Tamraght, Taghazout & Imsouane: Surf Villages

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