June 1st: Sidi Ifni

June 1st: Road trip, day 3
Photos for June 1st - Sidi Ifni, Mirleft & Legzira

We awoke refreshed after a good night’s sleep; the view from the balcony even better in the daylight. After dinner I had spoken to Yassir, the receptionist, asking what sights he would recommend. He gave me a list - which included Legzira beach, just as a gentleman in the cafe the night before had suggested. He also offered his services as our guide, for free - to practice his English - should we choose.

Breakfast was purchased, hastily, at the grocery store; jambon de dande, danone yogurt, Laughing Cow cheese, and bread. But on my return to the hotel, I found the manager kindly making coffee for us. Coffee and pain au chocolate… such a welcome sight!

We left our bags at the hotel and walked to the bus stop for the local bus to Tiznit. We had been told the number 18 would cost us 6Dh each, and would drop us off at Legzira. At the bus stop we met Milosche and Jeanetta from the Czech Republic. When not travelling, they pick apples in a village near Murano, Italy.

The bus dropped us off at what appeared to be a deserted crossroad… the mountains to our east, a ghost town between us and the Atlantic to our west. No sign of a beautiful beach - or the famous rock. Undeterred we set off on the rocky path… only to find ourselves on a cliff. Despondently we walked back to where we had alighted, and waited… there would be a return bus in an hour. Instead, a taxi pulled up and we asked the fare to Legzira beach, gesturing the rock with the hole in it. We had found one of the few taxi drivers who speak no French! But, he seemed to know our requested destination. Fifteen minutes later we were summarily deposited in Mirleft. But there was a rock, and it had a hole in it. So we went to explore. The beach was quite deserted, save for ourselves and a young American couple taking photos of each other scaling the rock. We walked the sandy beach; dotted with pebbles but few shells, the water looking inviting but cold,  the rock showing the geologic processes at work. A wild dog came to join us, following every step of the way. It is hard to not make eye contact, but dangerous to do so.

We walked back to the road, a little disappointed in ourselves and our day, and settled in for the long wait for a taxi or bus, whichever appeared first to deliver us back to Sidi Ifni. Our luck was in. While we waited patiently near a restaurant, a young couple arrived. They stayed for coffee, we waited … As they left they asked our destination. Their names were Gabriella and Andrei, from Roumania, and vacationing for a week in Morocco. They were passing through Sidi Ifni on their way to Goulmime - our intended destination that night. We gratefully accepted a ride back to Sidi Ifni.

By the time we arrived in Sidi Ifni we had agreed that all four of us should engage the services of Yassir. He was happy to take us on an extended tour of the town - and we for a lot more than we bargained for! Sidi Ifni is known for its Spanish influences and architecture; it was once a protectorate of Spain, only returned to Morocco in 1969. Many in the town want a return to Spanish rule … Yassir is one of those! Descriptions of the town, details of the history, were dotted with tales of his resistance to Moroccan rule; “this house, the government (of the country whose name I will not say) wanted to pull down, my friends and I we climbed the roof and staged a sit in. There are photos. You see, it still stands. We saved this house …” We walked the streets, bemused, amused, and interested.

Our tour ended at 5pm, as Yassir’s evening shift at the hotel began - our bus not scheduled to leave for another 3 hours, and the market jumping to life in readiness for the evening break-fast. Our Romanian friends offered to drop us off at an as yet undetermined hotel in Goulmime, and we readily accepted.

Goulmime at sundown, gateway to The Sahara, cannot be described as a welcoming place. Stark, austere, dirty … nonetheless we stopped to find a hotel. One room for two, bathroom shared between eight rooms? Perhaps we should look elsewhere? The four of us opted for an inexpensive hotel outside of town, made reservations, and set off. Wherever we would be in this inhospitable place, we would be together!

The drive to Maison D'hotes Nomades seemed to take us to the Moroccan equivalent if the “backwoods.” Turning, twisting, unlit roads far off the beaten track, until suddenly there was Ibrahim welcoming us to his home. Welcome, welcome, come inside. Meet my family, my wife, my daughter, my mother. Come, join us for our Ramadan breakfast … it was going to be a long night! Ibrahim's wife had prepared fish, slilou, an assortment of snacks, and the ubiquitous mint tea. We stayed in their salon getting to know the family, sampling their foods until finally we were shown to our rooms and instructed that dinner would be ready in “maybe 1 hour.” It was already 9pm.

The hotel is set apart from Ibrahim's home. It is a lovely place; quiet, clean … with a shared bathroom. But it was ‘home’ for the night. We were served a delicious vegetarian tajine - and mint tea - and set up a tour for the following day. Breakfast would be served at 9 am, we should be ready to leave by 10am, a picnic would be provided, and we would return at 6pm. Just like that our say was set! Nothing more to do but say goodnight on the terrace, under a sky flooded with stars.