can count less than 20 lights!…

And tonight’s special treat, ice cold coke coming out of the freezer from Tahar-Souk, so i have coke on ice tonight, along with the lightning fireworks display of an electrical storm blasting continuously to compete with intense light of the moon. This is what I came for, silence, tranquility, action and smiles on peoples faces. The latter occasionally takes some work…       

 Overall a rather lazy day. Started the day without coffee – and anyone who knows me would tell you that it leaves me with a temper – it is Ramadan and everything is closed – and it will be my first lesson of Arabic with M’hamed as my teacher. At the end of the course I got hustled for his sick sister undergoing radiotherapy, and thus was my contribution in exchange for the sounds that are so different sand cannot be captured phonetically. Thereafter set out again, continuing East from El-Jehba. Today was mainly tar, not for a lack of trying, but all the dirt roads took me to someone’s house, and I had to turn around again. In the end I found a beautiful road (coordinates saved as cannabis heaven) leading me to what I thought might be a secluded private spot on the beach, but it was not to be. Instead the pristine prime mediterranean beach front was home to large cannabis plantations right to the beach, along with a 3 engined speed boat to get the stuff across to Spain.

      And I do not think I was actually welcome there, even if the guy explaining me that the road was another dead end was friendly enough. Guys like bikes, and the dirtier you are, the more they seem to like it. So I am like everybody else :-).

After that I pretty much moved directly to Al-Hoceima, which is built on a mountain ridge above the sea. It is pretty impressive, and has some tourist monsters that would fit better into Florida with no one there. Let’s hope this is not boom and bust, and a mirror image of the coste del sol on the other side. The guide books say this place is peaceful and tranquil for tourists, and I confirm the experience. Much fewer distrustful stares, many more friendly connections without hustling. Crashed in the afternoon, not sure if for the intensity of yesterday’s ride, dehydration or heat exhaustion in this environment between 35 and 42 degrees Celsius, or a lack of caffeine?…. Anyway, for the hour after sunset the city was deserted, not a car or person on the road, just to explode like crazy right after. Ramadan at night is definitely not sad at all. Now sitting on a beach north west of the city and observing the people which have such a different concept of personal space and proximity to your average westerner.

Arrived in Tanger after 48 hours on the ferry of which a good part were spent completing the passport and vehicle importation procedures. First mission was to change tires and for that I went to Tanger city center. Moroccan GPS and a tire changing one-man shop is quickly found. But he cannot do the mechanic work, so he takes me to another one-man shop and with the tools I have brought we remove first back tire, the mechanic takes this by scooter to the tire changing place, and 15 minutes later he returns with the wheel changed. Putt his one on, and same procedure with the front tire. Duration, 1 hour, cost: 10 EUR.

I continue towards Ceuta which is Spanish territory to see the 30m EUR fence built around Ceuta to protect Europe from illegal immigration.

It is an early morning departure from Lugano, Switzerland to catch the ferry from Genoa to Tangier. I say goodbye to Katherine who takes these photos of a clean bike. The travel bug has now firmly taken hold and I look forward to the adventures ahead. Onboard I meet Robbie, an Italian fellow bike traveller, and this is what he has to say:

Robbie is taking a pure classic into Morocco:

Welcome to 48 hours on the ferry… and load your car in a manner to make it worthwhile…