I'm hungry not having had anything to eat since three o'clock the previous afternoon. The first village I arrive in is a shithole of a place. Lots of eating places but none looking too inviting. I stop at one and ask for "dejeaner". I always have problems here with that French word for breakfast, saying it in a way that I'm understood. The man behind the counter eventually gets what I'm on about and I go and take a seat outside. Shortly the man comes out with coffee together with a little basket containing a meagre half round of bread with a buttered slot sliced along the middle.

Further on I stop at a Berber cooperative farm place where they sell creams and cosmetics. In their stone walled and cane roofed café breakfast is much better. A big warm bap of bread with sesame seed dip and mint tea.

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The N8 seems to be never ending and I'm glad to eventually reach a milestone or roundabout ten kilometres short of Essaouira where I turn right on R301 north. Following the coast on the map, the first fifteen kilometres are well inland though and is a relentless climb. There's low dwarf pine forest either side. Lots of places to camp as there are no houses at all on this stretch, but it is too early to be thinking about where to camp, it being only after midday.

At last the road crosses a crest where the ocean comes into view. The road sweeps down to what is marked as a circle on the map, but in reality is nothing more than a few houses. It is now after two o'clock and I'm wondering how far it'll be to the next place or somewhere to stop and eat; not having had any lunch yet.

The road undulates along a hillside well up from beached rows of small fishing boats in sheltered coves along an otherwise deserted shore. Feeling terrible I continue coming to nowhere I can stop. Then come to a steep hill sticking out toward the coast where instead of going round, the road can be seen going straight up to the top. Just what I need when famished. The steep climb will drain whatever energy is left in the tank.

It looks worse than the actual climbing and beyond masks with satellite-dishes on the summit I see a building. First I think it has something to do with the radio-towers, but a little short of the top see it isn't industrial and is outside the fenced in enclosure on the crown of the hill. A house down by the roadside. Then feel jubilant as the gradient levels out and discover it is a cafe.

The food today is Lamb targine and when the man puts the pot on the table and lifts off the lid, it is luke-warm and annoyingly the cold coke I ordered hasn't yet been brought out at this stage, leaving me parched a minute longer as he goes back in and returns with the bottle and glass. I've no problem finishing the stew off. Then order a second cold coke and remain sat out front looking out to sea with the map open on the table. I put some of the bread from the basket in my handlebar-bag. I have no longer much appetide and need to remain seated as the food isn't agreeing with me. Nausea causes me to lean forward over the table with my head supported in my hands. I need a change of diet. Sickened by the blended taste of green olives and lemons.

Eventually after having sat for about an hour I have the strength to rise. I go inside to find the man to pay. Eighty-five dirhams he asks. What? Eighty-five dirhams he repeats in the tone of a chancer. I hand over a hundred bill and wait for change feeling truly ripped off for bad food and poor service.

Setting off again it has gone 16.25 on the cycle computer clock. I ride until after sunset in the lingering dusk and by a stroke of luck come to a nice seaside resort town not shown on my map, but large and made up of second homes and holiday lets of Europeans with a promenade between the beach and beachfront street. And a campsite was signposted on the way in. I don't manage to find the campsite though, but camp a little way along a track by the beach.