Seems like the more North we head as we finish our days in Morocco the less exotic it looks. Kenitra has absolutely nothing to offer as a place except a decent sleep at a decent yet tasteless hotel. The route is also indifferent and next day we split with half of the guys as some would make it straight back home while the rest of us continue to Moulay Boosselham, a scenic fish village and bird watchers nest.

I arrive first there and start looking for a place to stay for me and the rest of the group. Feels like home at this sunny seaside location. The places offered to stay don't feel like home at all though. The first one I check out is a total run down without internet where they ask something the same money a medium hotel in Switzerland would. I'm gone in seconds and as I go to reach my bike a guy approaches me "hey boy, looking for a room? I got one for you...hot shower..." The "hot shower" came out of his mouth as if he was talking about a Lamborghini. Since I didn't want to wake up with a kidney less I leave the whole dodginess behind and drive to the other side of the village. There, I rest my eyes at Moulay Boosselham's beach:

I see a good looking BnB with view to this beach so I enter to ask the price. I received a 3 digit euros per person per night so I skip it too but the lady owner proposes me to check out another one 500meters away on the same street. FYI here's the street view:

I find the place and I really get mixed emotions. Why? Imagine a wonderfully located old French cottage with uninterrupted full view to the Atlantic that hasn't been renovated or even repaired since ages. A wonderful decadent grace. In other case I would leave this behind too but since the VFM of the area looked already terrible I decide to ask the owner about the price. It wasn't crazy expensive (not that it should anyway), owner is a sweet guy fluent in English as he spent years in UK but what makes me say yes is his offer about dinner: Not only this was reasonably priced but he says we should warn him hours before if we want one so he would go shopping and then cook. "That sounds promising" I thought...

I unpack and start exploring this weird place:

As I finish with the interior I walk out to enjoy a walk at this long beach. Looks promising from the top:

However, as I take the first steps down I realise that it's not exactly a stairway to heaven:

I jump the missing stairs and take a panoramic of the place with the sea at my back:

I love long and empty beaches:

In my attempt to swim I find useful what others stupidly left there as useless:

Did I swim? Not exactly. It's an extremely shallow beach hence (I guess) empty so being sea spoiled as a Greek I leave the place and head back to the BnB. Besides, the view is better from up there:

The rest of the guys arrive, I explain them the situation and they all agree I made the right choice about the place given the options. They also agree on the dinner so I inform the owner to do the right thing. Close to sunset time, he invites us downstairs at his balcony for the dinner. Seriously, we couldn't have a better view. I mean...look at this:

Alcohol was not for granted around Morocco and with this view and a full OK stomach after the issues we faced I said yes yes and yes to this beer offered:

Not much later he comes with this wonderful lobster dish:

This thing is top notch. Sorry lobster but you really feel like only a couple of hours fresh. Fan-effin-tastic. It is not a stretch of imagination that we consume it lighting speed and happy as we were for our best food by far around Morocco we look at each other like "yummy but could be more right?". Seconds later the owner brings to each one of us a dish like this:

He also brings some strawberries with cream as dessert but I don't risk my stomach on our last dinner at Morocco.

More than happy all of us kept staring at the sun going down:

Next day I wake up first and as I step out to prepare my bike for departure I meet the owner's son, a schoolboy in his early teens carrying a whole LOT of bread for our breakfast. Greets me with a smile in fluent English. What a sweet boy. Breakfast is on par with the dinner's level and with happy stomachs (finally!) we thank the owner, load our bikes and head North for Tangiers to leave Morocco behind and make it to Barcelona back in mama Europe.

The route is nothing interesting and the traffic is heavier and crazier. The more expensive the cars, the shittier the driver is. Total fuckheads. We make it to the port and as we wait from one queue to another Pete puts a koala on my left mirror:

It made it all the way from Australia to climb on a Greek's bike at Morocco and then be lost somewhere in Greece as it broke from exposure to the sun (years later). Hell of a ride!

The experience at the Moroccan customs trying to exit the country is far from pleasant with all these guys attacking us to convince us we had to let them do our paper work instead of us. We do the whole thing ourselves after a bit of a battle with each one in this crowded mess and we finally enter the ferry. Can't wait for my beloved Barcelona - I was there 5 years ago again on my bike.

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