Words & Photographs by Zeger Dox 

 

It’s one ‘o clock in the morning and the last bus to Marrakech is about to leave. Unable to withdraw any money at the airport, we assume the ATM’s are to blame. After convincing the bus driver to stop at at the nearest bank for another attempt to pay for the ride, we find ourselves in the heart of the hectic city full of cars and motorbikes paving their way in the chaos. Cards don’t work. Next bank, refused again.

We arrive at the end station: the overwhelming Place Jemaa El-Fna square, full of monkeys on chains, snakes and bothersome sellers. Still without a single euro or dirham and with an increasingly angry bus driver that refuses to let us off the bus. The only usefull thing we have is the adress of the hostel we planned on staying. As our bus driver would surely not grant us a free ride, he makes a few calls and then suddenly a young boy arrives on his bike. He pays for the bus and guides us through the winding alleys to a tiny quiet riad in the old city.


We felt like we’d hit a gold vein of luck right from the start as things often kept falling into place in an oddly ideal way throughout the journey. 

 
From Marrakech we went up to Jbel Toubkal, at 4167 meters the highest mountain of Morocco and Northern Africa. The summit was apparently a fairly easy hike, but descending deeper into the dry High Atlas gave us a glimpse of the authentic Berber villages. We quickly learned that often the fewer the words, the better the tea.

 


After crossing the mountain range, we rented a chinese car in Ouarzazate that didn’t look like it was going to last for another day and drove it East through the desert. Always on the move, but never in a hurry. 


The desert summer heat and sweaty crammed taxis had us eventually longing for the windy West coast. Along the way from Agadir up to Essaouira we passed a small fishing village and couldn't not stay there and surf for a few days before heading back inland.

 

You can see more of Zeger's work here.