Marrakech to Essaouira

 

 

Day 18 - Our three-hour westward journey from the inland heat of Marrakech to breezy Essaouira began today with us arriving at the Supra Tours bus station a full hour early. We left on the dot and first left the dusty plains. Once aboard, the transit toward the coast featured a highly accelerated lunch break. We had a mere twenty minutes to process some rest-stop poultry sandwiches, requiring us to chew with intent while keeping a paranoid eye on the driver to ensure we weren't left behind. 

Back on the road, we documented the undisputed global headquarters of the argan tree. Argania spinosa is endemic to this specific coastal strip. The orchards are a defining feature of the landscape. Alongside the argan, we reflected on the sheer ubiquity of Moroccan olives. They are an absolute cultural staple here. They are served reliably at breakfast, lunch, and dinner, with a dizzying variety of types for sale in every market we pass.

 

Upon arriving in Essaouira, we opted for a tactical luggage deployment. We dragged the bags ourselves along the length of the inner Medina walls. It was a fair distance, but not tiring. We welcomed the cooler breeze and the noticeable jump in humidity before arriving at our accommodation: a grand, fading old Riad situated exactly where the old Medina ends and the Atlantic Ocean begins.

After checking in to Riad Mimouna at a highly efficient quarter to four, we went out for a walk along the sea wall. We eventually ended up at the port. Here, we observed the local catch being aggressively hawked from makeshift shanty stalls, rather than fresh off the boats. Jay likes fish and admired the oceanic bounty. I, on the other hand, merely tolerated the pungent reality of the maritime spectacle.

We headed to the Essaouira equivalent of New West's Sixth and Sixth. We found a spot right beside the Souk Mosque. High-turnover places where the locals eat are our absolute go-to when travelling. They effectively minimize gastro-risk. Jay had the skewered chicken, and I went with a mixed shawarma. To walk off the high-velocity street meat, we navigated the main cross street all the way up to the Bab Doukkala gate before finally retreating to the hotel.

 

We are capping off the day sitting in a glass-enclosed room on the hotel roof, looking north along the coast. I deliberately wore a short-sleeved t-shirt to dinner out of pure bravado. Now, I am stubbornly ignoring the goosebumps. We kept an eye out for the sunset. However, in a classic coastal anticlimax, the sun dropped into some faraway clouds well before it ever reached the ocean.

Another Day in Marrakech

Day 17 - Jay and I had a properly relaxing second day in Marrakesh. I absolutely love that we are staying just meters from the famous Jemaa el-Fnaa square. People have been gathering in this exact dusty footprint to trade, gossip, and spectate for nearly a millennium. Today, it remains a relentless machine of commerce, completely refusing to power down even under the blistering midday heat.

 

Some travellers actively avoid this area because of the aggressive vendors, but you have to respect the hustle. They are simply trying to make a living. As an entirely uninterested customer, it is incredibly easy to just smile, offer a polite "no thanks," and keep walking. I genuinely appreciate the raw spirit and the sheer theatre of the constant exhibition.

 

The immediate perimeter offers a chaotic catalogue of merchandise and spectacle. You navigate past towering pyramids of cumin, mountains of sticky dates, glowing brass lanterns, and enough cured leather to upholster an entire fleet of Hyundai Konas. Throw in the ubiquitous snake charmers, the remarkably assertive Barbary macaques, and the aggressively cheerful orange juice vendors, and it feels less like a traditional market and more like a highly orchestrated sensory assault.

 

Before the true heat set in, we took a morning walk through the semi-covered pedestrian walkways from the square down to the Mellah, the historic Jewish quarter. We actively ignored the Bahia Palace, happily leaving the intricate tile work to the organized coach tours. Instead, we navigated a completely different route back into the thick of things. We were safely barricaded back inside the riad by 1:00 PM, giving us just enough time to scrub off the medina dust before heading out for lunch.

 

We also took the time to finalize our onward travel to the coast. We asked the hotel desk for the optimal route to Essaouira, and they successfully convinced us to bypass the physical queue and download an app to secure two Supratours bus tickets. Since we check out tomorrow, having our digital seats locked in for a noon departure is a massive relief. It ensures our transition from the desert heat to the ocean breezes will be entirely frictionless.

 

But the day is not quite over yet. We still have a proper Saturday night in the square to witness, an event that will inevitably kick into high gear the absolute second the sun finally sets around 20:40.

A Day in Marrakech

 

Day 16 -  We are in Marrakech, Morocco today and history surrounds us.

Between the years 1200 and 1600, your average European king was shivering in a damp stone castle and trying to pay his royal debts with wet grain. Meanwhile, Marrakesh was running the intercontinental economy. You have to remember the Americas were entirely off the ledger back then. Nobody was trading with the New World because Columbus had not even bumped into the Caribbean yet. 

The entire global market was a closed loop, and THIS dusty city held the keys to the vault. This is exactly why Jay and I drag ourselves across the globe. I stood in the middle of the medina today and realized that my history lessons completely missed an important center of the medieval world.

Back then, the Marrakesh skyline was a permanent, choking cloud of red dust kicked up by ten thousand irritable camels finishing a two-month slog across the Sahara. The air in Jemaa el-Fnaa was a heavy, gag-inducing cocktail of livestock sweat, unwashed traders, curing leather, and woodsmoke. It was a loud and viciously efficient boomtown baked under the Moroccan sun. Brokers used complex letters of credit to move vast fortunes. They traded massive slabs of desert salt for West African gold, alongside ivory, European brass, and tragically, thousands of enslaved humans auctioned right there in the dirt.

Every gold coin that financed a European war or built a fancy Italian cathedral during those four centuries passed through this exact gauntlet. Europe was never the master of the global economy. They were just the eager, broke customers waiting at the very end of the supply chain, inhaling none of the dust but paying whatever outrageous price the desert demanded.

Ouarzazate to Marrakech

Day 15 - ​We left Ouarzazate this morning and headed straight for Aït Benhaddou. We took an official guide to walk us through the ancient mud-brick kasbah. The tour took about an hour and a half. It is obvious why it frequently doubles as a movie set. We hiked through the narrow clay pathways all the way to the oldest section at the very top. Maintaining a multi-story fortress built entirely from river mud and straw takes serious engineering. The summit provided a clear, expansive view of the river valley below.​       

From the kasbah, the bus began the ascent into the High Atlas Mountains toward the Tizi n'Tichka pass. The road is a relentless series of twisting hairpin turns reaching an altitude of over twenty-two hundred meters. We had solid views of isolated Berber villages built directly into the red mountainsides. While still climbing, we stopped for lunch near the highest elevations. Snow was clearly visible on the nearby mountain peaks. We visited a women's cooperative network to learn about Argan oil production and ate our meal on site. The bus was predominantly filled with Italians, save for a Norwegian doctor and a Russian couple. The Italians naturally turned the lunch into a prolonged, lively social affair.

   

Once the meal concluded, we crossed the peak and began the drive down. The descent along the northern slopes brought the heat back as the mountains flattened into the plains. At exactly 4:30 pm, the entire bus exited near the entrance to Jemaa el-Fnaa square. We said goodbye to the driver with a selfie and a combined gift of tips. He then turned the vehicle around to start a grueling seven-hour drive all the way back to Fes. We continued on foot into the medina to find the Hotel Riad Marraplace.

Merzouga to Ouarzazate

Day 14 - Leaving the desert camp turned out to be a lesson in typical Saharan logistical theater. The morning began predictably enough with breakfast, but the actual departure to the main road required a bit of patience. The entire place seemed to be moving at once, with luggage vans stacked high with bags—complete with a few adventurous souls riding casually on the roof—and various supply trucks maneuvering through the dust. Once back at the staging area, a waiting game began. A massive contingent of the tour group was catching vehicles heading north back toward Fes, creating the usual flurry of sorting, swapping, and tracking down drivers. It took some time for our specific bus to sort through the crowd, but eventually, the chaos cleared and the wheels finally turned toward the west.  Before we got out of the valley, we looked inside one of the many 'fossil shops' along the highway.

​The first major stop of the drive came upon reaching Tinghir, where the route paused to overlook a massive palm grove. Standing at the viewpoint, the contrast is stark. A thick ribbon of thousands of green date palms snakes along the valley floor, cutting sharply through the otherwise barren, sun-baked rock of the high plateau. It is a striking visual reminder of how water completely dictates life in this environment.

​While taking in the view, a local vendor hawking souvenirs struck up a casual conversation. It turned out we shared a bit of common ground regarding Dubai. He pulled out his phone to show off photos of his old Sri Lankan buddies from his days working at Carrefour. He looked back on that time as a fun chapter, but explained that he had returned to the oasis because the pace of life here is deeply relaxing, and he needed to take care of his elderly father. It was a pleasant, unexpected encounter that proved once again how small the world can be.

​Just beyond the palms, the road led directly into Gorges du Todgha. The bus parked, allowing for a proper walk along the canyon floor where a shallow, icy river cuts through the landscape. The scale here is solid, with limestone cliff faces rising up over three hundred meters on either side, narrowing down to a tight pass that blocks out most of the midday sun. Walking between these giant rock walls provided a cool, breezy break from the afternoon heat. After exploring the canyon, the bus pushed onward into Ouarzazate. 

The city is well-known as a desert film capital, but it proved slightly less accomplished in the realm of modern technology. The hotel for the night offered a comfortable bed but suffered from a severe case of temperamental Wi-Fi, proving that a stable internet connection can be the hardest illusion to find in Morocco.

The Erg Chebbi Dunes Up Close

Day 13 (Continued) - We did not actually mount our designated ships of the desert until 7:00 this evening. We intentionally delayed our departure by a full hour because the temperature was still stuck at a thoroughly unreasonable 42°C at our originally scheduled start time. When we finally braved the heat, we simply stepped right out the front door of the hotel to find them waiting like very stubborn, very fragrant taxis. Our sole handler for the trek was a genuinely fantastic local named Mubarak. He informed us he was somewhere in his fifties. Given that he looked noticeably older than both Jay and me, I can only conclude that a lifetime under the brutal Moroccan sun prematurely ages a man.

​For those without a map handy, we were navigating Erg Chebbi. These are the massive mountains of wind blown sand that loom right on the edge of Merzouga. They are exactly what you picture when someone says the word, "Sahara." Some of these orange beasts reach a hundred and fifty meters into the sky. You crest one ridge and suddenly the entire world is just a terrifyingly beautiful ocean of apricot colored dust. It is the sort of overwhelming, geographic scale that reminds you exactly how insignificant you are, which is frankly half the point of leaving your living room in the first place.

​Regardless of his actual vintage, Mubarak was an absolute professional. He was incredibly friendly, deeply invested in hearing our story, and provided us with exclusive, undivided attention for the entire journey. We rode out into those stunning dunes just in time to catch the sunset, eventually plodding our way to the new camp accommodations under the fading light. 

As a bonus, it turns out our guide is also an impromptu cinematographer. He shot a large chunk of the 48 photos now sitting in a special album on my Flickr account and even recorded some video for us. He casually mentioned that he may have done some work with Atlas Studios, the Moroccan movie production powerhouse, which completely explains his excellent eye for framing a shot. Having Mubarak direct our trek elevated the whole affair from a simple desert commute into a genuine once in a lifetime experience.

​I have committed to simply adding one dozen of the spectacular images taken that evening as we headed to the desert camp.

A Relaxing Day in Merzouga

 

Day 13 - Merzouga is one of those places that feels completely impossible until witnessing it firsthand. We are tucked way down in the deep southeast of Morocco. The Algerian border is only about fifty kilometers away. Here, the flat rocky desert suddenly slams right into the Erg Chebbi sand dunes. These massive golden waves of sand can tower up to one hundred and fifty meters high. They constantly shift and look like they could just swallow this little village of fifteen hundred people at any second. Yet, people stick around. The locals brave the blistering summer heat and the fierce winter winds. They know that to survive out here in the Sahara, one needs to plant their feet and hold their ground.

 

This spot has a wild backstory. Ten thousand years ago, this whole region was actually a lush green savanna full of lakes. As the climate dried out and the Sahara took over, the underground water here turned Merzouga into a lifesaving oasis. Imagine exhausted merchants pulling up with their camel caravans. They desperately needed this water before pushing further south toward Timbuktu. Later on, nomadic Ait Atta tribes would bring their herds here to drink and graze. By the early twentieth century, the French Foreign Legion realized how isolated and strategic this water source was. They built a military outpost here following some brutal regional battles in Taflalet. The legionnaires and the ancient caravans are long gone now. Today, it is just travelers showing up to marvel at the exact same terrifying and beautiful sand.

We opted for a bit of strategic luxury by spending the first night in the climate-controlled comfort of a proper hotel rather than attempting to rough it in the dunes for forty-eight straight hours. It proved to be a stroke of absolute genius. June is well past peak tourist season out here, and the thermometer is threatening to top out at a blistering forty-one degrees Celsius today. A sudden sandstorm already whipped through the area earlier. Taking a cue from the sensible locals, the only logical response was to retreat indoors. The afternoon agenda involves a proper nap in a delightfully air-conditioned room, with perhaps a brave foray out to the swimming pool once the sun loses its absolute malice later in the day.

The real adventure begins around six in the evening when a driver arrives to ferry us toward our appointed dromedary transport. We will board the single-humped beasts to trek out to the desert camp. Thankfully, the heavy luggage is taking the civilized route via a four-wheel-drive vehicle and will likely beat us to the site. What actually awaits out in the dunes remains a bit of a mystery. While these modern camps are often surprisingly well-appointed, the fine orange dust of the Sahara is notoriously insidious and will undoubtedly try to colonize every conceivable crevice and cranny. The plan is to survive the camel ride, eat dinner under the stars, and sleep in a traditional tent. Tomorrow morning brings breakfast at the camp before the tour packs up and hits the long road toward Ouarzazate. The ultimate goal is to depart Merzouga without a permanent layer of Saharan grit embedded in one's teeth and hair.