The road of a thousand kasbahs.

We spend a day driving through lush valleys and gorges, desert scenes and extraordinary rock formations. We follow the road of a thousand kasbahs, bleached stone leggo type structures surrounded by date palms. Past villages of peeling stucco walls and interesting forms of transportation.

In the Todra valley we walk, cliffs looming on either side of us, clean mountain streams trickling. Berber women arrive on horseback with donkeys following to fetch water. Carpet and scarf sellers line the roadside as families picnic in the cool mountain air.

We stop at a bustling market along the way at Jort. The sellers making use of recycled containers. They were selling lichens that are used medicinally, okra, melons that they slashed open to reveal the glistening sweet, deep pink interior. The smell of spices in the open air is overwhelming.

And then on through more fertile gorges and abandoned villages of soft rust colours, of salmon pink and mauve mountains, silvery grey and rich emeralds of the greenery along the waterways against the soft baby blue of the sky is stunning.

We lunch in the Dades valley at a strange local restaurant, painted in gemstone colours of malachite and lapis, carnelian and turquoise. I sit surrounded by chickens, cats and peahen babies. They bring me a tiny white pasta with peanuts and sugar on top and the usual chicken tajine, this time with succulent apricots. I'm surrounded by tourists again, Australians, Asian and French but I love the feel of this place.

Then we pass through the Monkey toe formations, past silver and tin mines and more desolate desert.

It's a long trip today, I'm tired, hot and dusty and suddenly we pull up and my guide gets out and brings me a handful of tiny figs that he says are the best along the roadside. They are amazing, like jam inside, soft and sweet. I perk up.

My guides won't tell me where we're staying tonight, they want it to be a surprise. I worry that it will be a tourist designed place rather than the traditional riads that I love and sadly it is but they're so excited about it. Four stars they tell me but I'm a three star sort of gal.

I'm welcomed by Berber singers and I smile at my guides and go and settle into my African themed room. The place was built by two Spanish guys. How wonderful would it be if they had taken over some of the abandoned kasbahs so tourists could live in authentic accommodation. But dinner is good, I have an amazing chicken and prune tajine, a spicy fish dish with cinnamon, cumin and spices I can't place. And alcohol! A rose from a vineyard somewhere in Morocco. And then after watching a late sunset from the roof, I fall into a deep sleep in preparation for another day of travel to my ultimate destination - Marrakech.

The Sahara.

Of ultimate glamping Sahara style, and camels.

Hamsa walks me at a fast pace to my awaiting guides for the next leg of my journey. I've got a guide and a driver this time. A skinny, bearded smoker and a Berber, who fills me in about his Berber beliefs - humanitarians, free from religion. We bond over this.

Our first stop is a French town that looks so perfect, clean, neat with a lot of trees. It seems so out of place here that I say let's move on. Next we go to a Cedar forest to see the Barbary monkeys, again a tourist place but a livelihood for a man in traditional garb on a beautifully decorated horse hoping for tourists to take photos with him. I gave him money but didn't take a photo with him, the monkeys posed for free.

The terrain is amazing. We're on the road for most of day. We pass mountains where silver is mined, others of salt mining, gorges of verdant greenery outlined by houses the colour of the desert surrounds. We stop at a restaurant along the way for a tajine, vegetables and fluffy, buttery couscous.

And then we're off into the desert. On the way, we stop at a shop that is in a Berber tent made of camel skin and I negotiate to buy a beautiful inlaid box that turns into a bracelet. We pass ancient cities that have been abandoned, we see the odd tent and camels alongside where Berbers still live a nomadic life.

We stop at another location where there are fossils beneath our feet and another shop that sells traditional Arabian headgear and I'm told how to wrap it around my head in readiness for any dust storms that may occur...and they do.

We left at nine and arrive at the glamping site in a dust storm at six that evening. Neither camels nor tourists look very excited about the prospect. And even though I have severe FOMO, I decide against it. Instead I'm taken to the main tent of red and white strips where I'm given mint tea, biscuits and nuts, a much better proposition than the dust stormed camel safari.

AsAfter I've been fed, I'm shown my tent. My scarf comes in handy as I brave the sandy wind. It's huge, big queen sized bed, bathroom. The sandstorm is dying down and I venture out. Red carpets have been laid out, tables and chairs perched on a small dune. How civilised! I am enchanted and happy with my choice of staying here as when the windswept, sand blasted camel riders appear, I am justified.

The wind drops, the rain comes and leaves and then somewhere, crickets begin to sing. This place is extraordinary to an outsider.

Dinner is guess what? Tajines and vegetables. I notice that the tourists have come prepared and brought their own alcohol. The Japanese girl next to me, and I, sip on our mint tea and edit our photos.

And then the magic begins. We emerge from the dining tent via beautiful carpets that lead us to a big fire pit with strange musical instruments surrounding it and then the music begins. The man who was originally going to be my guide sweeps up to introduce himself, dressed in a white robe, perfectly coiffed hair, with an air of a whirling dervish about him. He's brought his three year old nephew with him who doesn't like the deep beats of the drums and other instruments, and ends up sitting alone with his hands over his ears. We exchange smiles. We sit on coloured puffballs and listen.

The musicians are dressed Berber style and the music is wild and haunting. Mohammed is a Berber and as a child lived in the desert, his parents moved to the city eventually but on the edge of the desert. He tells of the movement in their lives as they changed locations for their animals. I am beginning to imagine what it might be like having been a gypsy these last eight months and loving it.

Then the moon comes out, fulsome and soft in the still darkening inky blue sky and Mohammed gets up to dance. He shows me how the Arab women make that wild sound as they scrunch up their kaftans near their hips and then he pulls me up to do the same. The beat of the drums, the wild sounds of the Berber instruments, the firelight flickering brings out a part of me that I didn't know existed. We all become a little wild, bare foot and primitive beneath the moonlit sky.

The next morning, we're woken pre dawn for the camel ride. They've got the numbers wrong so there's one less camel and as I'm slightly worried about my back, I choose to walk alongside them. I actually get a better view of the camel leader who is very handsome, so all good.

The dunes are softened swirls with hard edges rising and falling in the early morning light. We sit on a high peak and wait for the sun to arise. There's a slight mist so it's not as dramatic but worth the wait. The girl I let ride my camel, insists I return on hers so I courageously mount my steed with it's long eyelashes and ride back to our campsite for breakfast and another long day in the car.

. .

Volubilis and Meknes.

Of concubines and Berbers.

My guide comes to retrieve me and my one small bag, I tell him he doesn't have to but he's insistent. I follow him dutifully down the tiny streets thinking this is how it feels to be rich. We're off to Volubilis today, a Berber city and Roman archeological site from the 1st century AD. The Romans brought figs, grapes and olives to Morocco 2500 years ago. As Omar fills me in with some history he plays a selection of jazz that he loves which seems strangely out of place in this barren yet exotic landscape that we're passing through.

The complex is huge, he tells me it takes an hour to walk around it but as I'm usually faster than most, I think I'll be out in no time, especially in the searing heat but his estimation is right. I follow the pathway and am amazed at the beautiful mosaics that have been baking in the harsh sunshine for 2500 years. They are stunning, I fall for the voluptuous Venus and although I'd like to rush through this place because of the heat, I become obsessed with seeing them all.

A security guard wants to take photos of me, I shake my head but he is insistent, he's either a budding photographer, he wants a tip or his eyesight is bad when he compliments me and asks if I'm alone. I hurry off but he doesn't follow.

Moulay Idriss is our next destination, the holy city, a place of pilgrimage. The city overlooks Volubilis. I'm shown the biggest and most beautiful gate of the city and Omar suggests I see the market but I'm overheated, tired and hungry so he takes me to the tiny town of Moulay Driss Zerhoun for lunch and we sit in the square with the locals and have chicken kebabs cooked on a BBQ and mint tea. Across the road, tajines are cooking on an outdoor stove, donkeys rest in the shade as I do. We check out the markets briefly and then we're off to Meknes.

Omar tells me that Sultan Moulay Ismail's reign of terror from 1672 - 1727 included the deaths of up to 30,000 Berbers and christians and being half Berber, half Muslim, this city is not a favourite of his. The sultan had 500 wives that no one but him was allowed to look at and if anyone did they were killed, he also fathered 888 children. The palace is neglected and closed as the present King won't go near it as it is said it is haunted by Berbers. Again, I'm not keen on walking through it so we stop at a stall and Omar buys some of the pale pink pomegranates which he gifts to me and then we're on our way back to Fez for a night.

We stop at a bakery that he's recommended and I buy a box of beautiful almond biscuits and then I'm dropped back to the doors of the kasbah to be collected by someone from my ovenight Riad. Hamsa arrives to deliver me. He's skinny, friendly and talks briefly to everyone as we flit through the tiny alleyways. He speaks great English and comes from Marrakesh. He's an asset to his Riad. I ask to see my room but he says these things can't be hurried. I must sit, mint tea and a biscuit is brought. I ask about my phone card as I can't ring anyone and no one up to now has helped me but Hamsa says he will get me a sim card. 'Do not worry' is his mantra. I finally get to go to my room which was just behind me! It's beautiful, I walk through the red, hand painted doors feeling like a princess. I have a sea blue bathroom that looks like a cave. I rest until they call me for dinner.

I'm the only one there, there are roses and candles on my table. The dishes of various vegetables arrive and then an amazing chicken and lime tajine. I have been alcohol free for a few days now, that's a plus and tomorrow I'm glamping in the desert. Another dream coming true.