
7 Days
One Week in Morocco
Seven days is enough to feel the shift. You'll cross the Atlas while the light changes, sleep where the dunes begin, and arrive in Fes understanding why people keep coming back. Not a highlight reel—a continuous line through three Moroccos.
Your Route

Day 1
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 2
Marrakech → Ouarzazate
The road climbs until the city disappears. Stone villages cling to slopes where light shifts by the hour. Switchbacks tighten around you like a held breath. By afternoon, the mountains release you into ochre silence. Ouarzazate waits—not as a destination, but as a threshold. The air here tastes different. Drier. Older. You've crossed something.

Day 3
Ouarzazate → Merzouga
East into the pre-Sahara. The road stretches through country that empties as you go. Tinghir's palms, then Todra—canyon walls vertical and close, afternoon shadow pooling at the bottom. Beyond Erfoud, the hammada ends. Erg Chebbi rises. The dunes turn gold, then orange, then colors without names. Camp appears. The sand is still warm from the day.

Day 4
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 5
Merzouga → Fes
You leave the dunes at dawn. Sand still holds the cold. North through the Ziz—palms against red rock, gorge walls rising then falling. The Middle Atlas appears in cedar and mist. Barbary macaques sit like philosophers. By evening, Fes sprawls below—a thousand years of medina, smoke rising from a hundred hammams. You've crossed something. The desert hasn't left.

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
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.
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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