
14 Days
Two Weeks in Morocco
Two weeks lets Morocco unfold without rush. North to south, medina to desert to coast—each day a different Morocco, each night somewhere that earns its place. You'll return knowing the country, not just its postcards.
Your Route

Day 1
Casablanca → Rabat
A short coastal drive north from Casablanca to Rabat, following the Atlantic corridor between Morocco’s two cities.

Day 2
Rabat → Chefchaouen
North from the Atlantic. The capital's order gives way to the Rif's indifference. The road climbs through villages that don't care about coastal politics. Chefchaouen appears suddenly—blue tumbling down the mountain. The twin peaks of Jebel Chefchaouen watch. The paint started as refuge. Now it's just the way things are.

Day 3
Chefchaouen
Blue on blue on blue. Every surface painted—walls, steps, doorways, pots. The tradition started with Jewish refugees in the 1930s. No one remembers exactly why. The color just is now. You climb to the Spanish Mosque at sunset. The blue rooftops spread below. The Rif peaks watch. The town doesn't explain itself. Neither should you.

Day 4
Chefchaouen → Fes
South from the blue hills. The Rif releases you into golden plains. The road finds its rhythm—olive groves, small towns, the slow approach. Fes appears in its valley, wrapped in history so thick you can smell it. The maze awaits.

Day 5
Fes
Nine thousand alleys. The medina hasn't changed in a thousand years—same crafts, same quarters, same calls echoing off the walls. The tanneries still use pigeon dung. The brass workers still hammer by hand. You get lost. Everyone does. A boy leads you out for a coin. By evening, you've stopped trying to map it. The labyrinth is the point.

Day 6
Fes
Nine thousand alleys. The medina hasn't changed in a thousand years—same crafts, same quarters, same calls echoing off the walls. The tanneries still use pigeon dung. The brass workers still hammer by hand. You get lost. Everyone does. A boy leads you out for a coin. By evening, you've stopped trying to map it. The labyrinth is the point.

Day 7
Fes → Merzouga
A full-day drive from Fes heading south through the Middle Atlas, passing through Ifrane and the cedar forests around Azrou, before continuing across the pre-Saharan landscapes to reach Merzouga.

Day 8
Merzouga
A day without roads. The dunes shift color as the sun moves—pink at dawn, gold at noon, orange by evening. You can walk to nomad tents where tea is poured without ceremony. Or drive to Khamlia where Gnawa music rises from the sand. Or do nothing. The desert doesn't require your participation. It just asks that you notice.

Day 9
Merzouga → Dades
West from the dunes. The sand releases you slowly. Todra's gorge appears—walls rising vertical, light slicing through. Then the road opens into the Dades, where rock twists into shapes that shouldn't exist. You sleep in a valley that glows copper at sunset.

Day 10
Dades → Marrakech
The valley narrows, then releases. Ouarzazate passes—gateway facing both directions. Then the climb begins. Tizi n'Tichka winds upward through stone and shepherd country. By evening, Marrakech appears on the plain below. The descent feels like arriving somewhere you've always known.

Day 11
Marrakech
The souks spiral inward by specialty—leather, brass, carpets, spices. Each turn narrows. Bahia Palace holds its painted ceilings in afternoon shadow. The hammam strips you down to quiet. By evening, Jemaa el-Fna transforms. Smoke rises from a hundred grills. Storytellers gather crowds. The square has done this for centuries. It doesn't need your permission.

Day 12
Marrakech → Essaouira
West toward water. The road flattens through argan groves where goats climb trees like punctuation marks. The air changes before you see the sea—salt, wind, something loosening. Essaouira appears white against blue. The port smells of fish and freedom. Shutters rattle. The city doesn't try to impress. She's busy being.

Day 13
Essaouira
The wind never stops. That's the first thing. Essaouira moves at a different speed—artists in studios, fishermen mending nets, cats watching from ramparts. The port smells of sardines and salt. The beach stretches south toward nothing. By sunset, the walls glow gold. The Atlantic doesn't sparkle here. She pulls.

Day 14
Essaouira → Marrakech
The coast releases you slowly. Fishing boats shrink in the mirror as the road turns inland, climbing through argan groves where goats still perch in trees—not for tourists, just because they always have. The plain opens, heat rising, until Marrakech appears as a shimmer before it becomes real. You've closed the circle.
This journey is a starting point.
These itineraries aren't fixed. They're designed to bend. Add a day in the desert. Skip the city. Stay longer where something pulls you. This is your journey—we shape it around what matters to you.
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