Saturday, July 18th, 2026. My alarm went off at 3:36 a.m. After just 2.5 hours of sleep and a quick sandwich with some nuts, I packed my bag and headed for Málaga Airport.

After a 45-minute bike ride, I arrived at 4:48 a.m., locked my bike in the airport parking garage, and hoped it would still be there when I returned. Security was surprisingly quick, leaving me with almost an hour to wait before boarding my flight at 6:30 a.m.

Although the flight lasted only 30 minutes, it was one of the roughest takeoffs I've ever experienced. The turbulence was so intense that nearly half the passengers started crying or praying. Sitting in Row 14, watching the sunrise through the window, I stayed completely calm.

We landed at 6:20 a.m. local time (Morocco is one hour behind Spain). The first stop was passport control. The officer looked at me and asked,

"What are you doing here?"

For a brief moment, I asked myself exactly the same question.

After exchanging some money, I jumped on the next bus into Tangier—a city that is one of the most beautiful places in North Africa.

The first thing I did was enjoy an incredible rooftop breakfast for just €6.50 before walking through the winding streets of the old Medina to my hotel.

Looking back, booking that hotel was probably my worst decision of the entire trip... but we'll get to that later.

The plan for the day was simple: run about 15 kilometers to Cape Spartel, the legendary point where the Atlantic Ocean meets the Mediterranean Sea.

At around 11:30 a.m., under the blazing African sun, I started running with my backpack, running gear, and just a few hundred Moroccan dirhams in my pocket.

The route took me through the poorest neighborhood I have ever seen. I passed massive government buildings protected by dozens of armed soldiers. The Moroccan flag was flying everywhere—a level of national pride I'd honestly love to see more often in Austria.

Along the way, I sat on a camel for the first time in my life, played a random Spanish instrument, ate and drank traditional moroccon food, sat in the back of an Moroccon "Tuk Tuk" and i met a bunch of friendly people.!

Two hours later, there I was: standing on the edge of a cliff with a traditional scarf wrapped around my head, a hawk resting on my left arm, the Atlantic stretching out to my left and the Mediterranean to my right.

It felt unreal.

I spent about an hour swimming in the Atlantic before beginning the long journey back.

That's when things became much harder.

The temperature officially read 32°C, but it felt closer to 40°C. My shoes seemed to melt into the burning asphalt, and despite being exhausted, I still had nearly 19 kilometers left.

With about 7 kilometers to go, I came across a man selling nuts on the side of the road. Seeing how exhausted I looked, he even shared some water from his own bottle.

That small act of kindness gave me exactly the break I needed.

Twenty minutes later, I got back on my feet and finished the run.

After 35 kilometers, I finally reached my hotel at around 6:30 p.m.

A quick shower later, I headed back into the Medina for dinner. Being almost the only European tourist around felt a little strange, but it also made the experience feel even more authentic.

I went to bed around 10:00 p.m., hoping for a good night's sleep.

Instead, I had what was probably the worst night of my life.

I was bitten by mosquitoes at least 28 times (yes, I counted). Every ten minutes I woke up because of the noise outside, the unbearable heat, or probably my caffeine overdose from earlier that day.

At 3:00 a.m., during my fifth trip to the bathroom to soak my towel with cold water—a desperate attempt to survive the 30°C room and protect my face from the mosquitoes—a cockroach suddenly ran across the floor right next to my feet.

After removing the cockroach and eliminating what felt like 80% of the mosquitoes in my room with my shoe, I finally managed to sleep from 5:00 a.m. until 8:00 a.m.

I woke up in a bed completely soaked from sweat—and from the wet towel.

Not exactly the hotel experience I'd imagined.

At 9:00 a.m., I went out for one last morning run.

After checking out of the hotel, I enjoyed another breakfast in the Medina before heading back to the airport.

By 6:00 p.m. on Sunday, I was back in Málaga.

Without even unpacking, I headed straight into the city center to watch the World Cup Final.

Witnessing a World Cup victory while being in the winning country is something I'll probably never experience again.

Looking back, it wasn't the lack of sleep, the heat, the mosquitoes, or even the cockroach that made this trip unforgettable.

It was the incredibly kind people I met, experiencing Arab and Muslim culture firsthand, pushing myself far beyond my comfort zone, and realizing that the best adventures are often the ones that don't go according to plan.

One day. Two countries. Thirty-five kilometers. Countless unforgettable memories.