Travel Guides

Surf Coast Detour: Tamraght, Taghazout & Imsouane The Atlantic Drive: Essaouira to Tamraght Leaving Essaouira, the road south along Morocco’s Atlantic coast is one of those drives that reminds you why road trips exist in the first place. The journey to Tamraght covers roughly 150 km and takes just under three hours, following the N1 coastal road as it traces the edge of the Atlantic. Long open stretches of road unfold ahead, with rugged cliffs on one side and sweeping ocean views on the other. It’s the kind of scenery that makes you slow down instinctively. The coastline shifts constantly. Hidden beaches appear between rocky outcrops. Fishing villages pass quietly in the distance. The Atlantic rolls endlessly beside you, deep blue against the dry ochre landscape of Morocco’s southwest. At times the road climbs slightly inland before dropping back toward the ocean again, revealing breathtaking views across the coastline. Window down, salt air drifting through the car, the whole drive feels expansive and freeing. Simply put, it’s one of Morocco’s most beautiful coastal drives. By the time Tamraght appeared on the horizon, the atmosphere had already begun to shift. The energy softens here. Surf vans appear parked along the roadside. Boards lean against walls. You’ve entered Morocco’s surf coast. If you’re mapping out a full route, start with our Morocco 10 Day Itinerary guide. First Evening in Tamraght I arrived in Tamraght just before sunset. It was the perfect timing; enough daylight to drop my bags at the accommodation before Roly and I headed straight back out to explore. The evening light was already turning golden as we walked through town. Tamraght immediately felt different from the places I had been before. It’s a small surf village perched just above the ocean, where dusty roads weave between shops, cafes, surf houses, yoga studios and local restaurants. The infrastructure is rough around the edges with potholes, uneven paths, sandy streets but that’s part of the charm. It feels real. Unpolished. Lived-in. You quickly notice the mix of people here. Locals going about daily life alongside a steady stream of surfers, travellers and digital nomads who have quietly settled into the flow of the town. For dinner that night we stopped at Merlan, a seafood restaurant in town. I ordered the seafood paella, and it was perfectly seasoned with fresh produce done exactly the way coastal food should be. One of those meals where you slow down without meaning to because every bite deserves attention. After dinner, Roly and I wandered through the streets to get a feel for the place. Tamraght isn’t polished tourism. The roads are uneven, the sidewalks cracked, and street dogs sleep lazily in the corners of the road, but the town has an easy, welcoming energy. Conversations drifting between tables in different languages. A small coastal town that has quietly become a meeting point for travellers from all over the world. It felt adventurous, a little rough around the edges, but deeply authentic. Exactly the kind of place I enjoy discovering. Slow Mornings & Banana Point The next morning started at Let’s Be Healing Food, a bohemian cafe tucked inside the town. It was the kind of place that perfectly captures Tamraght’s energy. Inside, a mix of travellers, surfers, digital nomads and locals sat around wooden tables, some enjoying breakfast, others working quietly on laptops. Outside, Moroccan-style loungers sat low to the ground under the morning sun. A couple of street dogs stretched lazily across the pavement, completely at home in the warmth. The atmosphere was relaxed, communal, almost meditative. Breakfast and coffee here were 10/10, and I ended up getting some work done while Roly rested happily across my lap. Tamraght has a way of slowing everything down. There’s no rush. No urgency. Just people enjoying the moment they’re in. Later that morning we drove down to Banana Point Beach, less than ten minutes from town. The sun was shining, the Atlantic rolling steadily, and the beach stretched wide and open in front of us. Surfers sat waiting patiently beyond the break, watching the swell and waiting for the perfect wave. Roly was instantly in his element, pacing the shoreline, sprinting through the sand, diving into the water whenever he felt like it. We stayed for over an hour just watching the ocean and the surfers riding the waves. It was one of those simple travel moments that stays with you. Tattoos, Potholes & The Tamraght Adventure Later that afternoon I headed to see Trash Poke, a tattoo artist whose studio sits above a small guesthouse in town. His workspace is on the rooftop; relaxed, open and the experience felt completely different from a traditional tattoo studio. Instead of choosing from a sheet, we talked through the design together. He sketched directly onto my skin, freehand, shaping the idea as we spoke. He uses the stick and poke technique, tattooing by hand rather than machine. The process felt calming and almost meditative. Roly and the artist’s small dog wandered around the studio during the session, occasionally stopping for cuddles before returning to their own play session. It was relaxed, personal, and completely unique. The tattoo became a small symbol of the three incredible months I had spent exploring Morocco. A moment beautifully captured permanently. A New Guesthouse & One More Night That evening I moved accommodation as my first place had been fully booked. The second guesthouse sat slightly higher up the hill outside the centre of town. Getting there required navigating even more potholes and rough roads, at one point my car nearly got stuck before a local helped push it forward. Just another part of the Tamraght adventure. The guesthouse had a shared kitchen and communal area where travellers gathered in the evenings. Surfers chatting about the day’s waves, travellers exchanging stories, the relaxed energy of people passing through but lingering just long enough to connect. Outside, a few stray dogs rested near the entrance, quietly watching the street. Roly and I stayed just one night before continuing south to Taghazout and Imsouane, two more of Morocco’s most iconic surf towns. Tamraght left its mark. A little rough around the edges, and completely full of character. From Tamraght to Taghazout: The Shortest Coastal Hop The next morning the road carried us only a little further north. Tamraght and Taghazout sit incredibly close to one another, just 8 km apart, roughly a 10–12 minute drive along the N1 coastal road. On the map it almost looks like one extended stretch of surf coastline rather than two separate towns. The drive itself is short but beautiful. The road hugs the Atlantic as it curves along the cliffs, revealing wide views across the water before dipping back inland toward the village. Taghazout appears almost suddenly. The town centre funnels down to the waterfront where fishermen, surfers, travellers and locals all mix together in the same narrow streets. If Tamraght feels like a quiet surf village, Taghazout feels like its slightly livelier sibling; still relaxed, still coastal, but with a little more buzz, and the ocean is never more than a few steps away. Taghazout: Surf Streets, Atlantic Views & A Village with History Taghazout carries that unmistakable surf-town energy the moment you arrive. The streets are small and sunlit, lined with surf shops, cafes, handmade stalls and boards leaning casually against whitewashed walls. Surfers walk barefoot through town still in their wetsuits, boards tucked under their arms, heading either toward the water or back from a session. Roly and I wandered slowly through the centre first, letting the town reveal itself without much of a plan. Colourful rugs hung from market stalls, handmade jewellery sat on small tables by the oceanfront, and racks of surfboards leaned against painted storefronts. The whole place feels creative and a little improvised, a village that grew around the ocean rather than being designed for it. But Taghazout wasn’t always a surf destination. Historically, it was a small Berber fishing village, where life revolved around the Atlantic and the daily flow of boats leaving the shore before sunrise. The harbour below town was once the centre of activity, with fishermen bringing in sardines, anchovies and mackerel that would later make their way inland toward Agadir and Marrakech. In the 1960s and 70s, Taghazout quietly appeared on the radar of travelling surfers and backpackers moving along Morocco’s coast. Word spread about the long right-hand point breaks; Anchor Point, Hash Point and Panorama with waves that could roll perfectly for hundreds of metres along the coastline. Surf culture slowly layered itself into the town. Simple guesthouses opened. Travellers stayed longer than planned, and over time, Taghazout evolved into one of Morocco’s most well-known surf towns, while still holding onto much of its village character. You still see that blend today. Local fishermen sit mending nets near the harbour while surfers wax boards nearby. Berber women sell handmade textiles while digital nomads work from cafes. It’s a mix that somehow feels natural rather than forced. Eventually the streets open out toward the sea. From the rocks you can see surfers scattered across the water waiting patiently for the next set of waves to roll through. Horses move slowly along the sand, beach walkers drift past, and the Atlantic stretches wide under the Moroccan sun. Lunch was at World of Waves Restaurant, perched above the shoreline with uninterrupted views across the ocean. It turned into one of those easy afternoons where time stretches without much structure. The sun was warm, the sea rolling just below us, and conversations drifted naturally between tables of travellers, surfers and locals. I worked a little from the table, laptop open beside a coffee, Roly settled nearby watching the movement around us. The kind of casual productivity that only really works in places like this. Taghazout doesn’t rush you. The energy is simple: walk through town, watch the waves, eat well, talk to strangers, repeat. And somehow the whole day passes without feeling like you did very much at all, which is exactly the point. Northbound to Imsouane After a couple of days soaking up the surf-town vibes of Tamraght and Taghazout, it was time to head further north to Imsouane. It’s roughly 70 km north, about 1 hour and 20 minutes. Roly rode shotgun as usual, watching the landscape flick past the window while the warm coastal air rolled through the car. The road felt open and easy. As you get closer to Imsouane, the terrain softens slightly. The road dips inland briefly through rolling farmland before curving back toward the coast, and then suddenly, the village appears. A small cluster of white buildings perched above two sweeping bays, surrounded by cliffs and open ocean. Another surf town , but with its own energy entirely. Imsouane: Where the Day Revolves Around the Waves Imsouane is small. Really small. The kind of place where you arrive and instantly understand the pace of life here: surf, eat, sleep, repeat. After parking up, Roly and I headed straight down toward the beach. A set of steps took us from the village down to the sand, opening onto one of the most beautiful bays on Morocco’s Atlantic coast. The view stretches wide. Golden sand curves around the bay, framed by rugged cliffs and hills that drop straight toward the ocean. The Atlantic rolls in steady, clean lines, and the water is dotted with surfers sitting patiently beyond the break waiting for the next set. And there are a lot of surfers. Boards everywhere. Wetsuits hanging off railings. Groups waxing boards on the sand. Others jogging back out into the water after a ride. The whole town seems to orbit around the waves. Imsouane is famous for The Bay, one of the longest right-hand waves in Africa. On a good day, surfers can ride a single wave for hundreds of metres as it glides slowly along the curve of the bay. That reputation has turned the village into something of a pilgrimage spot for surfers from around the world. Walking along the shoreline, the atmosphere felt relaxed and almost hypnotic. People scattered across the beach watching the waves, chatting between surf sessions, or simply sitting in the sun with boards resting beside them. Roly quickly made friends of his own, darting around the sand, sniffing noses with a curious beach puppy before charging toward the water and back again. The pace here is slow in the best way. There’s no real rush to do anything because the entire town revolves around a simple daily cycle: watching the swell, waiting for the tide, and heading out when the waves are right. In Imsouane, that’s not just a hobby. It’s the whole point of being here. Lunch at Agama & An Unexpected Night in Imsouane After the beach walk, I wandered up the hill to Agama, a terrace restaurant overlooking the bay. From up there the whole curve of Imsouane opens out in front of you with the deep blue Atlantic, the surfers scattered across the water, and the cliffs wrapping around the bay like a natural amphitheatre. It’s the kind of view that instantly slows you down. I settled into a table outside under the bright Moroccan sun with my laptop, a fresh juice, and lunch. The dish was beautifully presented: fragrant rice topped with grilled shrimp. Fresh, light and exactly what you want after a morning walking along the beach. Roly, of course, was fully invested in the experience. He sat patiently beside the table watching every movement of the plate like a professional food critic waiting for his moment. But lunch in Imsouane isn’t just about the food, it’s about the atmosphere. People talk to each other here constantly. It’s one of those rare places where conversations start naturally with whoever happens to sit nearby. The table next to me struck up a chat within minutes. A surfer wandered past carrying a longboard and joined in. Another group asked where I’d driven from. It’s a rotating cast of travellers: surfers drifting in and out between sessions, digital nomads tapping away on laptops, people who planned to stay two days and quietly extended it to a week. Everyone is relaxed. No one is rushing anywhere. Even the dogs joined the social circle. A couple of friendly local dogs wandered over and planted themselves beneath our table, clearly deciding that Roly and I looked like good company. Within minutes I had a small canine entourage. Originally, Imsouane was only meant to be a quick afternoon stop on the drive back to Essaouira but sitting there, watching the waves roll in and chatting with acquaintances, it became obvious that leaving the same day would be a mistake, so I stayed. Just a few minutes up the walking path from the restaurant, Agama also has a villa where guests can stay. Five minutes from the beach, tucked slightly above the town, it opened up into a beautiful shared villa with a large pool overlooking the ocean. Inside, had high ceilings, bright airy rooms and a relaxed communal feel. People drifted between the pool, the lounge areas and the terrace, chatting, reading or simply soaking up the sun. The group staying was a dynamic mix: three of us from England, one from Berlin, two from France and one from Portugal. It felt like a tiny temporary community; people swapping travel stories, surf plans, and recommendations for where everyone had been. Staying there felt perfectly in tune with the spirit of Imsouane itself: simple, open, friendly and unplanned. Sometimes the best stops on a trip are the ones that weren’t meant to be stops at all. Golden Hour in Imsouane To end the day, Roly and I headed out for a sunset walk along the cliffs overlooking the bay. The wind had picked up a little by then, enough to remind you that the Atlantic is never far away from asserting itself,  but it didn’t take away from the moment. The air felt fresh, the waves rolled in below us, and the whole village slowly shifted into that soft golden light. From the path above the bay you can see everything. Imsouane spreads out across the headland in a cluster of low buildings perched above the water. The sun slowly dropped toward the horizon, reflecting across the water in long shimmering lines.  Roly, meanwhile, was fully embracing the wind. His ears flicked back, fur ruffling as he stood watching the waves. We wandered slowly along the path and back through the quiet streets of the village as the light softened further. There’s something special about seeing Imsouane at golden hour. The cliffs glow, the ocean softens, and the whole place feels calm in a way that’s hard to explain but easy to appreciate. It was the perfect way to end to the day. A Slow Morning Before the Road The next morning started early. I had an 11AM appointment with a mechanic back in Essaouira, getting the car checked over before the long drives north that were coming up including the big journey toward the Sahara Desert the following week. But before setting off, there was one last moment to enjoy Imsouane. The villa host had prepared a full breakfast spread for everyone staying in the house. Plates of fresh bread, fruit, eggs, spreads, coffee and Moroccan tea were laid out across the dining table, and slowly everyone drifted in from their rooms. The atmosphere was relaxed in the way shared houses sometimes become after just one night together. We all sat around the table and the conversation picked up right where it had left off. People shared stories about where they’d been travelling, where they were heading next, what they’d discovered around Imsouane the previous day. Some had surfed all day, others had wandered the village or simply spent the afternoon watching the waves. It felt like the kind of morning that travel creates so well; strangers from different places sitting together, exchanging pieces of their journeys before everyone heads back out into the world. Eventually it was time to load the car and start the drive back down the coast to Essaouira. As we pulled away, I realised how much the past few days along this stretch of coast had stayed with me. Tamraght, Taghazout, and Imsouane three surf towns, each with its own energy, but all connected by the same ocean energy. Each one had added another layer to my experience of Morocco, and once again, the country had shown how much depth it holds within it. Notes from the Road Driving south toward Essaouira, I found myself thinking about how each stop had carried its own character. Tamraght felt grounded and local, a place where life moves slowly between cafes, yoga terraces and long beach walks. Taghazout had the buzz of a surf town that the world had discovered, energetic and social with people arriving from everywhere. And Imsouane felt almost timeless; small, calm and completely centred around the ocean. Three places, only a short distance apart, yet each offering a slightly different window into coastal Morocco. That’s something Morocco does incredibly well: layers. You can drive just an hour down the road and feel like you’ve stepped into a completely different version of the country. A different pace, different people, different energy, yet still unmistakably Morocco. We were heading back to Essaouira for the final week of our time there, but my mind was already looking ahead to the next leg of the trip. In the coming week, the landscape would begin to change again, trading the Atlantic coastline for mountains, vast open roads, and eventually the endless dunes of the Sahara. From surf towns to desert. Morocco has a way of doing that. For full route planning, city guides and supporting travel logistics, explore all our Morocco Travel Guides. Now, it’s time for the next route. Back to Essaouira and then Next stop: Sahara desert 

Westbound to the Atlantic: Marrakech to Essaouira The drive from Marrakech to Essaouira takes just under three hours, cutting west through open land. The red earth gradually softens. The air changes before you even see the ocean. The drive covered long stretches of highway, small towns, local roadside shops, the occasional donkey cart, and that steady sense of moving toward something lighter. After the density of Marrakech, and it's beauty and chaos, the road west felt like a reset button. There’s a clarity to coastal air that you don’t notice until you’re back in it. And then, suddenly, we saw the Atlantic. Essaouira opened up with its long beach, wind rolling in from the horizon and whitewashed buildings in the distance. The kind of arrival where you just know, this is going to be good. For Roly and me, coastal towns are our natural happy place. Open sand. Space to run. Picturesque sunsets. Less noise, more horizon. Essaouira offers all of that, wrapped in a creative undercurrent of art, rooftop terraces, great food, music and an easygoing sense of community. Immediate first impressions? Positive. Grounded. Lighter. Back to sea level. Back to movement without dodging scooters in Marrakech. Back to our happy place. Living by the Beach: The First Two Weeks The first two weeks in Essaouira were spent in an Airbnb just steps from the beach. After four straight months on the road through France, Spain and North Morocco which was full of constant movement, this felt like a shift into a steadier chapter. A place where I could settle, dig deeper, and build routines. Mornings began with long beach walks along Plage d’Essaouira. Wide, open sand stretching for miles, with horses and camels trotting past like it’s completely normal. Kitesurfers carved through the wind, surfers pushed against the Atlantic swell. Roly was in absolute heaven, sprinting full throttle across the shoreline, tail up, zero restraint. Breakfast quickly became ritual at Le Panoramique, an open beachside restaurant facing straight out to sea. Fresh juices, generous plates, oversized loungers you sink into, and the kind of place where you can easily stay longer than planned. And yes, dog-friendly. In fact, Essaouira turned out to be one of the most dog-friendly places I’ve experienced in Morocco. Roly was welcomed everywhere; cafes, restaurants, bars, shops, even beauty salons. No hesitation. No awkward glances. Just space for him to exist alongside me. Read more in my Travelling Morocco with a Dog guide.  Evenings often drifted back toward Avenue Mohammed V for sunset drinks at La Coupole, a echo-friendly, bohemian rooftop restaurant facing the ocean. Spectacular skies. Good cocktails. Playlists that know exactly what they’re doing. The kind of golden-hour energy that makes you pause and feel genuine gratitude for the life you’re living. Those first two weeks didn’t feel like a stopover. They felt like the beginning of something longer, and without fully realising it yet, I was already settling in. Moving Into the Medina: Six Weeks of Settling In After two weeks by the beach, I crossed town and moved into a new Airbnb inside the medina. The apartment stretched across three floors; a kitchen at ground level, bedroom and bathroom above, and a private rooftop terrace at the top with a lounger. Moroccan hues, textured walls and plants threaded through the rooms which gave it warmth and character. It felt like a proper base. Not a stopover. A home. And that’s exactly what it became for the next eight weeks.It also turned out to be a great place to work as a digital nomad on the days I needed focus. I had options throughout the house between the rooftop in the sun, quiet corners inside, and even a small desk on the second floor when I wanted to sit down properly and concentrate. The host was incredibly hospitable, and it’s somewhere I’d happily return to whenever I’m next in Morocco. Mornings in the medina opened with birdsong, children playing in the alleyways, and the call to prayer rising across the rooftops. It wasn’t background noise, it was atmosphere. Uplifting. Grounding. A reminder you’re living somewhere, not just passing through. Essaouira’s medina feels different to Marrakech. Still atmospheric. Still textured. But softer. Less chaotic. More space to enjoy it. Being in the medina meant everything sat within reach: markets, bakeries, the port, the beach, co-working spots, rooftop cafes, restaurants, bars. And when I didn’t feel like moving? I had my own terrace to work from, laptop open, still soaking up the vibes. After a couple of weeks, you fall into your own routine. You know which rooftop hits best at sunset, the best co-working spots, where to get your nails done, where to eat the best food, and where to take visiting friends and family. KSOU Restaurant Rooftop and Brunch&Co became a regular. Casual lunches at Koozina Garden and Restaurant la Tolérance. Hair and beauty at Mimi’s and Salon Rochelle centre de beauté. The fish market for something fresh.  Living in the medina meant I wasn’t visiting anymore. I was part of the daily choreography. Beach Days, Runs & Sunset Rituals Essaouira has wind. Not a breeze, wind. Constant. Defining. The kind that shapes the sea, the sand, and your hair in equal measure, and yet it’s still warm. Between February and March during my stay, temperatures hovered between 20–25°C. Proper sun. Clear skies. Heat on your skin. But the wind keeps it honest. It takes the edge off the midday warmth, makes long runs possible, makes sitting in full sun actually enjoyable. On hotter days, you’re grateful for it. Morning runs along the beach became non-negotiable. Wide, open sand stretching for miles. The Atlantic rolling in. Roly either charging ahead at full speed or circling back to check I was keeping up. There’s something about running beside the ocean that resets everything. Breath, horizon, and movement. And when evening rolls in, Essaouira really shows off. The skies don’t just fade, they perform. Some nights it’s a wash of violet. Other evenings the horizon burns red, then melts into deep orange. A slow, glowing shift that holds your attention.  Seagulls cut across the sky in sharp silhouettes. The ocean stretches wide and open beneath it all. It’s cinematic and majestic in a quiet, coastal way and impossible not to stop and watch. Some of my favourite spots to catch it with a drink in hand were La Coupole, KSOU Rooftop, Mega Loft, Beach & Friends, and Taros, especially on nights when I wanted a little more music, a little more movement, a little more volume. But just as often, it was simpler than that. Standing barefoot on the sand on the beach watching the sun drop clean into the Atlantic with nothing but horizon in front of me. No booking. No plan. No rush. Just letting the day close the way Essaouira does best. Workdays, Moroccan Tea & Co-Working Energy Essaouira surprised me as a work base. It doesn’t brand itself as a digital nomad hub, but it absolutely holds you. The pace supports focus. The medina provides background movement without distraction. Enough life to feel connected, not enough to distract. Some days I worked from my terrace. Other days I rotated between cafes and spots like Noqta Space, Three Little Birds and Picknick for a midday reset between calls. Moroccan tea became the anchor,  poured high, mint heavy, sweet enough to carry you through a long client day. After months of constant movement, I finally built something that resembled routine: Morning run or beach walk Moroccan tea Deep work block Late lunch Sunset outside No frantic Wi-Fi hunts. No packing the car every few days. Just steady output, salt air, and space to think. It was another bonus on this route that made work and location feel fully aligned. You can read more in my guide Digital Nomad Life in Morocco: Best Cities, Costs & WiFi Reality. Beauty, Vet Appointments & Staying Human When you stay somewhere eight weeks, you stop living like a traveller.You get your nails done. You get your hair done. You take your dog to the vet for annual vaccines at Cabinet Vétérinaire L’Alizé or Cabinet Vétérinaire La Lagune.Appointments weren’t tourist indulgences. They were normal life continuing. I was no longer passing through. I was living here.  My First Ramadan in Morocco By the time  Ramadan began, I had already been in Essaouira for several weeks. That meant experiencing Morocco not just as a visitor passing through, but during one of its most important months.In reality, life in Essaouira didn’t change dramatically. As a coastal town with a steady flow of travellers, most things continued much as normal. Restaurants still served food, cafes remained open, the beach was as active as ever, and you could still explore the medina freely throughout the day.What did shift slightly was the tempo of the day. Mornings felt quieter, and during daylight hours eating and drinking in public is generally done a little more discreetly out of respect for those fasting. Some shops reduced their daytime hours, but the city never felt closed or restricted.By late afternoon you could feel a different kind of anticipation building. As sunset approached, the streets filled with people collecting food for iftar, the evening meal that breaks the fast. Bakeries were busy, food stalls became livelier, and families moved through the medina preparing to gather together.When the call to prayer echoed out at sunset, there was a brief pause across the city. And then tables filled, conversations lifted, and the evening unfolded in a vibrant, social way that often carried late into the night.What stood out most was the sense of togetherness. Ramadan here isn’t something staged for visitors. It’s simply part of daily life. Work still happens. Markets still open but there’s a shared understanding that this month carries deeper meaning; spiritually, socially and culturally.For me, it became another layer of living here rather than something separate to observe. Experiencing my first Ramadan in Morocco wasn’t about watching from the outside. It was about adjusting respectfully, noticing the small shifts in the day, and appreciating a tradition that quietly shapes everyday life.And in Essaouira, staying longer made all the difference. You can read more in my Visiting Morocco During Ramadan guide.  Where I Ate (And Went Back To) After a few weeks in Essaouira you start building your own shortlist. The places you return to without thinking twice. These were some of my favourites during my time in the city. La Coupole - A classic spot along the seafront. Great for seafood and people-watching with the Atlantic right in front of you. Mega Loft - A great medina rooftop for dinner or evening drinks. Stylish, lively and great when you want a slightly more social atmosphere. Le Love by Caravane - A beautifully designed spot inside the medina with a slightly more refined feel. Great food and a stylish setting for a slower dinner. Breakfast at Brunch&Co - One of my favourite breakfast stops in town, and a good spot to soak up the vibes and people watch. An easy place to start the day. La Rencontre - A relaxed neighbourhood restaurant with a friendly local atmosphere and Moroccan dishes done well. Asian Red Food - A small Asian restaurant in the medina that became one of my go-to places when I wanted something different from Moroccan cuisine. Taros - A well-known rooftop overlooking the harbour. Music, cocktails and sunset views make it a reliable evening spot. Fishburger - Casual. Perfect for a quick, tasty bite between wandering the medina. Noqta Space - A co-working cafe with a relaxed feel. A great option if you want a change of environment while working remotely in the city. Koozina - A peaceful garden cafe. Great food, calm atmosphere and ideal for a midday reset between writing. Three Little Birds — A good digital nomad cafe with a relaxed vibe and reliable Wi-Fi when you need to get some work done. 💌 A Note from the Road Essaouira is the kind of place that makes you stay longer than planned. Eight weeks unfolded through beach runs with Roly, rooftop lunches and dinners, Moroccan tea between client calls, and sunsets that seemed to show off a little more every night. Life just worked here. Wake up. Beach. Work. Good food. Ocean air. Repeat. The medina buzzed without the chaos of bigger cities. The beach stretched for miles. The food was excellent. The sunsets were ridiculous. And everywhere we went, Roly was welcomed like a local. Somewhere along the way it stopped feeling like a stop on the route. It started feeling like a place I belonged. Leaving was genuinely hard, but that’s the nature of life on the road. When somewhere feels this good, you don’t close the chapter completely, you just make a quiet note to come back. And Essaouira is firmly on that list.  For full city guides, itineraries and supporting travel advice, explore all our Morocco Travel Guides. Now, it’s time for the next route. Next stop: Sahara desert 

The Drive South: Rain, Roads & Arrival The drive from Casablanca to Marrakech took around three hours. Heavy showers rolled across the motorway, wipers on full speed, visibility dipping in and out. The landscape flattened into grey tones, the kind of drive that demands focus rather than daydreaming. As I got closer to Marrakech, the rain didn’t ease. If anything, it doubled down. My Airbnb was set within a golf resort complex on the outskirts of the city with gated security, lots of green space, within residential blocks. You can read more in my Where to Stay in Marrakech guide. By the time I finally located the right block, the unloading of the car began, suitcase, bags, dog gear, groceries, all in territorial rain. But that moment when the door shuts behind you and you're settled in? Worth it. I dried off, unpacked properly, and called it a night. Clay Oven indian takeway delivered dinner to the door, exactly what the evening required. I was here for five days. The forecast showed two more grey ones to begin. Not the postcard Marrakech entrance, but maybe that’s the point. Beauty and chaos don’t ask for perfect lighting. Rain Days, Work Mode & Wine Evenings The first couple of days in Marrakech weren’t headline weather with heavy skies, on-and-off rain, puddles gathering along the paths but having green space right outside the door changed everything. The golf course became our loop. Roly sprinting regardless and even in the rain, it felt expansive. I leaned into work mode. Laptop open, projects moving forward, calls scheduled around coffee refills. That’s the rhythm of this life, travel doesn’t replace work, it just reframes it. Marrakech became my backdrop while deadlines still got met. In the evenings I cooked in the Airbnb, the kind of meals that make a place feel temporarily yours and poured a glass of red. I watched 14 Peaks, a documentary that feels fitting when you’re on your own version of a long-haul journey.  It wasn’t the cinematic Marrakech people picture, no golden sunsets over the medina just yet but it had its own kind of satisfaction. Grounded. Productive. Reset without being static. Morning at the Park When the rain finally lifted in the week and a slice of blue pushed through, we moved fast. We headed straight to Park Arsat Moulay Abdesalam, just minutes from the Medina with red gravel paths and palm trees stretching high. The park is almost theatrical in its symmetry. Long walkways framed by clipped hedges, fountains catching light, benches positioned for conversation. Roly was instantly recharged, sprinting ahead on the red earth, nose down, tail up while I fell into easy conversations with other people doing their morning laps. It felt social without being crowded. A shared pause before the city ramps up and being so close to the Medina, you sense the shift waiting just beyond the gates; calm greenery on one side, sensory overload on the other. Sun back. Energy restored. Marrakech, finally, starting to show itself. Into the Medina: Noise, Colour & No Holding Back From the park, I walked toward the Koutoubia Mosque, its sandstone tower cutting clean into the sky. As you get closer to the Medina, the pace shifts. Pavements thicken. Carriages roll past, horses trotting through traffic. Vendors call out. The air tightens with movement. This is where Marrakech fully reveals itself. I stopped at an ATM before going in properly because once you’re inside, cash makes everything easier. At the front edge of the Medina, women sat with their boards offering braids. I took a seat and let them work; quick hands, tight plaits, no hesitation. Around us oranges pressed into juice on demand, men led monkeys through the square, carts stacked with souvenirs, spices and scarves. Cafes and restaurants lined the corners, terraces leaned over the action below. It’s not subtle. It’s not curated. It’s layered, loud, dynamic. This side of Marrakech doesn’t ease you in. It opens the gates and lets you decide how deep you’re willing to step. Marrakech Medina: Into the Maze One minute you’re standing at the edge of the medina, sunlight pouring over dusty pink walls, and the next you’re inside a living maze of sound, scent and movement. Scooters come first. You hear them before you see them, a sharp rev behind you, a quick beep, and suddenly they’re slicing through the crowd, weaving between tourists, locals, carts and wandering children like it’s choreographed. No hesitation. No slowing. Just instinct and flow. The streets narrow quickly. Overhead, wooden lattice panels filter the light into patterned strips across the ground. The air feels warm and busy. Every few steps, something changes. Spice bins spill colour onto the pavement. Next to them, shelves stacked with oils, soaps and glass jars. Then leather bags hanging in tight rows. Then football shirts. Then silver jewellery catching the light. Vendors call out casually, not aggressively, just enough to hook your attention. “Where you from?” “Good price for you.” “Look only, no problem.” There’s no single lane for walking. It’s shared territory. Scooters. Handcarts. People carrying boxes. It all moves at once, somehow without collision. And then there’s the mix of Arabic conversation layered with French, English, Spanish. You turn a corner and it shifts again. A quiet alley with textiles hanging floor to ceiling. A glass case filled with pastries. A barber pole spinning slowly in the shade. A sudden view of a minaret rising above the rooftops against a blue sky. It’s chaotic, yes but not random. There’s a pulse to the medina. A confidence. A kind of organised intensity that only makes sense once you surrender to it. You don’t walk through it in a straight line. You drift You adjust You step aside You get swept forward again And somewhere in the middle of it all between the scooters, the spices, the call to prayer echoing faintly over the rooftops, you realise this isn’t a place you observe. It’s a place you move with. Above the Medina: Lunch with a View at MÖ-MÖ After a few hours inside the medina, I’d worked up an appetite and followed the signs up to MÖ-MÖ Restaurant, tucked just off Jemaa el-Fnaa. A short climb up the stairs and suddenly the energy shifts. From above, the square becomes theatre. You watch the choreography instead of dodging it. The terrace is colour layered on colour with mosaic tables in greens and reds, striped awnings, soft peach walls, woven chairs, and staff moving calmly between tables in deep green uniforms. I ordered a meat tagine, slow-cooked and tender, served in a clay dish with warm bread on the side. Simple, rich, exactly what was needed after the sensory overload below. Marrakech doesn’t do half measures. It gives you the maze and then it hands you a balcony to look back at it from. Beauty & Chaos, In Real Time The next day the sun was already out and Roly and I headed onto the golf course paths for a long walk. Along the walk, Roly made friends with two small dogs darting across the grass. What started as a walk turned into a sprint session. It felt open. Light. Easy. I came back to the apartment late afternoon and had a chilled day, working and cooking at the airbnb.  And then, as the light started to fade into evening, the shift came. I was in the bedroom when I heard a loud crack followed by rushing water. By the time I reached the kitchen, it was already spreading, a pipe had burst, water pushing quickly across the tiles and seeping toward the living area. I called the host immediately. He said he was on his way, but he lived an hour out. By the time he arrived, the floors were soaked. There were no plumbers available that late in the evening, so the water had to be shut off entirely.  Roly and I retreated to the bedroom, the only dry space left and waited it out. It wasn’t dramatic in a cinematic way, just frustrating and inconvenient. The next morning was my last full day in Marrakech, so I left early and let the host and plumber deal with the flat while I went out determined to enjoy the rest of the city and not let it dampen the rest of the trip, no pun intended. The longer hassle came afterwards, trying to negotiate a refund through Booking.com. Calls, repeated explanations, conflicting information. Eventually they agreed to issue some credit toward a future booking which was minimal compared to what I’d paid. It was a useful lesson that not all booking platforms respond the same way when things go wrong. In my experience, Airbnb tends to step in more quickly and compensate more fairly. Marrakech really does give you beauty and chaos. Sometimes it’s in the medina. Sometimes it’s in your own airbnb kitchen. A Soft Landing: Brunch, Beauty & One Last Sunset at Kechmara My final day began gently with breakfast at Brunch Terrasses, tucked into a relaxed pocket of Gueliz known for its wide pavements, modern cafes and low-rise buildings in warm terracotta tones. It's Marrakech, but without the medina intensity. The kind of neighbourhood where you can sit outside, sip fresh juice, and watch the city wake up at its own pace. From there I drove further into central Gueliz, the more modern, European-influenced side of Marrakech. Less maze, more grid. I got my nails done, a small act of restoration after stepping through floodwater the evening before. Order restored, at least aesthetically. Then I headed to Kechmara for lunch and cocktails on the rooftop terrace. And this is where the day properly unfolded. The sun poured through the bohemian canopy, woven lampshades suspended overhead, natural plants spilling from corners, leafy prints across the cushions. It carried that effortless late-afternoon energy. No rush. No agenda. Just being exactly where I was. I ordered food. Then a cocktail. Then another. The air felt lighter again. A group of Belgian men were seated at the table beside mine. Conversation drifted across. Tables merged. Suddenly the afternoon stretched into early evening in the easiest way. Stories, laughter, travel tales, card games; the kind of spontaneous social moment solo travel quietly makes room for. It was fun. Unscripted. A fitting end to a stay that had swung between polished rooftops and flooded kitchens. Marrakech had given me markets, terraces, golf course walks, burst pipes, fresh manicured nails and new acquaintances, sometimes all within the same 24 hours. Not a bad way to close a chapter. Marrakech Neighbourhoods at a Glance Marrakech shifts dramatically depending on where you base yourself. You can read the full guide Where to Stay in Marrakech for more information. Here’s how it breaks down: Medina The historic heart. A dense, looping maze of riads, souks, rooftops and constant motion. You’re steps from Jemaa el-Fnaa, the Koutoubia Mosque, and the full sensory overload Marrakech is famous for. Best for: immersion, rooftops, atmosphere Not ideal if you: need quiet, drive daily, or have a dog (access can be tricky) Gueliz Modern Marrakech. Wide streets, grid layout, boutiques, brunch spots, sushi, nail salons, rooftop bars. European influence is visible in architecture and lifestyle. Best for: digital nomads, longer stays, cafe culture, easier navigation Dog-friendly. More manageable than the medina, but still limited indoors. Hivernage Polished and upscale. Five-star hotels, private villas, manicured gardens, nightlife spots. Feels more curated and resort-like. Best for: luxury stays, pool days, polished evenings Palmeraie Palm groves and private compounds on the outskirts. Space, quiet, villas with pools. You’ll need a car. Best for: privacy, retreats, decompressing Golf Resorts / Outskirts (like where I stayed) Gated complexes, green space, security, parking. Practical if you’re road-tripping with a car and dog. Feels removed from the medina chaos. Best for: driving travellers, digital nomads needing space, slower mornings before heading into the city Quick Take: Want intensity? Stay in the Medina Want balance? Base yourself in Gueliz Want quiet and space? Head outward Marrakech isn’t one mood. It’s several. Choosing the right neighbourhood changes everything. Notes from the Road: Marrakech Marrakech doesn’t introduce itself gently. It throws you straight into colour, sound, heat, negotiation, beauty.  It’s a city of extremes. The medina runs at full voltage: scooters threading through crowds, spices stacked in pyramids, terrace views above the noise. Then you step into Gueliz and the pace shifts to grid streets, brunch spots, nail salons, sushi bars, rooftop cocktails. Same city, different frequency. For me, Marrakech was exactly what the title promised: beauty and chaos. It’s not polished. It’s not linear. But that’s the point. Would I stay in the medina next time? Maybe. Would I choose Airbnb over Booking.com after a plumbing incident? Definitely. Would I come back? Yes, without hesitation. Marrakech is layered, kinetic and unapologetic and if you let it, it leaves a mark. For full city guides, itineraries and supporting travel advice, explore all our Morocco Travel Guides. Now, it’s time for the next route. Next stop: Essaouira

The Drive North: Rabat to Casablanca The drive from Rabat to Casablanca is short, just over an hour. Somewhere between cities, the car had picked up the unmistakable Moroccan layer of fine brown dust, the kind every car collects after a few weeks on the road. A sign it’s been used properly. Along this stretch, people stand by the roadside, waving as you pass, offering car washes. I pulled over. While the car was cleaned, I sat at a small cafe facing the road with a Moroccon mint tea, surrounded by locals doing the same thing; sitting, watching, passing time. The wash took about twenty minutes. When it was done, the car felt reset. Clean again. Ready. As I drove further in, Casablanca opened out. Wide roads lined with palm trees. Modern blocks and cafes stacked into the city rather than spilling out from a historic core. It felt cosmopolitan in a way the other cities hadn’t. Less medina-first, more built for movement. Casablanca is one of Morocco’s newer cities, shaped as much by the 20th century as anything older. You feel that immediately.  You can read more in the Best Places to Visit in Morocco travel guide.  Settling In: A Home Base in Casablanca I checked into my Airbnb on Rue Prince du Jour, tucked into Racine, a leafy residential pocket in the heart of Casablanca. The apartment opened into warmth: wood-panelled walls, soft lighting, clean lines with a mid-century feel. Outside, the neighbourhood felt lived-in with small cafes spilling onto the pavement, corner shops, locals drifting with no sense of rush. After weeks on the road, it suited me perfectly. It felt like somewhere you could settle, and start moving through the city properly rather than skimming its surface. First Steps in Casablanca After dropping the bags, Roly and I headed straight back out to get a feel for the neighbourhood. We stopped at Soo Beef for a late bite, casual and unfussy. On the way back, I picked up a bottle of wine from Aperik Casablanca, one of those local wine shops that quietly signals the city’s more cosmopolitan side. By the time we walked home, the light had softened and the pace of the street had eased. Casablanca felt easy to slip into. It was the kind of first evening that doesn’t try to impress, it just lets you arrive. Casablanca, From Morning to Midnight The next day kicked off with coffee at % Arabica Casablanca, right on Boulevard d’Anfa. Bright, modern, sharply designed, the kind of spot that immediately sets the tone for Casablanca. Good coffee, city energy already switched on. From there, I headed to Arab League Park on a date with Jamie, a guy from Bristol who’d also escaped the British winter and was spending a couple of months travelling through Morocco. The park felt like neutral ground, where conversation can move as freely as you do. We walked, talked, looped without really noticing the route. Locals passed by in every direction: families, couples, runners, friends meeting mid-path. It’s one of Casablanca’s rare pauses of green in a city that otherwise runs on wide roads and forward motion, and it worked perfectly as a starting point.  By early afternoon, the Atlantic became the plan. We landed at Bianca Café, set right beside Plage Lalla Meryem, and let the day run on its own terms. This part of the coast is pure Casablanca. Busy tables, mixed crowds, wine poured freely, conversations stretching long past lunch. The ocean sits right there in view, anchoring the scene while the city carries on around it. We walked the beach as the light began to shift. Horses and camels moved along the shoreline, riders cutting clean silhouettes against the Atlantic. Families and couples claimed patches of sand, angling for the best view as the sun dropped toward the horizon. As dusk set in, we peeled back inland. Dinner was at Yoobi Sushi, followed by cocktails at Chez Fred. It was Casablanca in full flow. Coffee to park. Park to ocean. Ocean to night. Wide streets, palm-lined avenues, constant movement. A city that doesn’t slow down, it just changes gear. Casablanca, Between the Moments The rest of my time in Casablanca came from moving through the city, not ticking it off. Window shopping turned into repeat passes along neighbourhood streets lined with independent fashion boutiques, sharp tailoring, European silhouettes, unexpected details that didn’t need explaining. Daily food markets slipped naturally into the pattern. Crates of fruit stacked high, familiar faces reappearing. Casablanca reveals itself in fragments like that: a mural cutting across a blank wall, a mosque minaret rising between apartment blocks, a pocket park carving green space through concrete. Meals anchored the days. A long lunch at Vichos Casablanca, tapas designed to stretch an afternoon without trying to. Pastries at Guest Pastry Bakery, locals drifting in and out with purpose. Casablanca eats well, often, and without fuss. Match Night: Casablanca After Dark That night, the city flipped into full celebration mode. I caught Morocco’s Africa Cup of Nations semi-final on my laptop. When the final whistle went and Morocco took the win, Casablanca answered instantly. Cars flooded the roads, horns blaring in waves. Flags appeared from windows, draped over bonnets, pulled from nowhere. The noise carried late into the night, joyous, relentless, impossible to ignore. It echoed the same charged celebrations I’d witnessed previously in Rabat, the city moving as one, pride loud and unapologetic. Next up is the final. I’ll be watching that one from Marrakech.  Notes from the Road: Casablanca First impression: Big, modern, and confident. Palm-lined boulevards, wide roads, constant motion.  Neighbourhood life: Lived-in streets beat landmarks. Cafes on corners, food markets on repeat, the same faces appearing day after day. That’s where the city clicks. Style watch: Independent fashion boutiques quietly set the tone, clean tailoring, European silhouettes, nothing trying too hard. Casablanca knows how to dress. Food rhythm: Long lunches turn into late afternoons. Tapas, sushi, pastries, wine shops you’ll revisit without planning to. Eating here is casual but deliberate. Coastline energy: Urban beach culture. Lunch slides into sunset, horses and camels crossing the frame like it’s normal. Overall: Casablanca is modern, functional, and cosmopolitan, a city best experienced by moving without agenda and letting the days stack naturally. For full city guides, itineraries and supporting travel advice, explore all our Morocco Travel Guides. Now, it’s time for the next route. Next stop: Marrakech

The Drive South: Asilah to Rabat Leaving Asilah behind, I headed south towards Rabat. The drive took a little over two hours and felt straightforward. The kind of road that lets your mind wander while the kilometres quietly pass.   Fishing towns dotted the route, appearing and disappearing just off the main road. About an hour in, I pulled over at Moulay Bousselham for lunch. I stopped at La Terrasse, right on the beachfront. The area felt relaxed and functional rather than polished. Lunch was seafood, with a clear view of the water. It broke up the drive perfectly. Back on the road, things gradually began to shift. The closer I got to Rabat, the more structured everything felt. Roads widened, traffic increased, and the pace subtly changed. You could feel the transition from coastal towns to capital city without needing a sign to tell you. Driving into Rabat, the difference was immediate. One of the first landmarks you pass is the royal residence, with guards stationed outside and staff tending carefully kept grounds. After the softness of Asilah, Rabat felt composed and deliberate. Not loud, not chaotic, just purposeful. A clear shift into the next chapter.  Arriving in Rabat: A Central Base I checked into my Airbnb in the centre of Rabat, firmly rooted in the city’s everyday rhythm. Rabat is more spread out than Asilah, less about drifting and more about moving with intention. The beach wasn’t on the doorstep, it was around a 30-minute walk away. What was close was the city itself. Shops, bakeries, cafes, and practical errands were all within easy walking distance, giving the area a lived-in, functional feel rather than anything curated for visitors. Geographically, it felt like a midpoint. A place to return to, reset, and head back out again. Match Night in Rabat That evening, Rabat came alive. Morocco was playing in the quarter-final of the Africa Cup of Nations, Africa’s equivalent of the Euros. When Morocco won, the reaction was instant and unstoppable. Car horns echoed through the streets in constant waves. People spilled outside, cheering, singing, waving flags, celebrating together. The noise rolled on well into the early hours of the morning. It was impossible not to feel how much it meant. This wasn’t just a football match; it was pride, unity, and shared identity playing out in real time. Standing there, watching it all unfold, I found myself completely swept up in it. From that point on, I followed the rest of the tournament closely, and of course, I was rooting for Morocco all the way. First Impressions: Rules, Rain & Resetting Expectations My first day in Rabat was spent wandering the neighbourhood, getting a feel for the city. Almost immediately, one thing became clear: Rabat is not dog-friendly. Not in shops, not in cafes, not in restaurants, and not even on terraces. It was a stark contrast to places like Asilah and Europe, and honestly, my biggest shock so far in Morocco. Being the capital, it makes sense; rules feel more present here, more firmly observed, and that naturally shapes how you move through the city. It definitely limited my options. With Roly in tow, spontaneous cafe stops or lingering lunches weren’t possible. Add to that it was a cold, wet day, damp pavements and the start felt a little tougher than I’d hoped. Luckily, I found a solution nearby: Tangier’s Bocadillos, just a ten-minute walk from the apartment. Fresh wraps made to order, quick, warm, and exactly what I needed. I took lunch back to the Airbnb, sheltered from the rain, and reset. It wasn’t the most cinematic first day, but that’s travel too. We were only here for a couple of days, and despite the slower, more restricted start, I was still determined to make the most of Rabat, even if it meant adjusting expectations and pace. Rabat, Between the Plans The next few days in Rabat were actually some of my most productive. With Roly being a hard no in most attractions, I naturally slowed down. Instead of fighting it, I leaned in. I stayed in, put my head down, powered through client work, updated this blog, and cooked proper meals again. All hail Glovo for making that part easy. The Airbnb helped. It was spacious, had a balcony, and didn’t feel claustrophobic, a decent setup for a few low-key days after months of near-constant movement on the road. It felt grounding in a way I didn’t realise I needed. Around that time, I’d also befriended a Moroccan guy, Simo. He lives in Rabat, works as a surf instructor, and suggested we meet later in the week when the weather improved. The plan was: harbour, medina, souk, beach to see the city, with someone who knows it well. When Rabat Opened Up When the sun came back later in the week, Rabat shifted again. I met Simo and we headed out properly, starting along the Bouregreg Corniche. This is where the city breathes a bit. The river is wide, restaurants line the edge with people walking, talking and passing time. It felt social, but not showy. Rabat at ease. From there, we walked up into the Kasbah of the Udayas, a 12th-century fortress built to defend Rabat’s coastline, now one of the city’s most recognisable historic quarters. The shift is immediate with heavy stone walls, palm-lined steps, then a sudden wash of white and blue. Narrow lanes, weathered doors, cats stretched out in the sun. Inside the kasbah, the city noise drops away. It feels enclosed, almost self-contained, perched between river and ocean. We stopped for traditional Moroccan mint tea overlooking the water, the Atlantic stretching out beyond the walls, one of those pauses that lands exactly where it should. Down at the Beach We walked down from the kasbah onto the sand, where Rabat feels stripped back. The beach sits right where the river empties into the Atlantic, so the water is darker and restless, constantly shifting. It’s not the kind of place you come to sunbathe. People were walking, standing, watching the tide, letting dogs run, kicking a ball around. Above us, the kasbah walls stayed fixed and heavy, like the city was still keeping an eye on the ocean. Into the Medina From the beach, we headed back inland and slipped into the Rabat medina. Shops bled into each other: baskets stacked high, trays of nuts and sweets, snacks and household goods packed tightly behind glass counters. People moved with purpose, shopping, chatting, stopping mid-walk to greet someone. There was no hard sell, no pressure to buy. Just stalls open to the street, food sizzling, and the quiet chaos of a place that functions first and entertains second. We wandered without a plan, cutting down side alleys, stopping to look, moving on again. It felt real, unfiltered and exactly the kind of place that rewards curiosity instead of rushing you through it. At the Hassan Tower We ended at the Hassan Tower and the Mausoleum of Mohammed V, one of Rabat’s most symbolic sites. The 12th-century minaret rises from an open square of stone columns. Beside it, the Mausoleum of Mohammed V feels pristine and ceremonial. Guards watch while visitors move slowly around the space, instinctively lowering their voices. Pigeons lift off and resettle against the ancient walls. It's a place where Rabat’s political, religious, and historical layers meet in one wide, open breath. Notes from the Road: Rabat Rabat asked for adjustment. It wasn’t instantly easy, especially travelling with a dog, and it didn’t offer the same softness or spontaneity as Asilah. It’s a city shaped by rules, structure, and function, and you feel that quickly. But once I stopped expecting it to behave like a coastal town and let it be what it is, Rabat made more sense. It’s a capital first. Purposeful. Grounded. Lived in. A place where daily life runs alongside history rather than being built around it. What stayed with me most was the contrast. Quiet working days followed by streets erupting in celebration for football. Administrative order balanced by moments of warmth, generosity, and connection. Ancient sites woven directly into modern routines. Nothing polished for show, but plenty to notice if you paid attention. For full city guides, itineraries and supporting travel advice, explore all our Morocco Travel Guides. Now, it’s time for the next route. Next stop: Casablanca. 

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. You can read more in the Morocco 10 Day Itinerary: The Ultimate Road Trip Route guide. 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. For full city guides, itineraries and supporting travel advice, explore all our Morocco Travel Guides. Now, it’s time for the next route. Next route: Rabat