This is Part 2 of a 4-part series on our road trips across Morocco. Click to see Part 1, Part 3 and Part 4 of the series.
The second leg of our adventure stretched across three days and two nights, carrying us from the desert camp at Merzouga all the way to Essaouira on Morocco’s breezy Atlantic coast. We paused for the night in Boumalne-Dadès first, then Ouarzazate.
For the soundtrack, we went with Dire Straits—much to the delight of our driver, who knew the songs well. It had been years since we listened to them ourselves.
Leaving the dunes behind, we traced N13 north from Merzouga through Rissani and Erfoud. This swath of Morocco, the Tafilalet, is steeped in history: once the stronghold of the Alawite dynasty and the final pocket to resist French control in the early 20th century.
Entering Rissani through the gate.
We rolled through the gateway into Rissani, once the site of Sijilmassa, a bustling Saharan capital from the 14th to 17th centuries. Gold, slaves, and caravans once converged here, and even today the town buzzes with trade.
A roadside sign announced the Salon International des Dattes (International Date Festival), though my camera failed to capture it clearly. Judging from the sheer expanse of market space, this must be the best place to buy dates. Sadly, we didn’t stop here—our one regret in a region famous for dates in Morocco.
At Erfoud, we ducked into a fossil “factory” (really more of a rock shop) for some browsing. Fossilized ammonites and trilobites are everywhere here, a reminder that the Sahara was once an ocean floor. More on that in another post [link].
Heading west via R702, we passed through a string of villages—Jorf, Ksar Touroug, Ksar Mellab. The term ksar or qsar (ⵉⴴⵔⵎ) means a Berber fortified settlement, and these walled compounds still dot the landscape.
Most of my photos here were taken through the windshield, so forgive the blurriness.
Our driver told us each of these towns is home to different Berber tribes, and women distinguish themselves with robes in unique colors and patterns. Tradition is literally woven into daily life.
At one point we spotted a pink house decorated with stone inlays, while a woman rode past on a donkey—like a Moroccan version of The Flintstones.
By the time we reached Tinejdad along highway N10, it was well past 1:30 p.m. The name means “nomad” in Tamazight, fitting since it once served as a caravan rest stop.
And there, against all odds, we ran into DL and family—friends we’d just said goodbye to that morning in Merzouga! They had detoured to explore an ancient underground irrigation system before racing toward Marrakech for a flight. Morocco is vast, yet somehow small enough to bump into familiar faces at lunch.
Even though we said goodbyes just a few hours ago, it was very nice to see friends in foreign lands especially when you do not expect it. The fact that we stopped at the same restaurants tells us that there are “designated” restaurants for tourists sprinkled across the country. All drivers know to take their client to such establishments, at least one per town, hence our Moroccan dining experience is kind of predictable but monotonous, while being authentic enough.
Our next stop was a large oasis town Tinghir (Tinerhir, or in tamazigt: Tinɣir or ⵜⵉⵏⵖⵉⵔ, in arabic تنغير), recently made the capital of Tinghir province. See later post about the Berber language and alphabets – tamazigt.
We took R703 north to climb into the mountains for a panoramic view of Tinghir’s oasis.
The River Todra snakes through here, its banks a 48-km green ribbon of palms (la palmeraie), just 1 to 4 km wide. Houses perch on the slopes, leaving the fertile valley free for agriculture.
Our driver noted that Tinghir thrives not only on farming but also silver mining.
We noticed women in pale robes contrasted with the darker clothing we’d seen in nearby towns (noted in previous post), a subtle marker of local identity.
The road along the Todra River carried us upstream to the famous Todra Gorge. We stopped for a break at a hotel wedged between cliffs—complete with a swimming pool, a surreal sight amid the surrounding sand and stone.
A local guide led us through the gorge, the riverbed, and nearby Ait Tizgui village.
With sheer walls rising above, it was easy to imagine caravans navigating this rare passage through the mountains. Today, the gorge draws rock climbers from across the world.
We even met a young American who has settled here as an expedition guide, trading city life for Morocco’s cliffs.
After the tour, we came back down the mountain on R703, passed Tinghir and continued westward on the highway N10.
We found Tinghir surprisingly modern and energetic, a contrast to the quiet oasis panorama we’d just admired.
Somewhere along the way, we passed what looked like a gate—perhaps marking a provincial boundary. From Tinghir, the distance to our final stop for the day is about 50 km.
As we approached the city of Boumalne-Dadès (ⴱⵓⵎⴰⵍ ⵏ ⴷⴰⴷⵙⵙ in tamazight), it was almost 8 pm. This city is modern-ish and the approach felt oddly like driving into a mini Las Vegas, with neon lights marking the horizon. Strange to think the real Vegas was an ocean away.
We checked into Kasbah Tissarouine on the edge of Boumalne-Dadès, where we finally rested after nearly twelve hours on the road.
It was a long day of driving, but what a rewarding ride—especially when someone else is at the wheel.
To read more about our Moroccan road trips, see Part 1, Part 3 and Part 4 of the series.