It was February and we were hot. This was more like it! We’d finally escaped the English winter and made a bolt for the warmth of Morocco. For the next ten days, we wandered the maze of streets around the Marrakech Medina, got lost – a lot – and did a spot of shopping.

If you read Spicy! (Part I), you’ll know that we fell into a happy routine of exploring and bartering in the souk during the day, and eating and relaxing most evenings at our hotel – Riad l’Orangerie.

But we did go a little further afield than the Medina on a couple of occasions. Our most memorable day out was an adventure across the Agafay Desert and up into the Atlas Mountains with Jamal.

Aziz – our host at the riad – suggested it. We asked for his advice on the best way to see the mountains, and he didn’t hesitate. “With Jamal, of course. And he’s just bought a new Toyota Land Cruiser. You’ll be his first passengers!”

Jamal was one of the smiling staff members at the riad who did a bit of everything from serving dinner to welcoming guests and – as it turns out – day trips into the mountains in his very comfortable Land Cruiser.

He was a born and bred local, he lived in a village in the Atlas Mountains with his wife and two children, and he knew the desert and mountains better than anyone. We were in good hands.

Our first stop was the hot and parched dunes of the Agafay Desert to the south of Marrakech.

Apparently, many of the mountain roads were cut off for days – even weeks – leaving several communities to fend for themselves without power, water, or medical help. It must have been terrifying.

As the road took us higher into the mountains, Jamal would stop now and again for us to admire the views and tell us about the valleys and villages we passed through. The landscape got a little greener as we moved further away from the desert and towards the snow-covered peaks, but you could still see the effects of the drought.

We passed what was once a large lake and major water supply for the district, at Lalla Takerkoust, now much diminished; and continued to climb through the villages of Frass, Moulay Brahim and Asni, all showing signs of earthquake damage.

Just outside Asni, we passed what looked like a boarded-up home that was unexpectedly grand for this part of the world. Turned out to be a very expensive hotel owned by Richard Branson – the Kashbar Tamadot – that suffered extensive damage and is still under repair with a re-opening planned in October 2024. Here’s what it looks like, or will do again once they’ve finished the renovations.  In my dreams. . .

And finally we arrived in Imlil, high up in the mountains, although not quite at our final destination. We had to leave the car outside the centre of the village and cover the remaining kilometre or so on foot where the roads were only passable by pedestrians and donkeys.

Jamal led us up rocky pathways, past mountain homes to the village Mosque where, next door, he led us into Mohamed’s house for lunch.

Apparently, the local eateries in the mountains are either poor quality, or completely unreliable or both so Jamal looked around for an alternative. He met Mohamed, struck a mutually agreeable deal and now takes his tour customers to Mohamed’s place, where his wife prepares lunch and the guests enjoy the privilege of visiting an authentic Moroccan home in the mountains.

It was brilliant. The house itself, like all its neighbours, was made of rocks and timber, stitched together with concrete.

Jamal told us to mind our heads as we came inside. “You won’t be used to such low ceilings,” he said, leading us down a dark corridor to a rickety wooden staircase. “Yes we are!” we both cried out in unison. But that’s another story.

The staircase led up to the roof terrace, strewn with Moroccan rugs and low seating, from where we could see the rest of the village, the back of the Mosque, and the sweeping views across the valley. Sadly, we could also see the damage to Mohamed’s house with a whole room on the floor below destroyed by the earthquake.

The roof terrace was partially covered by a timber structure and was evidently the family’s living and dining room when we weren’t there. Although it may also have been their dressing room going by the display of ‘Sunday best’ clothes hanging around the walls.

We weren’t sure if this was a permanent wardrobe fixture, or if they put them there for our benefit, but Jamal told us they were the clothes the family wears to weddings and other celebrations. They certainly looked very smart, so why not show them off?

We enjoyed Mohamed’s wife’s delicious lunch (a Moroccan salad and chicken tagine), and Jamal then gave us a lesson in how to make real mint tea. Do you know just how much sugar goes into Moroccan mint tea? No wonder it’s so addictive!

On our way out, I asked if Mohamed and his wife would mind if we saw their hammam (bathhouse). For Muslims, it’s essential to ritually cleanse themselves before prayers and Jamal told us that in small villages like Imlil, where there are no public hammams, every home had their own.

Permission granted, Jamal led us back down the rickety staircase to the dark interior and took us into a windowless room near the front entrance.

In one corner of the room was the hammam: a small, circular concrete area with a cave-like entrance, a tap in one wall, a stool and a couple of buckets. As we left the house Jamal showed us the furnace on the outside which kept the hammam water warm.

But what fascinated me more was the concrete bread oven in another corner and the small steel fire pit on the opposite wall. It suddenly dawned on me we were standing in Mohamed’s kitchen and his wife had prepared us lunch, including a tagine and homemade bread from these meagre facilities. I was filled with admiration, but it was a very humbling experience.

After our adventure in the desert and mountains with Jamal, and a couple more days of foraging around the souk, we were suitably exhausted from all our holiday activity. So, on another recommendation from Aziz, we decided to have a lay day at the Beldi Country Club.

And when I say ‘lay’, I mean lay around one of the six – not kidding you – swimming pools, drinking cold beer served to us by smiling waiters in white sarouel (harem) pants. We wandered around the shady garden paths, and ate a three-course lunch in the restaurant by the pool because it was included in our day pass.

Then I discovered the mini ‘souk’ where no one browbeats you into buying every item you touch, but there’s no bartering allowed either, which takes half the fun out of it. Still, it was enjoyable to go shopping without being harangued!

And so we arrived at our final day in Marrakech. There was only one thing left for me to do. Get a tattoo.

Don’t be daft. I’m not that impetuous. A henna one!

Aziz told me to be cautious as the tattoo artists in the square often used henna mixed with nasty chemicals to make it go further and last longer. So, I did some homework and found the Henna Art Cafe, which is the only certified henna provider in Morocco. Not only do they guarantee their henna to be 100% natural, and employ professional naqashas (henna artists), they also provide free wifi and lunch, so Russell was happy to tag along!

I chose a traditional design and watched in amazement as the naqasha deftly reproduced the intricate pattern on the back of my hand in less than 10 minutes. 20-minutes drying time later, I was showing off my new Moroccan tattoo. What a work of art!

We spent our last afternoon in Marrakech soaking up the sunshine on the roof terrace of our riad, before waving goodbye to Aziz, Jamal and all the other lovely staff, and heading for the more wintery climes of home.  

What a great place!