Morocco Day 5 - Zagora - Desert Highway - Marrakech

'Greetings my friend', said the guy who ran the hotel gift shop, approaching as I had breakfast at the pool side. I had come to regard those words as a warning, rather than a greeting. They were invariably said by men who weren't your friend and just wanted something from you.

In this case he wanted to tell me about a garage that some family member ran in town. He asked if i would take the bike there and have a photograph taken for 'publicity'. I smiled, knew it was total bullshit, but was interested in the Zagora garage scene as everyone seems to have much stock, and so I agreed.

the garage that had everything... it was just hidden somewhere.

A young lad appeared on a push bike as j was readying to leave, he would be my guide explained my gift shop friend. I followed, feeling like a fish on hook and drawing attention from the locals, recognising I was being escorted.

Inside the hotel in Zagora

The garage was actually a very cool place, stickers and photos of rallies and rally rider legends adorned the walls and it was clean. The smiling owner, a young man, greeted me along with one of the guys who had approached yesterday outside the cafe. He smiled knowingly, he had won, I was there. I spoke to the owner about doing an oil change, as the KTM was due and I had all the oil and parts with me. We agreed a price for him to dispose of the oil, which came down by 60% during our bartering and I got to work.

'Hello my friend' (grrr!) said a new comer to the scene. I was busy so didn't pay much heed, but this chap ran a shop next door and wanted me to go and take a look. I didn't bother. Oil done and Jason joined me, he'd been guided here by the owner who obviously intended to separate Jason from some of his cash too, but it was to no avail and we set off.

look out for those camels!

Our destination this morning was the Desert Highway, a stretch of road that tracks east to west along the border . We were taking it East for 100 miles, intending to plot a zig zag course to Marrakech.

not much water out here...

It was a desolate place, like you see in the American movies when they're filmed out west. The road cut a path through a wide, hot, sandy valley with tall rocky hills penning it in to the north and south, in the distance you could see them blocking the road. Jason likened it to riding along on a huge tongue, the hills being the teeth at either side and end.



Riding side by side on the road, heat shimmering around us it was like a scene from 'Easy Riders' and we pootled along taking it easy at 55mph. After an hour or so we passed a roadside cafe and Jason piped up on the intercom pointing out it was the first shade we'd seen in 62 miles. This is not a place you would want to break down.



Reaching Tazenakht, a small town between the desert and Atlas, we refueled bikes and bodies and reviewed the map. We could take some off road sections to Ouarzazte and eventually Demnat, or head to Marrakech. The map showed a curvy road, the N9, full of hairpins carving north towards to Marrakech, it looked like a bikers dream and after a quick lunch we headed it for it.

mmm... a Danny Date bar.

Just as we left town we came upon a convoy of army trucks being escorted by police through the hills. They allowed us to get amongst the trucks and pick our way through the convoy, overtaking each in turn. All the car drivers had to wait, whilst we had our own military escort.

a van so crowded people are hanging out of it.


It was hot and dry and we found ourselves on a busy street with many people carrying water buckets. They reached into the buckets and splashed us with water as we tiptoed through. Just leaving town was the water truck, clearly making its way from village to village supplying fresh water to those that waited. Twice we were slowed by camels or donkeys, with no people around, they just hanging about on the road.

The further we travelled the higher the road got as Marrakech was at the north side of the Atlas and we were currently on the south. Once again we encountered the Berber mountain people and their way of life. It's a hard existence; old ladies and women were carrying huge loads of plants and herbs on their backs and walking them up the mountains to the village. Skinny dokeys laiden with wood were guided by barefoot children, but most men seemed to just hang around drinking tea.



As we climbed the road conditions worsened, not so much the weather, though it was colder, but the traffic and general condition of the actual road. The road clung to mountainside like overstretched elastic, too thin in many places, and in others had just simply fallen away. Every corner seemed to have crash barriers missing and always the cars came around too fast on the wrong side of the road. We approached every corner with the hesitation of frightened cat, knowing to assume it was going to safe was to almost certainly crash. The road was having repair work done in sections for the entire length, so diggers were on the hill above you filling trucks with rocks and dirt right next to you. There were landslides, water, rocks, dust, sand, trucks, mud, bikes, people, animals and cars all competing to use the terrible road of death. Just to top it all off everyone seemed to be in a hurry, impatient to over take. Cars and vans were sitting on our back wheels whilst other traffic came from the opposite direction overtaking. It was common to see a triple overtake, ie. one car overtaking whilst another car overtook the overtaking car! It was crazy. At one point Jason asked why i was pulling off the road, then he noted the overtaking pickup had just ran me off the road. At some points we came across people who appeared to be protesting, they were wearing masks and were waving large sticks, we didn't stop. We had to concentrate like this for hours, the N9 is not a road i would ever want to ride again.

Jason on the N9, behind three cars that probably all overtook him on a corner.


We finally reached Marrakech at dusk, its a large city and, true to form, had crazy roads and junctions. One junction we had to navigate appeared to work like this; all the traffic lights are red and the junction empty, then all the lights are green and everyone races into the middle, jams on the brakes and then uses the horn until you can get to your exit point. simple.

Given the journey we had just undertaken i knew the first hotel we reached we would take. Jason walked in and asked for rooms. He came back a few minutes later stating the guy was rude and he was sick of being ripped off. Ever since the one eyed water pirate we'd been much more savvy with the locals. I used booking.com to get the rooms for half the price the reception man had quoted, we chained the bikes to the fence and walked in. The hotel was like an 'all inclusive' holiday venue and we ate over priced holiday buffet food before retiring to the outside bar to chat bout what we had see and to plan the next day.