I woke up around 08:00 to the loud crashing of waves hitting the rocks in front of me. I freshened up and realized that I had slept very well; the supposed salmonella attack from the evening before was no longer noticeable.
In the shared shower there was enough warm water, so I could warm up a bit after the rather cool night—especially since no one else was around, neither in the hotel nor in the corridor. As expected, there was no light in the shower, but I had candles with me. I also washed a set of clothes, since with only two sets available I had to plan ahead.
I hung the clothes over the railing of my terrace to dry in the sun. Then I asked the rather young hotel employees how I could best get to Sidi Ifni. Spontaneously, I decided to spend another night here. I was told that there was a bus on the main road. So I went there without having eaten and took a first photo—one that clearly showed that absolutely nothing else was visible.
After a while, the Italians arrived and I talked with them until a bus finally passed. The bus to Sidi Ifni cost 5 dirhams and went to what was called the “bus station.” That turned out to be a huge open square with nothing on it. By then it had become quite hot—much hotter than I had expected. Around the square there were several cafés, but none of them were touristy anymore.
It was clear that the town was trying to present itself as tourist-friendly, but everything still felt very rural. Apart from the street next to the square, everything seemed quite original. Overall, it had nothing in common with Marrakech, Essaouira, or Agadir. Rather, it felt like a better version of Inezgane—with the sea and a few French pensioners added.
I walked around the small city center near the square until I noticed several mopeds parked in front of a shop. On impulse, I asked how much it would cost to rent one for a day. For the first time on the trip, English didn’t help at all. Luckily, an English and Arabic teacher from the local school was standing nearby and helped translate. The price was €12 per day.
Without much thought, I agreed. I briefly talked with the teacher about the problems at his school—his main concerns were the lack of pens and paper. I had to make a copy of my passport and went to a copy shop around the corner, which also functioned as an internet café. I made a few extra copies and returned.
In the meantime, my moped was tested and filled with red fuel poured from plastic bottles. I didn’t know where I wanted to go, and that was exactly why a two-liter reserve bottle was strapped to the luggage rack. After paying and receiving a short briefing, I set off.
I had never ridden a moped before, and getting started was difficult. I had to push it quite far until I finally understood how choke and throttle worked. Later, it would start within two meters.
Before I left, the rental guy pressed a helmet into my hand. I refused, so he strapped it to the moped instead. At least you should have one with you, he explained. Later I realized he was right: almost nobody wore a helmet, but one was often present.
I lit a cigarette and rode slowly through the city center, then a bit farther outside to get used to the vehicle, which managed a maximum of about 50 km/h. I drove north out of the city toward Legzira and stopped at a snack stand because I hadn’t eaten anything yet. The stand consisted of a transparent tent and a small hut. English didn’t work here either, so I switched to my guidebook French and managed to order something. The only thing I could clearly identify was an omelette—and that turned out to be exactly right. I ordered tea with it.
The tea arrived immediately in a pot. I had already picked up the custom of pouring it from a height into the glass. It felt a bit silly, but that’s how it’s done. There was also a 100-gram block of sugar, from which I took only a little. Shortly afterward, the omelette arrived in a pan: about three fried eggs with chunks of processed cheese. Perfect for me—cheap and tasty.
At that point, I was quickly identified as a tourist for three reasons: no English was spoken (later only Arabic helped), I poured my tea from a height, and—as would remain typical—there was no cutlery. The omelette came with flatbread, which I used to scrape the eggs out of the pan. I’m not squeamish, so it worked after a while and tasted great with the tea.
Later, this would become almost my standard way of eating. With a bit of practice, it works perfectly without cutlery. You don’t really need it—it just wastes water, and water doesn’t come easily in the desert.
I turned back and drove down the small hill close to sea level, then headed left out of the city along the road. On the left was a wadi, on the right low hills. There were no buildings anymore. On impulse, I left the paved road and followed a dirt track up a hill on the right. The track was well worn, so climbing wasn’t difficult. At the top were a few small houses—apparently a farm. Cacti grew everywhere. The farm was inhabited, and a dog barked from a distance but didn’t come closer.
I left the engine running and looked out toward Sidi Ifni spreading out below toward the sea. I felt slightly uneasy and drove back down to the road. There was a great view to the west. Opposite, I saw another small hill with a track leading up. Spontaneously, I decided to go up there too. I had nothing else planned—and I had never driven a moped up a hill before.
I rode west along the road and turned off at the next junction onto another rocky track. At a fork I went straight ahead, then turned left up the hill. The road became increasingly bad. At first, fist-sized stones were manageable. Later, they seemed harmless compared to what followed. The slope grew steeper, the stones larger. Eventually it was almost all boulders. At first I was careful, then increasingly aggressive, because the hill was steep and the moped had little power. Often I had to get off and push it uphill while revving the engine.
I started sweating and doubting the wisdom of my plan. Somehow it still worked, and I reached the top. From there, the view in all directions was fantastic. I drank generously from the bottle strapped to the luggage rack and looked around. Interestingly, there were ruins of old buildings buried everywhere, mostly visible only as ditches or fragments of masonry.
After some wandering, I headed back down. That was much easier, though the moped seemed to have aged about ten years during the excursion. I worried about a breakdown that would force me to walk back. Because I had to stand both uphill and downhill, the handlebars became loose and bent downward. Fortunately, I was able to bend them back.
By now it was getting late; darkness falls early here, around 18:00. I rode back through the city and on to Legzira. I lay down briefly on the beach and watched the sunset opposite. Several dogs were around, one of which lay down next to me.
I walked along the beach for a while, thinking about what to do next. It felt a bit lonely, but with my new mobility I could always ride back into town. I grabbed my netbook and rode to the “bus station” area for dinner. By then it was dark. On the country road I drove my rattling machine at full throttle. Dinner was omelette, fries, and tea again.
In the evening there was much more activity in town than at noon. Earlier the streets had been almost empty; now cafés and streets were full. I watched people for a while, then rode to an internet café around the corner. Since Marrakech, I hadn’t been online—maybe not even there. I had to wait, so I sat on the steps outside, smoking one cigarette after another. Teenagers spent their evenings chatting on the computers.
An hour cost about one euro. The café had around ten computers, sharing something like DSL speed. I got an old machine with badly installed software, but that didn’t matter. I spent a long time answering work emails and browsing. Shortly before midnight, I rode back to Legzira.
On the country road, covering the roughly 15 km, it became quite cold. I parked the moped where the hotel staff had told me earlier and went to my room. On the terrace I enjoyed the silence, the loud roar of the sea, and the incredible clarity of the stars. The clothes I had hung out to dry were no drier than the day before. I had hoped the sun would help, but at nearly 100% humidity nothing dries.
I studied the guidebook again and decided that the next day would be my farewell here—I would head into the mountains.