From the second you walk through the massive citadel gates of Marrakech, it's obvious why European artists, writers and musicians have patronised this desert city for decades.
Beneath green tiled minarets and ochre walls, tribesman from across the continent unfurl their belongings and demonstrate miracle remedies for anything from asthma to impotence.
Marrakech is an ancient desert crossroads, and the medina (marketplace) is more than just a showroom for local wares. The medina is also a sprawling series of open-air workshops, permeated by the fragrance of carved cedar, the clattering of hammers on copper, and the reek of tanned leather drying in the sun.
The Atlas Mountains draw a snow-topped diagonal from the northeast to the southwest of the country. On the right lie vast desert panoramas, oases and crumbling kasbahs; on the left a ragged coastline of whitewashed fishing villages and beach resorts, valleys of citrus groves, and populous imperial cities.
In a country where the peoples of Arabia and Africa have achieved an amicable symbiosis, the ancient mosques and universities of Fez and Meknés, honeycombed with arabesque doorways and latticed windows, are never out of earshot of the rhythms, voices and customs of the indigenous people of North Africa, the Berbers.
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