Rabat (premiere nuit)

After confusing a fuel station full of Morrocans by filling up my own fuel tank and just trying to pay, I hit the autoroute, hoping I wouldn't be too slow for them, as I really wanted to get to Rabat that night to be able to get visa-hunting in the morning.

The autoroute was quiet and there was plenty of traffic slower than me - but it was more expensive than I expected (I got a printed receipt to make sure I wasn't being taken for a chump).

I had the sun on my face and the wind at my back for three straight hours, got many encouraging waves from kids on desolate roadside farmlands and had a fun conversation with an absurdly happy young Moroccan guy over a thé de la menthe at a service station.
I was liking Morocco already, and hadn't actually done anything.

Getting into Rabat proved tiring though - the combination of my sea-soaked, pocket-crumpled google-map and rabats confusing, often missing street markings (not to mention the traffic!) was no fun.

It did make arriving at the hostel a huge relief though, and before I knew it I was being cheered on by the staff in my attempt at trials-riding up the high steps into the hostel (I did lose a point for putting a foot down, Dougie Lampkin I'm not) as they insisted I keep my bike inside.
It's only 10 dirhams (nearly 80p) per night to pay a night watchman, but who am I to argue!

After sorting my things, having a wander and relaxing in the homely atrium at the hostel I was invited to a table for a midnight tajine and everyone ensured I handled my bread correctly and got a good chunk of the meat.

Moroccan friendliness feels very easy to find.