Ziz Valley oasis in Morocco
Africa,  Independent travel,  Morocco,  Photography,  Travel Blog

Desert Road Trip: From Fes To The Sahara 

October 5, 2023 /

This is such an amazing, auspicious feeling, as we drive away from Fes and head off towards a little bit of the unknown, the hired Dacia Duster our companion for the next seven days, one of the most exciting parts of this entire Mediterranean journey opening up ahead of us. Also ahead of us are the Middle Atlas Mountains, looming in the haze like Earth-shackled storm clouds, goading us to take them on and make it to the desert beyond.

Journey from Fez to Errachidia, Morocco
The road trip begins
Journey from Fez to Errachidia, Morocco
Desert highway

We are soon into the scrub style of desert where grey rock meets red earth, where nomadic shepherds tend sheep and goats beside their temporary tented villages, where dust devils spin across the road in mini tornadoes. Now and again the bright green of fruit plantations or an oasis of date palms splash a vivid colour, but all other hues are modest, subdued. This land is too big and bold to be colourful.

Journey from Fez to Errachidia, Morocco
Big country

A few miles on, higher up in the mountains, a surprising and incongruous sight: here under the beating sun, in this dust-blown, harshly arid environment, are some red and white barriers, open today but closed….when the snow comes. Yes, these are snow barriers, these high mountain desert roads, so hot and dry today, get closed for snow in winter. We can only wonder at the harsh lives of those who survive such extremes as a matter of course.

Journey from Fez to Errachidia, Morocco
The valley of the Ziz
In the Middle Atlas mountains

The town of Errachidia sits just outside the gorge of the Ziz river, almost but not quite dry at this time of year, the giant, muscle-bound sides of the canyon a spectacular sight as we near our refuge for the night. With nearly eight hours’ driving between Fes and Merzouga, we opt to break the journey with an overnight stay here in Errachidia, an unmistakably Berber town on the N13 highway where the market is in full swing, the buzz of the stalls mingling with the call to prayer as it casts its haunting sound through the descending twilight. Flowing robes and sandals dominate; inquisitive stares greet these two, odd-looking travellers, though those stares are easily outnumbered by friendly smiles and cries of “welcome”.

Errachidia Morocco
Errachidia

Djelleba- and thawb-clad Berbers wander the streets, smoke starts to billow from street side grills, and as we sit at the plastic table by the main street eating chicken straight from the rotisserie and a salad sprinkled with cumin, darkness falling, the unfamiliar sounds and smells of the Berber town all around us, we know for sure that the real adventure of this trip has begun.

Errachidia Morocco
Errachidia

Our one night stand in Errachidia has a shower with no hot water and an AC unit which clanks like dockyard derricks and howls like a hurricane, and, in a country where anything other than local music is a rarity, the elevator, bizarrely, plays canned reggae. It’s comfortable enough but we’re eager to get back on the desert road and head further out into the Sahara.

Valley of the Ziz, Morocco
The oasis village of Zouala
Valley of the Ziz, Morocco
The oasis village of Zouala

Beyond Errachidia the landscape changes quickly, the soaring grey hulks of the mountains traded for the flat pale expanse of desert sand, long stretches of road as straight as plumb lines forming a dark ribbon through the dust and scrub. Suddenly a bend to the right and we’re back alongside the valley of the Ziz, the dramatic canyon carving unexpected depths into the flat terrain.

Valley of the Ziz, Morocco
The classic oasis
Valley of the Ziz, Morocco
Zouala village

We pull in where there’s a viewpoint and cafe, and look down on the most wonderful sight: the oasis village of Zouala nestled way below among the date palms, houses raised above the level of the river of winter. The braying of donkeys drifts up from the valley: life is going on down there, villagers living their oh so different daily lives. As we sip our cafe au lait on the top of the ridge, a tour bus pulls in, its passengers take photographs to fill their permitted time slot, then get recalled to the bus. We can’t help but see the parallel with the nomadic Berbers, the tour guide is now the shepherd, the passengers are the livestock, and the bus driver, we guess, the sheepdog.

Valley of the Ziz, Morocco
Scene from the desert highway

When the road parts company with the Ziz, the Sahara takes control. The sand is noticeably more fine, more ochre, then darker again, while in the background, lofty dunes shine as if wrapped in gold leaf, reflecting the sunshine with a glory which is hard for the eye to comprehend.

Scene from the desert highway

And then there’s another police checkpoint, a hazard of driving here which is so commonplace that a 300-kilometre drive will inevitably involve negotiating a dozen or so of these heavy handed interruptions. Yesterday, somewhere just short of Errachidia, one such block hit me with an on-the-spot fine for speeding – unfortunately, my second such offence on this trip as I got “done” by radar in France as well. These offences are hardly Formula 1 territory, both times my speed is a gnat’s whisker above the limit and it’s disconcerting to think that such minor offending has probably put my name on Interpol’s watch list.

Journey from Errachidia to Merzouga, Morocco
The desert opens up
Journey from Errachidia to Merzouga, Morocco
The dunes on the horizon

So today I take greater care to be obedient, especially when approaching yet another checkpoint, so imagine my dismay when I get pulled over again and hit with another potential fine. This time, I know for a fact that I did not transgress, and so I steel myself for a battle and argue with the law. He at first insists I have “made a violation” as he puts it, but I stand my ground and tell him I definitely did no such thing. He consults the cop with the speed gun, comes back over and says, “you are right, it was a different car. You can go”.

OK, I think we now know what we’re dealing with here.

Efroud, Morocco
Passing through Erfoud
Rissani, Morocco
Passing through Rissani
Some of the hazards of driving in Morocco

Drama behind us and wondering how many more such encounters lay ahead over the next week, the houses of Merzouga eventually drift into view like ghosts, so identical is their colour to the sand beyond. We’re off the N13 on to a desert track, guided by blue painted trackside rocks, following tyre marks through the sand to the rather elaborate gate of our riad.

Hotel Riad Ali, Merzouga, Morocco
Gateway to our next home

We are here. Merzouga. A proper, proper desert village, one of those places where any sound – the grunt of a camel, a shout in Arabic, the throb of a quad bike – only serves to accentuate the silence. Our riad is unbelievably lovely, Mohammed and his team smiling and helpful. Merzouga shields itself from the sunshine, shutters down over its handful of shops, mint tea sending sweet odours into the street. Men sit beneath awnings, a solitary 4×4 kicks up dust as it grates through. Cats catch the shade behind pillars. Maybe not a one-horse town, more likely a ten-camel town.

Desert town of Merzouga in Morocco
Merzouga

This distant little village is a gateway to a number of Sahara activities; from here you can quad bike, buggy or camel ride your way across the sands, you can hike up mountainous sand dunes, and, if you wish, sand board your way back down the slopes. Rise early to watch sunrise, climb high for sunset, lay back after dark and watch the stars punctuate the blackness. Listen to the Sahara silence. The proper, proper dead silence of night.

Merzouga is going to be so very special.

Gateway to the Sahara and Erg Chebbi in Merzouga, Morocco
Dunes at the edge of Merzouga

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