on the way to Merzouga, the kids are noticeably more aggressive, and demands for “Bonbons,” “money,” or “stilo” (pen) are getting frequent—clearly a more touristy route.

We passed through Arfoud again and enjoyed seeing so many people on bicycles, but the experience was overshadowed by the behavior of some children. Many blocked our path, and one even pretended to offer a high five but grabbed my hand while I was riding at 25 km/h with a heavily loaded bike. Frustrated and wary, we found ourselves keeping our distance from kids, which felt unfortunate.

Between Arfoud and Tinghir, we experienced the worst behaviour from kids so far. In one day, we faced more than six incidents where children tried to push us off our bikes, grab our hands mid-ride, hit us with backpacks, or throw stones. They yelled, “Give me a pen! Candy! Your tire! Your underwear!”—demanding things they didn’t even need, like a Moroccan flag or a 26-inch tire when their bikes required 28.

What bothered us most wasn’t the kids themselves, but the adults who brushed it off with, “They’re just playing.” Even a Moroccan parliament member told us the same. We’ve now decided that when it happens, we’ll visit nearby schools to talk with teachers and try to understand Why?!.

At one point, a kid threw a rock that hit a nearby wall. During a quick stop at a hanoot, we noticed our favorite Berber bread had tripled in price, and then we continued on in the intense 35°C heat.

Later that day, we had a strange encounter. As we passed a school and greeted the kids, they started shouting, blocking our path, and even tried to pull us off our bikes. When we stopped to ask why, they ran off laughing.

Not long after, we met Mouha, who was on his motorbike. He invited us to his traditional home, and his hospitality was incredible. He explained that, for many kids, this situation is just a game. However, we shared our feelings about how discouraging and even dangerous it can be for us. Mouha believed that this behavior stems from years of tourists giving gifts from their cars, which has led the kids to expect this kind of interaction. When tourists feel uncomfortable, they often just close their windows and drive away. But on bikes, we can’t simply drive by and ignore them like cars can.
Mouha kindly offered us a place to stay, but we wanted to keep moving. That day, we had over ten encounters with aggressive children. One even shouted that he hoped we’d have a bad accident because we didn’t give him anything.

After 90 km and as the sun began to set, we came across an empty gas station and a closed restaurant nearby. We asked the guard for permission to camp but were kindly turned away—though he did refill our water, knowing we might need to wild camp. The area is known for scorpions and snakes, so we continued a few kilometers until we saw an open gate to a farm and called out. A European-looking woman approached.

Her name was Claudia, originally from Italy. She was hesitant at first but eventually invited us in, warning us again about the local wildlife, which made pitching a tent tricky. Claudia told us she had lived in Morocco for years with her late German husband and now manages a large palm farm producing delicious dried dates and a unique date juice, which she generously let us try. She was headed to Errachidia but said her guard, Ali, would assist us.

Ali welcomed us warmly, showed us to his apartment, and immediately began preparing dinner. We enjoyed a hot shower, and to our surprise, he even slaughtered a chicken to cook a traditional tagine—a gesture of deep hospitality. We set up our tent on the rooftop and had one of our best night’s sleep.