IMT Morocco Adventure 2025
In the desert, as in motorcycling, it’s always about rain.
I just went on a 10 day motorcycle trip to Spain and Morocco. I was on a late flight from Toronto, and arrived late and out of breath at our hotel in Malaga for our 5pm briefing, luggage in tow. Introductions were made: 3 Canadians (including myself), 8 Americans (though only 3 born in the USA), one Czech, and one crazy Brazilian (sterotypes apply!). Our guides, Paulo from Portugal and Juanan from Spain, made us all feel welcome and excited for the trip to come.
A diverse group, from all walks of life: a retired police Sargeant working in mental health; his best childhood friend, an accountant and IT ninja; a retired software mogul; a pair of financial planners; a retired automotive sales manager; a Mercedes salesman to the stars; a marketing exec; a veterinarian; a biomedical devices engineer; a manufacturing exec; a retired prosecutor; and me.
The thing in common of course is that we all love motorcycling. But more than that, to choose a trip to Morocco, a Muslim country, in the face of everything going on in the world today, means we also have in common a taste for adventure, and an openness to other cultures, beliefs and philosophies.
In a foreshadowing of the poor weather that awaited us, Paulo cursed us, and said: “People love Malaga, because it NEVER rains here.”
The next morning dawned grey and gloomy. We rode through misty streets and Malaga traffic, up a slippery ramp into the shadowy hold of an oceanic ferry, for our 1 hour crossing from Spain to Morocco, where in Tanger we were met by equal parts of precipitation and bureaucracy. Several hours of waiting to enter the country, with armed guards and sniffer dogs inspecting every Moroccan family with a minivan crossing back laden with supplies. Vehicles were overflowing with boxes, bags and barrels; not sure if they were for personal use or for resale. But the Moroccans were VERY thorough in their searches.
Our convoy of 12 motorcycles finally rolled out, headed to Rabat, the usual residence of King Mohammed VI. A Harvard educated progressive, the current King mandated school for all children, investing in schools in every small town. He also understood the value of tourism to Morocco, and embarked on improving the infrastructure, such that the roads are mostly well maintained, and cell coverage is virtually 100% throughout the country - better than here in Canada!
Day 3 found us riding to Marrakech, home to the famous medina (market), a UNESCO heritage site. The following day we traveresed the Atlas mountains at the Tichka Pass, at 2260 m elevation, making a stop at the famous Kasbah of Ait-Ben-Haddou. A Kasbah is a traditional adobe walled community, set up as a fortrress, to fend off attack. But the real enemy is erosion. The mud construction is fragile, and many kasbahs have been washed away over time.
We spent the night in a traditional home converted into a hotel called Dar Daif, which translates as “home for guests”. The building itself is an almost surreal warren of narrow, windings staircases and hidden rooms, all beautifully decorated in an Arabic style, with intricate mosaics, pointed arches and calligraphic motifs. We were served a traditional meal of tajine: a stew made in an earthenware pot of the same name, with a conelike lid. Tajine literally translates as “surpise”, and each time the lid was lifted on a new dish, it was like being presented with a gift.
A ride the next morning through the impressive Todra Gorges led us to our lunch stop, with a traditional Berber family, then on to Erfoud, in the Sahara desert.
The Sahara.
Thoughts of Lawrence of Arabia, 1001 Arabian Nights, and Aladdin. (But none of these tales originated in the Sahara.)
Many in our group went on a 4x4 expedition into the desert, followed by a spirited ride on ATVs or side-by-sides, then a camel ride to watch the sun set over the dunes.
We rode on to Fes, where the largest medina in Morroco, built in the 8th century, was originally encircled by a 25km long wall. We were taught by our guide Mohib that medina actually means “community”. Even now 600 000 people live inside the medina, where there are 9000 alleys, none of which have ever been mapped! Mohib led us through countless turns, deeper and deeper into this otherwise impenetrable world. Fruit stands, butcher shops, tailors, trinket and souvenir shops, restaurants, residences, and craftspeople making everything imaginable, including furniture, carpets, bronze lamps and plates. A riot of sounds and smells. A tannery, in particular, left me with olefactory PTSD!
The walls of the alleys are crumbling and pockmarked, but some of the buildings inside are decorated in fine detail that defies imagination. Goods are moved by hand cart or donkey, with men shouting “BALAK!” (“LOOK OUT!”), all the while talking into their cell phones. A true study in contrasts.
Day 9 of our trip had us riding back across the mountains, in driving wind and rain, to Ceuta, an autonomous city of Spain on the north coast of Africa. Another multi-hour delay while we showed our passports 5 times over a distance of 500m: 3 times to 3 different Moroccan officials, then 2 times to 2 different Spanish officials. Many faces were scrutinized, many papers were stamped, and many jobs were justified.
Our final night’s stay was in a Parador in Ceuta. The Paradores are a network of state-run luxury hotels, built in refurbished historical buildings such as monasteries or castles. The accommodations are outstanding in most of these hotels, and the food even better. We had probably the best meal of our trip here, and we had many oustanding meals throughout our journey, so this is high praise.
The next morning, a 40 minute ferry ride took us across the Strait of Gibraltar, back to Spain proper. A quick ride along the coast back to IMT Malaga, where we unloaded our bikes and prepared to head home.
You never know whether a big group of people will gel, but this was a fantastic group, all curteous, prompt, and supportive of one another, with excellent senses of humour. We began coining nicknames for people in the group, and they caught on quickly. “Detour” for the intrepid loner, who would set off on his own every morning, meeting us at mealtimes and at the end of the day; “Special Request” for our one rider who seemed to always need “just one more thing”; and for me, whose nature is to gather information, the name “Many Questions” was fitting.
There is a special camraderie that comes from motorcycling. There are much easier ways to travel: warmer, less wet, less subject to risk or discomfort. But being in the world rather than viewing it from behind the glass window of an air-conditioned car or bus feels more real.
Riding in the rain is better than not riding. And riding in the rain with friends is no hardship at all.
