“Its a good thing we have the same sensibilities. There are a lot of couples that wouldn’t be able to survive this hotel.” So says Allegra as we settle in for the night in Ighrem, a small and very humble Atlas Mountain village. We have two choices for hotels and pick the nicer option, but at $7 for the night, we get what we pay for, which amounts to two single beds separated by a plastic lawn chair, a sink that dribbles cold water and has a plugged drain, an exposed light bulb dangling from the ceiling, and walls covered in bright pink paint with a sheen of glitter. Toilet and shower are down the hall, seemingly last cleaned sometime in the 1990s. I am lucky to have such an adventurous and tough spouse.

We are beat from a long day of riding and, rather than dwell on our grim accommodations, decide to make the best of it and enjoy a simple meal. We ask the proprietor of the restaurant down below what he has for dinner and, setting down his mint tea and cigarette, he invites us back to his kitchen to inspect what’s on the stove. The lentil and white bean stews look good and he even grabs a spoon and gives us a taste. Accompanied by green olives, fresh bread with olive oil and a sprinkling of cumin and salt, it hits the spot.

We reflect on our beautiful route today, and especially the warm hospitality we enjoyed at a small mud walled cafe in Imitek, whose proprietor brought us extra cardboard for our chairs and cycled off with a smile for fresh bread and oranges.

And so ends the day: hunkered down in our little pink cell, warm and well fed if somewhat grungy, and sure that we will not soon forget this experience.