MAROKKO – WESTSAHARA

At the gateway between Europe and Africa, I take the ferry across to Tangier in Tarifa.  From this vibrant city on the north coast of Morocco, I pedal for the next two weeks deep into the south, where the tarmac is swallowed up by the sand: the Western Sahara.

The first few days I cycle through places like Larache, the royal city of Rabat and through Morocco’s largest city, Casablanca, past lively souks, blooming gardens and historic walls. However, some of the images remain very negative in my memory. Around the greenhouses south of Larache, rubbish piles up over many kilometres.  Plastic sheeting, sacks, bottles – scattered everywhere. I am shocked to see how carelessly the rubbish is released into nature and how sheep search for food in it.

I am surprised by Moroccan tajine with olives, vegetables and chicken and spend the night in Safi in a riad with a tiled floor, plants and the calming sound of the fountain in the old town.

The further south I travel towards Essaouira and Agadir, the more barren the landscape and the emptier the roads become.

On the way, I meet people who seem to live in a different time: an old man on a donkey, wrapped deep in his burnoose, greets me with calm naturalness. Later, two men, also on their donkeys, smile at me as they pass by.  They fit perfectly into this barren, timeless world.

Shortly after Agadir, we slowly but surely enter the desert. A world of sand, rock and scrub, wind and monotony, where nature is reduced to the essentials and the sky and earth almost touch.  And it is precisely this apparent emptiness that makes every observation incredibly rich in impressions. Every detail counts. The wind sometimes blows relentlessly towards me, sweeping sand across the roads and covering the tarmac with it.

Suddenly I notice a noisy object behind me. A huge sand scraper – a John Deere wheel loader – slowly struggles along the road to take the sand back to the desert. I’ve never seen anything like it. Here, the roads are cleared of snow and here they are cleared of sand.

Signs in the middle of nowhere – like the one that reminds you to take a break every two hours – make me realise that the monotony here is not just a challenge in terms of the landscape, but also mentally, as if cycling becomes pure movement, free from distraction.  This uniformity in the seemingly endless desert and the silence puts me into a meditative flow with every turn of the cranks. Every 100 kilometres or so there is another oasis, a small desert town where I can eat and spend the night. Simply impressive, because I always find exactly what I need. A fruit and vegetable vendor, a bakery and a small grocery shop for the rest. I often have a studio with a kitchenette and can then prepare my own food.

The southernmost point of my stage, LAAYOUNE is reached.  I have now made it to the continent of Africa and I hope to continue soon. Anything southwards appeals to me. But first I have to get rid off my back and joint pain …