NYK—mag 0225
01. Atlas Mountains & Berber Music
After three days of traveling, it’s finally time to start riding. The freedom of just three pedal strokes erases all the fatigue, and we’re off. The first stage is a climb to Azrou, in the province of Ifrane also known as the “Switzerland of Morocco” for its chalet-style houses and green scenery. It’s here that we share our first moment with locals, and one of the most emotional of the trip.
There are three days of Ramadan left, and as the only Europeans around, it’s hard to find food before sunset. We sit in a café, unable to order, waiting for the Maghreb prayer that marks the end of the fast. Mounaim overhears us speaking French and invites us to break the fast (iftar) with his family. His father passed away just days before, and he says that if his father were still here, he would have been happy to welcome foreigners and coming to his house is a way to honour his memory. Inside the house, the atmosphere is heavy with grief but also filled with the anticipation of eating. About twenty men gather in one room, twenty women in another. We sit quietly, unsure how to act, until we realise, this is what it means to be a traveller in Morocco. In a matter of seconds, we feel part of the family. This moment sets the tone for the month ahead: in Morocco, the traveller should feel good and at home, provided they respect the locals. The sincerity and warmth are constant, and refusing an offer of food or tea can almost be seen as disrespectful
For the next eight days, we bike across the High Atlas. From one valley to the next, the scenery keeps surprising us: dense forests slowly give way to the highest pass of the trip at 3,000 m, where the landscape feels like planet Mars. On the other side, sandstone folds like pages in a giant book, sliced by deep canyons.
When the radio is on, Chleuh music often plays. In Aguinane, a village of the Anti-Atlas, Rafid and his friends listen to Izenzaren, a famous Amazigh band. “Amazigh” translates to “free man” and is how Berbers refer to themselves. They are found mainly in Morocco, Algeria, and Tunisia, with smaller communities in Libya and Egypt. Considered the first people to settle North Africa, they retreated to the mountains after the Arab arrival around the 7th century CE. Their culture, dating back to 6000 BCE, remains strong and relatively unchanged.
Their music breathes this heritage, simple in instrumentation yet complex in rhythm, with many musicians playing in perfect sync to create a rich, detailed, and percussive sound. The lyrics reflect the social structures of each village and region, as well as everyday joys like sharing tea. In a cafe in Aguinane, Rafid plays us a Chleuh hit by Raissa Kelly, a fast, percussive track layered with vocals that make you want to dance even if you don’t understand the words.
We quickly sense their pride. Amazigh are unafraid to defend their culture to both the Moroccan government and the world. While the state officially recognises Amazigh heritage, it also seeks national unity under one flag, sometimes leaving Berbers feeling underrepresented. Their people are spread mainly across Morocco and Algeria, countries in constant political tension, and in the south the Western Sahara remains disputed. Yet across borders, they share the Amazigh language and a common identity.
Under French colonial rule, Berbers were portrayed as culturally closer to Europe and therefore “superior” to Arabs, a strategy designed to divide communities and encourage assimilation. This history left a mix of influences, but Amazigh unity endures. In one restaurant, we hear a song we recognise instantly: Tizi Ouzou by Idir. He is an Algerian artist that is singing in Amazigh and listening to him thousand of kilometers away from his mountain shows how close they still are. The song is a reimagining of Maxime Le Forestier’s La Maison Bleue. In Idir’s version, the mountain house has no keys and no need to knock. Le Forestier exposes a hippy lifestyle but here it’s a symbol of dignity and freedom. Despite everything, the house is still standing.
From the Atlas, we carry this lesson: the Amazigh are free wherever they stand. Mountains and borders may separate them, but they remain bound by language, culture, and the habit of sharing. Life here is hard, but generosity is survival. Coming from cities, we’ve lost the reflex to help without being asked. A habit that even some Moroccans lose when they leave the mountains for bigger cities.