After sunrise, I made up my mind about the day. I packed my things and went downstairs to pay. The hotel had a café on the ground floor, and breakfast was included in the room price—something completely new on this trip.
So I sat down on the terrace, which was right on the corner between the street and the wadi. There was the usual coffee, along with flatbread, jam, and butter. I set off on the next stage of the journey in a relaxed mood, thinking about finding either a bus or a taxi directly to Taroudant. Meanwhile, the sun began to warm things up a bit more.
After paying, I went back to the place where I had been dropped off the day before. There were a few taxis there, but no buses. I sat down in a corner and watched the scene for a while. Somehow, not much was happening.
At some point I asked a taxi driver about Taroudant. He made it clear to me that nothing was going there anymore today—no bus and no taxi. So I would have to go back to Tiznit first and then, if time allowed, continue on to Taroudant the same day. I was confident it would work, though; it was still well before noon, and if not, then so be it.
Eventually a taxi to Tiznit showed up. I noticed that there really wasn’t much traffic here. Filling the taxi with seven passengers took another hour before we could finally leave. In the meantime, I made myself comfortable at a fairly pleasant café on the terrace opposite the taxis. At some point the driver shouted “Zid! Zid!” (“Let’s go!”), and the journey could begin.
This time we drove in an old Peugeot—whatever model it was. The old thing somehow managed to fit eight people plus luggage. I sat all the way in the back by the window. In front of me sat the Grim Reaper.
I tried in vain to take a few photos through the very dirty windows, as the serpentines were once again quite impressive. But that kind of landscape never really comes across in photos anyway. At some point there was a sudden stop, which was unusual for a taxi, since the driver normally tried to get to the destination as fast as possible. The woman in the very front had to vomit. While we waited, I stared out at the landscape until it was called “Zid!” again.
The taxi ride was much faster than the bus journey the day before, which wasn’t surprising—the bus can barely pick up speed on the steep uphill roads. I’d say the taxi was roughly twice as fast. First we drove through the Anti-Atlas valley again, hardly ascending at all. Then it went steeply up serpentines, over a pass, and finally back down toward sea level.
Arriving in Tiznit, I immediately looked for the taxi stand to Taroudant. I found it right away, as there is always someone standing around shouting loudly to advertise his destination. After about half an hour, the taxi filled up and we set off north again. After roughly 2.5 hours, we reached Taroudant at the southern gate of the old city.
The city was once again typically reddish, surrounded by a wall with imposing gates. In front of the southern gate was the bus and taxi station, where there was a lot going on. The sun had not yet set. For some stupid reason, I let myself be talked into buying a bus ticket for the next day to Ouarzazate.
I don’t even remember exactly how it happened. I paid around 80 dirhams for it and immediately got annoyed with myself. What did I need the ticket for now? It unnecessarily restricted my flexibility. The bus was supposed to leave the next day around 13:00. Once again, I received one of those ominous little handwritten notes stating the time, the bus company, and the amount paid. I could just as well have shown up the next day and sorted something out then. Perhaps the long detour of the day had clouded my judgment.
I also felt slightly cheated, since anyone could issue such a slip of paper for money—but that suspicion turned out to be completely unfounded. Nothing of the sort happened during the entire trip.
I walked through the gate into the old medina of Taroudant, which is well worth seeing. According to the guidebook, it is much quieter and less touristy than Marrakech, though comparable in size. I tried to orient myself using the LP map to find a hotel. After ten minutes I was hopelessly lost, despite the streets being relatively wide. I had to retrace my steps and start over.
I kept stopping, turning back, asking, and starting again. Of course, there were no street signs or names, so I constantly had to ask shopkeepers or hotel staff where I actually was. At least this way I got to know the city a bit, even though it was slowly getting dark—which only meant that even more people were out and about.
Eventually I found a square with a hotel. The building looked somewhat 19th century but was nicely furnished. I didn’t pay more than 100 dirhams, though it was noticeably more expensive than previous places. There was a shared toilet and a shared shower. I had, of course, looked at the room beforehand. It was a bit odd but not bad at all: a small chamber with a large double bed and something like a balcony overlooking a medieval-looking alley. Inside, it felt like the Middle Ages—just somewhere in Europe.
Fortunately, there was electricity. I plugged in my devices to charge and went out to find something to eat. I got lost again almost immediately, even though I was only about 50 meters from the hotel. Next door was a more expensive hotel with a beautiful roof terrace, from which you could probably see the entire city.
I sat down at a food stand and looked into the pots. Something appealed to me; I pointed at it and received a bowl of a very tasty chickpea dish. I gestured my thanks to the vendor. It cost only 10 dirhams, and of course there was tea with it.
After that I wandered through the city again. I didn’t want to buy anything—just to look around. In the end, it wasn’t fundamentally different from other places I had seen in the country, and I didn’t need anything.
I chose an internet café and spent some time online, answering emails. By then it was already quite late, but I still wanted to write my notes. So I sat down in a restaurant recommended by the LP and ordered a bottle of wine. The place was wonderful, with colorful patterned tiles covering the walls and ceilings. Al Jazeera was playing on the television, so after a while I could also catch up on moving images from the world.
Of course, smoking was allowed freely—no comparison to many other countries. After finishing the Moroccan wine, I finally staggered back to the hotel and ended the day. During the night I woke up a few times because of loud noises from some young people nearby, but I couldn’t quite figure out what was going on.