We left Merzouga in mid afternoon, after we finally paid for our rooms and camel trip. This proved harder than expected as apparently Bari was the only one happy to take our dirham, and he wasn’t around. Eventually someone went to fetch him and we gave him his dirham. Another difference in the Berber culture – we were yet to meet an Arab at a hotel not happy to take our money!

We reluctantly left the Erg behind and headed back through the desert landscape to the more fertile lands of the west. We gave Rissani a wide berth, heading for a little town called Tinhirir by the spectacular Todra gorge. After a relaxed and leisurely drive, we arrived in Tinhirir about mid-afternoon. The guide book had advised that the gorge is best explored in the morning so we decided to spend a leisurely afternoon wandering around town and relaxing after our trying camel ride.

Nato and Kato found the world’s slowest internet while Vanessa and Vito had a nap, and they all met up later on the sun drenched roof top overlooking town, the nearby palm valley and the back of the Atlas mountains in the distance. They then set off to explore town, and found a charming little city, a bustling square and a few dozen cafes and restaurants. We also picked up a new guide, and extremely enigmatic man, who took a full 20 minutes of following us around before he told us what he wanted (to take us to his brother’s carpet shop). He lead us up and around the ancient kasbah, a fairly interesting and unique view of the city that we probably wouldn’t have seen alone. Sometimes hawkers can be a good thing. We eventually arrived at the carpet shop (no obligation, of course) and politely declined both tea and a carpet viewing. The proprietor of the shop took this very well, wishing us all the best none the less and showing us the way home.

We strolled around a bit before deciding on a restaurant (the least populated in a row of dude ranches). We chose it because it was the only one that looked like it had a menu, and because of the polite and friendly boy who invited us inside. This boy, it turns out, was both chef and waiter, and as we were the only customers he lavished all his attentions on us. As anything in Morocco, nothing can be done alone, and our dinner seemed to involve much of the rest of the town as various people came and went, bringing food, water and other necessary utensils. A few of the local kids came in begging as well. One was particularly persistent, and Vito eventually sent him off with 10 dirham and the strict advice ‘No drogarti’ … (for anyone who doesn’t speak Italian, refer Chopper).

Dinner ended up being a sumptuous and rather extravagant affair, lasting several hours and with enough food to feed about 20 people, and ending with our host and several of his friends entertaining us with a lute and a makeshift drum (basically the table and a couple of knives). We left them with many thanks and a big tip and headed back to the hotel for a real coffee (no nescafe). There we watched Chelsea beat Barcelona to a spot in the Champions League quarter finals and had a decent coffee served to us by a lovely old Moroccan who was learning English ‘from a book’. ‘I am not a rich man’ he told us ‘but I am a happy man. I sleep well at night’…. Except for the Chelsea win, an altogether agreeable day.

And the next morning there was another surprise – along with the usual Vache, Pan and Oranges, we were served crepes… an extremely exciting turn of events! We set off for the Todra Gorge, our mood buoyant and cheerful.

The Todra Gorge did nothing to dispel this. A beautiful gorge with a little oasis at the bottom, the road through it follows an old river bed between soaring red mountains. We followed the gringo trail of camper vans through it. We then rejoined the road and headed east for the Dades Gorges, which also proved to be beautiful, more green and fertile than Todra, with more life through them, Moroccans herding their goats, tending their crops, washing their clothes. Occasionally there would be a gringo stop filled with fossils, tajine dishes and other knick-knackery and every half hour or so there would be a Kasbah Café Restaurant, all of which we cheerfully ignored.

In the afternoon, we arrived in the medium sized town of Ouazarzate, described by the guide book as ‘Hollywood in the Desert’ owing to the existence of a movie studio just outside of town. Apparently Morocco was a popular filming location, owing to low costs, good weather and the versatility of the surrounding semi-arid landscape. We decided not to stop there, but rather to push on to the nearby village town of Ait Benadou, home to the biggest and best maintained kasbah in Morocco, itself star of several movies, including Lawrence of Arabia and, more recently, Gladiator.

We managed to make it there by ignoring the directions of a young military cop in Ouazzarzet (who told us to go a gauche, of course) and arrived in the late afternoon. We found a cheerful enough hotel and were greeted by the usual friendly Moroccan boys who showed us our rooms and took our orders for dinner. The Moroccans here seemed to be particularly pious lot, as just about everything they told us was followed by ‘In sha Allah’ (as Allah wills). We were a little concerned when even our dinner order was greeted in such a way, but as it turned out Allah was happy for us to have dinner that night (though he seemed pretty adamant that it should be more cous cous and tajine).

We set off to the huge kasbah that stood enormous on the other side of the river. The first challenge seemed to be getting to the river, but we managed that via a combination of roads and people’s back yards, and crossed the river by means of sand bags laid across it like stones. On the other side of the river was a rather elaborately dressed Moroccan who ushered us to the entrance of the kasbah, where we paid someone 10 dirham to go through his yard. His two daughters offered us some freshly shelled almonds, which we took and headed up through the kasbah. Amazingly, after the initial guide to the door, there were no new guides to be had, and only a handful of hawkers selling jewelry and paintings along a little alley. We explored the narrow, twisting hallways and turrets of the kasbah before heading to the top to watch the sun set over the stunning surrounding countryside, a mix of lush green valley on one side and arid desert hills on the other.

After our Allah-approved dinner, the usual drums came out. This time our host insisted that Vito accompany him on the drums. Expecting to be the star, I think he was a little surprised at being upstaged by the visiting gringo. Of course, he wasn’t to know that Vito was in fact a percussionist by trade and a member of several bands. When our host discovered this, he was even more impressed and offered Vito a job and invited him to stay (with free room and board, no problem). To which Vito replied ‘In Sha Allah’ and we discovered what was to be one of our greatest weapons against the hawkers. Still Vito joined our lovely host in another song before retiring to bed (with the beginnings, it turned out, of the dreaded grippe).

Next morning was to be our last on tour before arriving back in Marrakech, but more importantly it was Vanessa’s birthday. We celebrated with a breakfast of Pan, Vache and Oranges before a leisurely morning spent in the sun enjoying the view of the kasbah. Vanessa, Kato and I were enjoying it so much we almost considered taking up our host on his offer. But Vito and Nato overruled this on the grounds that man can’t live on Tajine alone and we reluctantly set off through to mountains back to Marrakech.

The path to Marrakech took us through the magnificent Atlas mountains, and we climbed high enough at one point to stop for a quick snowball fight (which I won, though Nato thinks he did). The mountains proved some beautiful scenery which we all enjoyed except Vito, by now in the depths of the grippe, who interjected every now and then with ‘Basta Mountains!’.

We arrived in Marrakech to find it considerably hotter than when we left it. After finding both somewhere to leave the car and somewhere to stay, we spent the rest of the afternoon relaxing. Kato and Vanessa headed for the hammam where they paid a nice young Moroccan girl to scrub the various layers of filth that the desert had left on them. Nato also headed for the hammam but opted for the do it yourself option. This proved a little less successful as, not quite knowing what to do and having no one in his hammam to follow by example, he sat in a slightly headed room for 45 minutes until he got too bored and cold, then he went upstairs to have a shower. Not quite as relaxing and possibly the first ever dry hammam.

That night we ate dinner in the grand medina and celebrated Vanessa’s birthday by not eating any tajine or cous cous. We also celebrated by going back to Moss Isley cantina for a glass of wine which, after a week or so not drinking, had us giggly and then sleepy in about 30 seconds.

Next day we bid farewell to Marrakech and boarded the Train De La Muerte…. 7 hours to Fez.