Driving in Morocco is different to driving in Europe, for two main reasons.  Firstly; you must not forget that you are in Africa, where the rules are vague and can be improvised as and when necessary to suit a situation as it presents itself.  Something we have lost in the West and as a result can be seen frequently sitting motionless at a completely deserted junction, beside red traffic lights, being enforced by law, to depend not on our own judgements, but those of some inanimate object, to tell us when to stop and when to go.  Secondly; whoever dares, does.  Some drivers (in particular taxi drivers) will often be seen switching into Kamikaze mode trying to both impress or make you fear for their life, as they execute their party trick, which is to overtake on a blind bend with you in the middle of their escape lane!  Many roads in Morocco are only just wide enough to allow two motorhomes to pass with a last minute fish-tail action, though having said this, you shouldn’t let this put you off any visit to Morocco.  If you are up to scratch with your evasive driving skills, and you stop expecting the Moroccans to drive the European way, you will have no problems.  It really is that easy.

My introduction to the Moroccan tea making ceremony, was not in a café as would normally happen, but watching a trucker trundling up a steep mountain pass in crawler gear, whilst performing this rather fussy affair.  Green tea is brewed in a small teapot, to which is added fresh mint leaves and a generous helping of sugar.  It is mixed and infused, not by the stirring of a spoon, but by an elaborate display of pouring into small glasses from a great height, which requires much skill and dexterity. The content of the glass is then re-cycled back into the teapot, to begin the cycle again.  Eventually, after much pouring, and for the novices, much slopping of tea outside the glasses, it is suitably mixed, infused and ready to drink.  (what’s left of it)  The Moroccan trucker was obviously used to performing his tea making ceremony, whilst on the move, and gave me a cheeky grin as he passed me standing by the side of the road, sandwich and mug of English tea in hand, with my mouth agog at his, it has to be said, rather impressive multi-tasking.  Who said men couldn’t multi-task?

One of the most popular places for free camping enthusiasts, is the large beach site between Agadir and Tagazoute on the southern coastal half of Morocco.  Many motorhomers drive to this beach to spend the whole of their winter break.  There is very good reason for this, as it is the only place I know where you have no need to go to the hypermarket, because the hypermarket comes to you!  Carpets, trinkets, bread, eggs, vegetables, meat, fish, fruit, Danish pastries, hash, clothes, wood, watches, magazines, newspapers, to name but a few.  For those who are not used to this way of life, it can all seem rather irritating, having an army of salesmen trooping through your garden and to your front door, but we try to support the salesmen, because for many of these men, it is their only job, and if they didn’t do this, they would have no income to fed their families. There are no social security benefits in Morocco.  When you remove the honest means left to support a family, crime becomes an option.  Every two or three days a water bowser comes to fill up your tanks.  Agadir is only a few kilometres from the free camp, and is easily reached via local buses, which are very cheap and stop outside the camp.  Agadir is Southern Morocco’s major tourist destination, with ample hotels, restaurants and beach life.  Flattened in the terrible earthquake of 1960, Agadir was re-built with its tourism potential in mind.  The micro-climate of the area allows sunbathing and swimming all year round, and its geographical position allows easy access to other main sights of Morocco, including Marrakesh, Taroudant, Tiznit and a number places of natural beauty.  As well as the usual tourist shopping, Adagir has a huge wall enclosed souk, which is well worth a visit.  
The most entertaining for me whilst staying on the free-camp, were the shenanigans of the other campers.  People watching, is always a great source of amusement.  The site was in fact a little community, generally with the ‘plastic fantastics’ grouping in one area, mainly it seemed to swap stories about tyre pressures and other new motorhome problems, of which there seem to be an interminably long list, and the ‘home builds’ grouping in another area, to share ideas on ways to save money and to reminisce about the distant lands they had travelled.   We had parked just yards away from a German we had parked next to on Vagator Beach in Goa, India, a few years back, which was a pleasant surprise.  One Dutch character caused quite a heated altercation one day, as he returned back to camp in his huge 911 old Mercedes truck.  He had to drive over some deep sand to reach his chosen spot, and in doing so he lost control of his truck and slid into another Dutchman’s camper, crumpling his bumper.  A lengthy and expensive insurance claim was imminent.  As if this wasn’t enough, his dog, which he had let out of his truck, ran straight up to another tethered dog and started a very nasty fight.  The owner of the tied up dog tried to part them by throwing a chair between them and when this didn’t work, he started kicking the other dog.  The Dutchman was very angry with the man, and ran up to him shouting abuse for kicking his dog.  Much strutting and posturing later, the two men started a nasty fight and bystanders had to split them up.  To top it all, the Dutchman’s wife then came up to him, shouting something about being childish and to come and level the truck!  Incidents such as these are rare, but they add some spice to life on the road.  (sadly, this camp no longer exists due to coastal development, but no doubt another camp will be made somewhere else)

Having spent a few weeks chilling out on the beach, we decided it was time to head inland.  Tiznit a walled city, is only 90kms from Agadir and is a garrison and market town.  We arrived on the campsite, just outside the city amidst the French boules championships.  The French love playing boules and had all but taken over the campsite!
Tiznit seemed to come alive at night, with locals coming out for a stroll and to hunt for bargains. The main square was a stage for storytellers telling fables of kings and maidens in classical Arabic and comedy acts, as they drew the crowds. Food stalls created delicious aromas, enticing you to try lamb tarjine, or bean soup, as you wandered around viewing the medicine men, selling potions and lotions of dubious origin, surrounded by their wares, and animal skins.  The ostrich man, sitting amidst a display of dried ostrich anatomy arranged on a mat before him, sat waiting for custom.  But one crowd caught our eye. They were watching a woman sitting cross-legged on a mat on which was an assemblage of strange items. It was the first woman entertainer we had seen, so had to stay to fathom what it was she was doing.  We watched in fascination as she picked up a bullet shaped item, unscrewed it and started to play about with a substantial amount mercury!  She then let a drop of it fall into the hollow bullet, followed by a little of each item from her collection, chanting their special powers as she did so.  Some twig, a little sheep’s wool, some egg shell, some herbs, some seeds, a scale of lizard, a scale of snake and to finish off, another drop of mercury.  She was creating and amulet, a good spell to ward off evil and bad luck.
It was fascinating to be immersed into a way of life, which has survived for 1,000’s of years.  If I were to be transported back in time the scene would before my eyes would have changed little. The travelling medicine men, storytellers the amulet makers and entertainers would be selling the same medicines, telling the same stories, drawing the same large, inquisitive crowds.  I felt privileged to be a part of it, if only to be an observer.  I just hope that Moroccans will be able to keep globalisation at bay.  They don’t need a MacDonalds on every high street, or the West telling them how to run their lives.  They have managed fine for 1,000’s of years, without our help and are just great the way they are.