We woke up around 05:00 am. The people started to get to the morning prayer in the mosque. Still, everything was very quiet.
After the prayer, the kids from the village came to the mosque to learn from the Imam. It’s been summer holiday and people send their children to the mosque for that time. There is no internet, no phones and the only place where they can go is the mosque, where they spend the whole day.

We have been the highlight with our outdoor equipment, bicycles and stranger “Alien-Look”. They were sitting in the room(classroom) repeating what the Imam(religious teacher) was teaching them, mostly from the Quran, but their eyes were constantly on us while packing.

The students had to go out every few minutes to wash a piece of wood with the leaves of a tree to get rid of the chalk on their tablet. Before we went off on the road again, we took a photo together with all students and the Imam. He first called the boys to be in the photo, then we asked the girls if they even wanted to come, and at the end they came and we took a photo all together.

Chefchaouen is around 60 km from our current location. We lowered our daily goal cause we are noticing that it’s hard in the heat with around +40 degrees celsius.

The amazing presence of the mountain was slowly showing.

We arrived at the next village and wanted to buy some local cheese and khobs (Moroccan bread).
We stopped in the only small store to ask Mohamad about bread and cheese. He disappeared and came in a few minutes without any answer.
Wait he said after I asked again. He gave Sandra some figs and said this is local, while he was laughing. Cuz its rare that someone is interested in local cheese which is I love.
In a few minutes, his wife called him from far away, he went to her and came back with a full breakfast: eggs, olive oil, olives, self-made yoghurt and bread, again overwhelming generosity.

Just 3 km before reaching Chefchaouen, exhaustion hit us hard. The sun was sinking fast and we needed a place to sleep. But something felt different here. We quickly realized it wasn’t going to be as easy as usual. Chefchaouen is touristy and in the small villages nearby, people are wary of hosting strangers. They’re scared of the Moqadam – the village informant – who might report them if they help travelers like us.

We asked around. “No.”
Another person. “No.”
And another. “Sorry, no.”

Everyone was polite but clear. No risks tonight.

The fatigue was getting heavier with each pedal stroke and the sky was already turning orange. We only had about 30 minutes of daylight left. We needed a miracle.

A few kilometers earlier, we had passed through Souk Alarbaa, the bustling wednesday market – the first big city after Tangier. It was chaos. I tried to buy a sandwich and the guy inside, a tiny restaurant, casually doubled the price right in front of me. I laughed, pointed to the menu and left. At the next place, we finally grabbed tuna sandwiches for 16 dirhams (1.60€).

While waiting, kids started circling us, laughing and begging for money. I stood close to Sandra, who was guarding the bikes, still on high alert after the stressful events of the previous day. Then, an older man grinned at me and said,

“Don’t worry, it’s Ashura! The kids are extra wild today because of the festival!”

Good to know… but it didn’t make the situation less tense.

Back near Chefchaouen, with no clear place to go, we spotted two men chatting near some small bushes. With nothing to lose, I approached and asked if we could stay just until 5 AM. One of them, Aziz, looked hesitant. He was wearing a German T-Shirt, and even that wasn’t enough to calm his nerves.

“If something happens to you… I’ll be the one in trouble,” he said, visibly anxious.

We reassured him, we just needed a safe place to rest. After some back and forth, they agreed. Not only that – they invited us to stay on their small farm, right next to the cow shed.

And just like that, our stressful evening turned into a quiet countryside night.

Before settling in, they welcomed us into their home to use the toilet. Inside, we met their grandmother, sitting low on a small block, carefully preparing homemade yogurt. Without hesitation, she handed us some to taste. I’ve had many kinds of yogurt in Syria, but this was something completely new – thick, creamy and unforgettable. Pure mountain goodness.

As night fell, so did our hopes of a deep sleep. Their guard dog was not a fan of us. Every breath, every rustle of the sleeping bag – he was on high alert, barking endlessly into the night.

But even with the barking and the rough sleep, we woke up surrounded by silence, fresh mountain air and a view from 500 meters up that made