The following morning we woke up to glorious sunshine; we had a lump in our throats as we finally put some clothes out to dry in the sun. We then headed out of town towards the high atlas. The roads were amazing, the scenery a warm terra-cotta colour dotted with bright greens from palm trees. Up the mountain and through the passes we were then surrounded by deep valleys and waterfalls. Our road sometimes hung to the cliff’s edge and wound it’s way through magnificent vistas. On the other side, after the famous Tizi’n Tchica pass and its 1000 hairpin bends, we followed a Oued (river) towards the vast expanses of what would become the desert. The landscape stretched for tens of miles with orangey/yellow stones, bordered in the distance by rough, abrupt mountains. This was the gateway to the desert and the realisation that we had ridden our trusty (?) bikes all the way to this Mars-like place was amazing.

We reached Ouarzazate and stayed at the famous “bikers home” where Peter and Zeineb cooked us a delicious meal and provided great dinner conversation.

The next morning, as we thought things couldn’t get worse we had to put on our wet riding gear and head down to Marrakech. But as we left our parking spot Louise complained about a grinding noise from her back brakes. We checked and the brake pads, (which we had checked before departure) were completely worn… There was no way we would ride to Marrakech like that, but where to find a bike mechanic who knows about anything bigger than a moped, in Casa, at 8am? With no real plan we rode around looking for a garage but gave up pretty quickly.

We stopped and looked at each other in desperation when our guardian angel Rachid appeared out of nowhere. In his late 50s with a shy smile and bad French, Rachid asked if he could help. We explained the problem and he told us “let me get my moped, follow me; whatever happens i’ll stay with you until we get this sorted”. In about 20min we were sitting at a cafe across the street from a local mechanic, waiting for it to open. When they told us they were out of croissant Rachid jumped on his moped to go find us some; how kind is that!? Once the brake pads were replaced with shiny new ones, Rachid even showed us the way out of Casa and put us on the road to Marrakech. The only thing he ever asked from us was would we come stay and eat at his house. I wish I could thank him more than I did. I hope he understood how grateful we were for his help and his time. He took it upon himself to help lost westerners on big bikes with a problem to solve. He stuck with us for 3 hours and was happy that he could help. Thanks Rachid!

We rode the whole day in a thunderstorm with very strong side winds which forced us to avoid the highway and stick to the smaller, slower roads. We saw next to nothing of the changing landscape as we were 100% focused on the riding but we did notice how everything in our peripheral vision became a warm shade of red, the colour of Marrakech.

We spent 36hours in the city and frankly, for both of us it was enough. We thoroughly appreciated the peace and quiet of Hotel Le Toulousain but were underwhelmed by how dirty the medina was and how aggressive the touts were. We also spent as little time as necessary on Jema el Fna with its awful shows of monkeys on tight leashes being forced on tourists’ shoulders for money and street sellers looking for the most vulnerable bus-tour/sandal-and-sock-wearing victim. I may sound harsh about Marrakech and I’m sure that there’s is much more to it but one needs to dig deep to find authenticity and disinterested kindness. We did have a wonderful dinner in a beautiful haven of a restaurant where we met a friend who happened to be in town.

Oued Zem was a real crossroad town and somehow it was a happening place for locals. At least the place next door to our hotel room… I woke up at night wondering how it was possible for men to be so rowdy without booze or women! Maybe Muslim men have better imagination than us westerners.

We woke up early and made our way to Rabat in time to collect our Mauritanian visas from the embassy. We found our way easily but the rain was still haunting us…we stopped at a service station outside of town to dry off and eat but of course, being Eid it meant no where was selling food. We managed to buy some over priced bits and pieces for a make shift lunch and were allowed to eat it in the cafe with our mint tea.

When we joined the small queue of people we had first seen at the Embassy when we came the first time Louise was in real travellers mode and decided to drop her bike trousers to dry her long-johns. She did ask around if that bothered anyone to which she was told “it don’t bother me but don’t try this in Mauritania!”.

Visas in hand we felt we were finally moving on after the delay. We could now focus on making progress south towards warmer climes. We high-fived each other and head out south west towards Casablanca where we would spend the night. Our curse was still not over and we were rained on horribly. Our wet clothes which had tried to dry were now soaked again and as we entered Casa our spirits were at their lowest. The traffic was unbelievable and the visibility nil. It was like if someone was hosing us down. I had a low speed collision with a moped rider who was trying to push me out of the way… I won. To raise our spirits we treated ourselves to some nice seafood and even had wine! We thus broke a 10 day dry spell!