We woke up at 5:30 a.m., still half asleep but determined to beat the heat. By we said Goodbye 6:15 a.m., we were already back on the bikes, pedaling the final 5 km into the famous Chefchaouen – the magical Blue City tucked under Mount Tissouka at 600 meters high.

one rule we’ve learned on this trip:
Tourist hotspots? Visit them early.

And we were right. The city was still waking up, the streets were quiet, and the first rays of sun painted the blue walls in soft gold. But, as dreamy as it looked, Chefchaouen hit us with its first challenge: stairs. Endless stairs. The entire old city clings to the mountain, which means no smooth cycling here – just pushing heavy bikes uphill and down narrow, steep alleys.

Luckily, we met Saeed from Hotel Marrakesh, who, after a good half-hour chat about politics, kindly offered us a safe place to leave our bikes. With that sorted, we could finally wander freely through the blue maze.

One thing stood out immediately: Chefchaouen is spotless.
Even the stray animals here seemed healthier than in any village or city we had passed so far.

then there was Rajae, owner of @chanrajae, a small store packed with handmade soaps, organic makeup, and herbal treasures. After hearing us mention Instagram, she invited us in like old friends, eager to share her story.

A few years ago, Rajae started meditating to manage the stress of her old life back in El Jadida. What was supposed to be a quick trip to Chefchaouen became a full-blown love affair with the city. Now, her dream is to move to Europe and pursue fashion design.

Before we left, she handed us thoughtful gifts: handmade soap and natural clothes fresheners to keep the insects away on our journey.

time slipped by, and by 11:30 a.m., we made a decision we instantly regretted:
We continued cycling.
The temperature soared past 40°C… then 45°C.
Our water was boiling. Our bodies felt like melting plastic. And the road offered nothing but shimmering asphalt and dry hills.

By pure luck, we spotted a gas station – our only chance for shade. We slumped behind the building, completely wiped out. And just when we thought the day couldn’t surprise us anymore, a voice called out:

“Welcome!”

We looked up to see Hassan, carrying two glasses of fresh juice like some kind of desert angel. He took care of us for hours, making sure we rested properly. When the workers had their meal around 3 p.m., they even shared their delicious local food with us. Before we left, they filled all our bottles .
Once again, Morocco’s kindness left us speechless.

We waited until 7:30 p.m. to ride again, hoping the heat would ease up. After an hour, we rolled into Souk al Talata (Thursday market), but the vibe felt… off. Groups of men kept approaching us, offering to sell weed again and again. We politely refused, more than ready to get out of there.

The sun was dipping low. No villages ahead. Just emptiness.
Then – like a mirage – we spotted an olive oil factory on the roadside.

Inside, Mohammad was busy with customers, but after they left, he quietly approached us. Without hesitation, he offered us a spot to sleep behind the factory.
“Make yourselves at home,” he said.

And wow… what a home.
A real showerhead (not just a bucket!). A cozy little room. And as if that wasn’t enough, Mohammad brought us a small bottle of fresh olive oil, which turned out to be the best we’ve ever tasted.