Morocco Day 3 - Midelt to Tanghir

Over the Atlas Mountains.

Jason hated the hotel so much he was up before dawn, later saying he'd suggested to his wife that we may not be able to travel together again if this is my idea of a good hotel. (It's not, but it is within budget ;) ) i did not know it at this moment, but revenge would be his later in the day.

Upon attempting to leave we found the hotel locked and the concierge asleep on the sofa. Jason woke him and with creaking bones and limping leg the old man dragged himself to the door so we could get the bikes out. It was just starting to get light and we were outside, ready to go, but without breakfast, not our typical hobbit like start.

Dawn in the Atlas

First problem of the day was that jason's bike would not start. Thankfully he was able to bump start it, so the problem appeared to be battery related. We set off for the first off-road section from Chris Scotts book (called mh 21), a mountain piste that meanders through the rocks before joining the Trans Atlas Route. (mh1)

We'd only been traveling for about 10 minutes when a dog came running out from a garden and began chasing my bike, snapping at my heels aggressively and forcing me sideways. I narrowly avoided it, but Jason fared less well, falling off the bike and hitting the dirt when the dog collided with his front wheel. Thankfully he was ok, baring a little gravel rash. The dog bolted off when the bike hit it, I'm assuming it was hurt and just learned a valuable lesson about moving traffic. Nerves calmed and bike and rider checked over we set off, the Sun rising over the land as we reached the first piste.

The effects of the recent storms could still be seen on the landscape, tracks were washed away, rocks and branches moved and scattered like litter on the wind. There must have been an incredible amount of water to cause such movement.

Owing to the chaos we were soon off track, somewhat lost, and looking for something that resembled a path. We were in a valley and close to a nomadic looking farm encampment, smoke lazilly climbing from the yurt, goats huddled together in a makeshift pen.

 small encampment below to the left of the trees

Jason spotted the track and we pressed on. A little later we passed a woman and a boy with a dirty bath tub of water on the track. She was shouting at us and frantically waving, even chasing a little - it seemed odd. We thought perhaps she was signalling the track was closed, a minute or two later and another woman, of not insignificant size, was sprinting towards us. Our intercoms buzzed with questions, but we did not stop and another dog gave chase, perhaps that's what the women were trying to say, either that or they were begging.

It was cold in the morning air as the rocky piste climbed to over 2000m. I piled more clothes on whilst stopping for a photo and an energy gel for breakfast, yummy. A little later on we passed a goat herder who signalled to us to take a different route, but given the confusion with bathtub lady and sprinting chubber we ignored him. It was only when the path stopped dead on the bank of a huge and newly created reservoir that we realised the herder had noble intentions, we back tracked and took his route.



We joined the Trans Atlas route, traversed the Cirque du Jaffer (a valley) and continued until we found some broken tarmac that passed as a road up here. Our destination was the town of Imilchil, where we needed fuel and wanted breakfast. Thankfully, we found both, lunch being had at an auberge run by a nice multilingual chap, who left two women to do the cooking whilst he dug the road.

Dining on Moroccan omelette, chips, bread, coffee and tea, whilst sitting in the sun, life was good. The market was in full swing and we passed through the centre of it upon our arrival, again the bikes drew a lot of attention. Scooters, horses, donkeys, pickup trucks and old cars are the norm in these regions, not off road dirt bikes. In fact we hadn't seen a motorbike since Spain.

Typical van packing, this one isnt actually carrying much.


People watching whilst dining I enjoyed the overloaded pickups and vans the most. It's common to see a pickup with sheep or goats in the bottom and then a frame above holding a dozen or so people, or sometimes the other way around. Whatever they are hauling, you can bet its well oversized, overloaded and creaking at the seams.

Taking the opportunity to check the bikes out, i found two loose bolts, one on the gear lever, one on the kickstart, Jason found one his rear brake lever, all got a treatment of locktite.

It was warmer now and we sat off down the road. Most of the tarmac on the road in the mountains passes is off terrible quality, the recent storm worsening the situation leaving debris in its wake. travelling on dirt bikes the debris and poor tarmac made the road welcomly challenging. The views up here were spectacular and we stopped frequently for photographs.





If you've not seen or used a Moroccan toilet, be in no hurry to experience one.

You essentially have to squat over a hole, there's no toilet paper, just a tap and bucket to clean with, but no soap. For obvious reasons we had avoided using one, but now it was time to go.... for a wild poop rather than brave the toilet.

Moving swiftly on, the valleys continued to reveal themselves in front of us. We passed through numerous hectic, dusty villages where people scratch out a living from the landscape.

a parked donkey on the road, Jason in the distance.

Children play in the dirt, always trying to stop you, always begging, usually shouting for a 'stilo' or similar. The story goes that the reason they shout for a stilo is that Dakar and other rallies passing through the country give out freebies, including pens, to the kids. The kids then flog them at the nearest market.

a nicer looking town.


Passing a goat herder in the wild, he started showing an empty bottle of water to me. I almost stopped, but I'd become increasingly suspicious of everyone, even now doubting if the man actually needed water. Was it just another scam to get you over and then an opportunity for him to beg anything from you. Everyone wants something from you, its an odd feeling. In any case, we were next to a river and other locals were traveling in cars in the vicinity, he could ask them.

a common site on the roads.


Continuing down south side of the atlas mountains we came to the Todgha gorges, a series of limestone river canyons or wadi, near the town of Tinerhir. (Berber languages: ⵜⵉⵣⵉ ⵏ ⵜⵓⴷⵖⴰ; Arabic: مضيق تودغا‌‎. Try saying that!)  the road passes right through them hugging the bank of the river. The storm had covered the place in mud and a JCB was clearing it away, we picked our way passed the waiting cars and joined the numerous tourists. Some of them filming our passing on the bikes.


Todgha gorges

At lunch we checked a list of the best towns and cities to visit in morocco, the thought of staying in another backwater hotel clearly troubling my companion. Luckily one of them from the list, Tinghir, was close enough. Tinghir is quite large by Moroccan standards and has a historic past, the remnants of it can still be seen in the multiple walled ruins of grander times now long passed. Being a bigger town we thought we stood the best chance of finding a replacement battery for Jason's bike.

One of the things that stands out here is the 'make do and mend' culture. Every town and village has multiple mechanics, welders, tailors and they appear to be able to fix anything. The most popular brand appears to be mercedes, their cars and vans clearly outnumbering other marks.

typical man cafe and scooters

Rolling into town we located a scooter shop almost immediately, found a similar sized battery for £20 and Jason swapped it out. The bike started immediately . Good lad! problem sorted.

Now be began the daily bun fight over a hotel. Jason was taking it seriously tonight, there was no way he was staying in a slum. We headed to one (my suggestion) that was a Riad with good ratings, but was it rejected on sight. Next up we found an old kasbah hotel that was completely full and this time we were rejected, we headed to a third.

This hotel had rooms, but was £50, the hotel reception lowered the price to about £42 on seeing my obvious pain and tight arse nature. I reluctantly paid, but was struggling with the shock for some time. I laugh as I'm writing this, because it isn't a lot of money and I was visibly shaken by the expense. (Ha!) The hotel had a pool, a good view, and even a bar, the showers had hot water too, but it wasn't worth £42. ;)

We washed and hit the town for dinner. Its a little less backwater here and we didn't attract the same attention, whilst we still obviously stood out like tourists. We heard one group of Moroccan men say 'american' as they looked in our direction. The quieter parts of town had an edge to them, but no one bothered us as we mooched about.

an oasis near Tinghir

Strolling around for awhile we couldn't find anywhere suitable to eat, so Jason suggested getting down with locals and trying some street food at the market. It was tasty and we ate next to the mosque at prayer time. The shouty tower was in full effect and drew in large crowds from the market, sucking in people like water down a drain. The effect was notable and soon the market was quiet.

yes it was that big.

Returning a little later to the hotel we debated the route to take the next day. Jason preferring a leisurely return north with a day in Marrakech. It's not such a bad idea...