Asilah, Morocco Travel Guide: Where to Stay, Eat & Wander

Early Morning Crossing to Morocco

The alarm went off early. Bags packed, car loaded, Tarifa still quiet. I drove north along the coast to Algeciras as the sky started to lighten, ports silhouetted against soft colour.

Check-in was straightforward, and before long we were boarding the ferry with Balearia. Roly settled quickly, watching the activity from the deck as the harbour pulled away behind us.

The crossing itself took just under an hour and a half. Spain faded into the distance, and slowly the outline of Morocco came into view. A passport stamp, a change in weather, a sense of crossing into somewhere new. 

By late morning, we were pulling into Tangier Med. Africa, officially reached.

The Drive: Tangier Med to Asilah

Once off the ferry at Tangier Med, the road south towards Asilah takes just over an hour. The drive quickly became less about getting somewhere and more about taking it in. Goats and cows wandered across the road, people walked the verges, and the landscape stretched out in greens and soft hills. It felt like crossing into a completely different pace of life. That pace carried straight into Asilah

Arrival in Asilah

I stayed at a guesthouse called Maison d'hotes Berbari just beyond the town edge, off the beaten path and firmly part of everyday Morocco. Local homes nearby, animals moving through the land and life unfolding around you.

Peacocks wandered the grounds. Roosters cut through the mornings. Dogs slept wherever the shade landed. From the nearby mosque, the call to prayer drifted in at regular intervals.

Breakfast was communal and generous. A full spread, and a mix of guests who naturally ended up talking from French and Spanish families, young couples, travellers passing through, and the owners’ dogs drifting between chairs. No forced interaction, just shared space done well.

Evenings revolved around home-cooked Moroccan food. Tagines, slow-cooked meats, dishes made to be eaten together. We gathered in the main living and dining room with log wood and fire going, records playing, the room lively without being performative.

It wasn’t a stay built around activities or “must-dos.” It worked because it felt honest, shaped by the people running it, the land it sat on, and the everyday routines unfolding around it.

New Year’s Eve

New Year’s Eve was spent at the guesthouse, gathered with the other guests and, inevitably, the dogs in an easy, celebratory mood. Dinner was a proper home-cooked beef tagine, rich and comforting, shared around the table. Later, I caught up with friends and family on the phone back in England, slipping between conversations and the room around me.

It felt balanced and grounded. No rush, no excess, just good food, familiar voices, and a calm sense of closing one chapter and opening another. A solid way to see in the New Year, and the right lead-in to a full day of exploring Asilah the next day. 

New Year’s Day: Exploring Asilah 

New Year’s Day was spent on foot, getting a feel for Asilah. Blue doors against white walls, cats stretched across doorsteps and car bonnets, unbothered and unmoved. Each turn revealed something different, small details stacking into a strong sense of place.

Asilah Medina

I wandered into the medina. This isn’t a hectic souk like Marrakech or Fez. It’s residential, artistic, and distinctly Asilah.

The lanes are lined with whitewashed buildings edged in blue, a colour code that’s become part of the town’s identity. Small stalls sit open selling snacks, scarves, ceramics, paintings, and clothing. Nothing is stacked on top of itself. It’s spaced out, easy to browse, easy to move through.

Art shows up everywhere, but casually. Painted doors. Murals on corners. Framed pieces leaning against walls as if they’ve always been there. It’s woven into the fabric of the place. Creativity feels lived in.

I wandered without a plan, doubling back, cutting down side streets, letting the medina open and close around me.

Asilah’s Murals & Painted Streets

The murals appear without warning. One street looks ordinary, the next opens onto a wall painted with fish, birds, faces, geometric shapes, coastal scenes. Much of this comes from Asilah’s long-running International Cultural Festival, where artists are invited to paint directly onto the medina walls. What makes it different is what happens after. The art stays. It fades. It peels. It gets painted over, reworked, replaced. Some pieces look fresh. Others clearly carry years of weather.

A painted wall might belong to someone’s home. A doorway becomes part of the artwork. A mural wraps around a corner and disappears into everyday life.

You turn down one lane and catch something new. Walk the same route later and notice what you missed before. The medina doesn’t stay still, it shifts through layers.

Above the Medina

From the medina, I climbed a set of stone steps that led up to the ramparts. The view opened suddenly. The Atlantic stretched out below, the beach running along the base of the old walls. Asilah stacked up in white and blue.

Down to the Water

I walked out of the medina and followed the path down to the Plage d’Asilah. A group of locals were gathered on the sand playing steel pan drums, the sound carrying across the beach. Nearby, kids were mid–football game, running barefoot, shouting, laughing, stopping only when the ball rolled too close to the water. There was movement everywhere. It felt open, social, alive.

Roly immediately was in full joy mode, sprinting the length of the beach, charging into the waves, then racing back out again before repeating the whole thing. He didn’t hesitate once. Wet paws, sandy fur, completely in his element.

A young Moroccan boy came over and started throwing a stick for him. We got chatting. He spoke four languages, very impressive. It was one of those easy, unforced exchanges that just happens.

That’s something that kept standing out in Asilah. The friendliness felt genuine. From people on the beach, to locals in the streets, to the guesthouse owners, conversations started easily and kindness felt baked in. The town felt open, welcoming, and comfortable to be in.

Just along the edge of the beach is Port d’Asilah, the town’s fishing harbour, where rows of small blue fishing boats are moored along the water. We strolled past it for a while, then headed back into town to find somewhere for lunch.

Late Lunch at Dar Al Maghrebia

I headed back into town for a late lunch at Dar Al Maghrebia, tucked into a small lane just off the medina and grabbed a table on the terrace. I ordered a seafood tagine, rich and tomato-based, served with fresh bread and lemon. Around us, tables filled and emptied on repeat. It had that mid-afternoon energy, lively and felt like a fitting end to a day spent wandering before heading back to the guest lodge. 

Working Days & Wandering Further

The rest of my time in Asilah settled into a steady pattern. Mornings working from the guesthouse, afternoons drifting back out into town or along the coast. It’s an easy place to balance both.

One morning I stepped outside and there was a donkey tied up beside my car, calmly grazing. Not something you see often in the UK.

Back in town, lunches stretched long. I stopped in at Port XIV Restaurant, and watched the harbour activity drift past. Other days were spent on the beach watching the surfers, kids running football matches across the sand, and sunsets.

One day, I drove further along the coast towards La plage de Sidi Mghait, just outside town. A line of beach restaurants, including Chiringuito Morchid, sat facing the sea, all shuttered for winter. With no crowds and no soundtrack beyond the waves and wind, it felt like seeing the coast in its in-between state; stripped back, unfiltered, and entirely itself.

Why Asilah Stuck With Me  💌

Asilah stayed with me because nothing felt curated for show. Life unfolded in front of you on the streets, along the coast, inside the medina without needing to be explained or packaged.

It’s a place where daily life and visitors overlap naturally. You’re not separated from it. You’re walking through it. People stop to talk. Kids play football on the beach. Fishermen move in and out of the harbour. Artists paint directly onto walls.

Conversations happen easily and kindness shows up without effort. From the women running the guesthouse to strangers stopping to chat as you pass, there’s a sense of ease that’s hard to manufacture.

Now, it’s time for the next route.

Next route: Rabat