That day I got up early again. By then I had already covered about 500 kilometers in the country, mostly by bus. Today the plan was to travel another 200 kilometers into the Anti-Atlas, to Tafraoute. First, however, I had to return the moped and sort out the onward journey—which, in fact, couldn’t really be planned and would have to happen spontaneously.
I took another photo of my terrace in Legzira, enjoyed a long shower with plenty of warm water, and then went to fetch the moped. It was still standing exactly where I had left it. I took a photo of it as well, because I likely wouldn’t have the chance again to be in such a place with a moped—especially since the picture turned out quite nicely. On the luggage rack you can see the spare liter of fuel in a plastic bottle, which I fortunately never had to use, even though I rode almost everywhere at full throttle, as well as my empty drink bottle.
I paid my relatively steep bill and rode a little way up the road, still slightly sniffly, toward the main road. This place is truly wonderful—but only if you are mobile, ideally with your own car. Looking back, I took another photo in which Legzira once again was hardly recognizable at all.
I rode into town to return the moped to the rental place. Although we had clearly agreed on a time, of course nobody was there. So I went to the café at the “bus station” for breakfast. Once again there was plenty of tea, cigarettes, and omelettes. After that I rode back around the corner to the moped rental, only to find that nobody was there again.
I took the opportunity to relax a bit and organize the onward journey. I still needed something to drink and food for the road. As I had already calculated, the 200-kilometer trip would likely take until the evening. So I bought flatbread, cigarettes, and cheese in a small shop. Fortunately there was also a café nearby, where I sat down once more, ordered a café au lait, and studied the guidebook.
When I returned to the moped rental again, the owner was finally there. I handed over the vehicle without any issues. He even gave me some money back for the remaining fuel in the bottle. The moped was in good condition, so everything went smoothly.
Now on foot again, I went to the taxi stand where I had arrived earlier. A few taxis were waiting. I asked the first one about going to Tiznit, as I had to pass through there again to reach Tafraoute. Luckily it didn’t take long, and we set off around noon.
This time the journey felt shorter—probably because I already knew the route. After about two hours we arrived in Tiznit. I immediately asked for a taxi to Tafraoute. Fortunately, I didn’t have to wait long; the taxi quickly filled up with seven passengers for the mountain drive.
Leaving Tiznit toward the east, we first crossed a flat landscape. In the distance I could already see the mountains and the gradual ascent through the relatively vegetation-poor terrain. We climbed higher and higher. The old Mercedes did its job admirably, pulling us over passes and down again into valleys framed by mountain ridges.
At one point we drove through a valley that seemed relatively prosperous. Tourism appeared to be well developed there. Trees and small streams were visible everywhere. The serpentines were extremely impressive. It was a pity I wasn’t driving my own car, as I would have liked to stop at many places along the way.
Quite late in the afternoon we finally reached Tafraoute. The sun was already setting behind the hills surrounding the town. The landscape was spectacular, though the town itself was quite small. There were a few cheap hotels and one very expensive one to choose from.
I first tried to orient myself. In the middle of the town was a wadi that would presumably be a raging river when it carried water. At the moment it was completely dry. As soon as I crossed a bridge slightly away from the center, someone spoke to me in excellent German.
We started talking, and he told me he had studied in Leipzig and even knew Connewitz and other places. But I didn’t feel like chatting for long—I hadn’t even found a hotel yet. The first hotel I tried was fully booked, which surprised me, but it didn’t matter. Fifty meters further on was another one.
The night cost around 50–80 dirhams, and the room matched the price. There was electricity, but this time no shower. The toilet was also outside. Under other circumstances I might have chosen a better place, but after two days in Sidi Ifni it was acceptable. The hotel itself was already quite worn, but at that moment I didn’t mind. I only planned to stay one night anyway.
I found a staircase leading to the flat roof. It was cluttered with junk, but it offered a great view over the town. I took some photos and looked out over the surroundings. Tafraoute lies at about 1,000 meters above sea level—quite a contrast after coming straight from the coast. Still, despite the altitude, it was around 25 °C in the late evening in January, as one photo shows.
Overall, the town made a tidy impression on me—something like the Allgäu of Morocco. Nevertheless, there wasn’t really much to see on foot. I decided that the next day I would continue directly to Taroudant. With this short detour, at least I could say that I had been to the Anti-Atlas.
As I walked through the small town center, I remembered what the man earlier had told me: that parties sometimes take place in the surrounding mountains, far from any settlements—generators, speakers, and music for days. He mentioned that some Austrians with motorhomes and off-road vehicles had recently done exactly that. I could imagine it very well.
So I decided to go to the more expensive hotel nearby, confident that I would find a bar there. That turned out to be true. After a few beers with some outdoor enthusiasts, I finally ended the day.