Our journey across Morocco takes us across undulating plains with groves of olive trees and golden wheat-fields to the holy city of Moulay Idriss clinging to the sides of Mount Zerhoun. A place of pilgrimage, the shrine of the most revered saint (founder of the first imperial dynasty) affords awe-inspiring views of the countryside. In a timeless setting, heavily-laden donkeys carrying bags of produce wait patiently at the taxi-rank while the farmers drink coffee and play dominoes at cafes on the square.

In a scene out of a western movie, we are told non-Muslims must get out of town before sundown. After buying sweet pastries, we ride off to the incredible Roman ruins of Volubilis, a Unesco World Heritage site. The two thousand year-old city is one of Morocco’s major tourist attractions – renowned for its triumphal arch, baths, ancient olive-presses, mosaics and mansions. At sunset we watched storks nesting noisily on the top of all the columns – making novel use of the old Roman ruins.

We wake up to market-day in nearby Fez, the oldest of the imperial cities. When Volubilis was bursting at its seams, Idriss the First decided Fez would be the new capital in AD 789. The medina of the “green city” – the spiritual and intellectual heart of Morocco with all its palaces, medersas and mosques – was declared a Unesco world heritage site to preserve “one of the largest living medieval cities in the world”. Hamed Mikob, today’s English-speaking guide, is one of 600 000 residents who live in the warren of 12 000 covered alleyways in the medina perched on the hillside.

“Balek!” (“Look out!”), yell the mule drivers, forcing their way through the throng with their heavy loads of hides and market produce. At one of the sixty mosaic seqqaya (fountains), a mule obstinately refuses to drink despite its owner’s prodding – confirming the old saying, “You can take a mule to water but you can’t force it to drink.” A child pickpocket grabs at my empty back-pocket and misses his mark.

We meet Nour Driss at a spice shop in the medina run by his family for three generations. He shows us a gallery of framed pictures showing him selling rare spices and perfumes to celebrity visitors like Bill Clinton, Steve McQueen and Elton John. He dabs sandalwood and cedarwood perfume on our wrists, demonstrates the difference between first-grade and poor quality saffron – and sells us a bag of fiery red spice to make a fragrant tagine with couscous, the national dish of Morocco.

Making our way beneath the steep covered passages, we reach the beautiful C19th Nejjarine funduq – a caravanserai for travelling merchants – a three-tiered courtyard with elaborately carved balustrades and stucco ceiling. At Maison Berbere, Jalil Badrane shows us his family’s amazing collection of antique Judaica from the mellah of Fes. We are entranced by a cornucopia of Barokhetes (“spun in gold and silver thread - from the 14th century!”), Passover plates, kutubahs, hannukahs and mezuzahs.

Like all the “ancient Berber carpets” in the casbah, everything is for sale. A merchant with a persuasive sales pitch, Jalil says “everything must go – make me an offer I can’t refuse.” Some of the holy relics are originals, some are modern replicas and a few objects d’art are obviously fakes. Take the grandfather clock “owned by Maiomonides, the great Jewish scholar” – or the “long-lost” Picasso painted all too recently on an old medina door. Furtively finding a forged George Braque painting wrapped in brown paper, Jalil says, “What a bargain – imagine if it is an original.” Noting our incredulity, he adds, “Some could be fakes.” You don’t say.

The collection of religious relics started by Jalil’s grandfather in 1912 has been featured in Le Monde, Time and the New York Times. Over mint tea in a Kiddish goblet, he relates the history of the Jews who sought refuge in Fez in the fourteenth century – and earned the Sultan’s protection by making the exquisite palace gates. Although many Jews left after the Arab-Israel wars, a few families remain in the mellah today – looking after the ancient cemetery and synagogues of the city.

Expelled from Spain, Jews brought the Andalusian arts to Morocco. Their legacy is evident in the decorative wrought-iron balconies and windows of the Jewish mellah and the marquetry and mosaics in the synagogue of Ibn Danan (restored with Unesco funds in 1999). In the Jewish cemetery, the caretaker showed us the sad tomb of Solica, a 14 year-old girl who was executed in 1834 when she refused to convert to Islam or the advance of the Governor of Tangiers. We talk to Israeli tourists, former Moroccan Jews, who are visiting old family graves while touring the old country.

Next, we followed our nose to the medieval tannery, the heart of the medina. Many tourists hold a nosegay of mint to dispel the odorous brew of pigeon poo, cow urine, animal oils and sulphuric acid used to cure and soften the goat, camel and sheep hides. From an eight-storey eyrie, we watch hundreds of tannery workers trampling and dyeing animal skins in ancient limestone baths the same way they have done for centuries. It is the defining moment of our visit to Morocco, satiating all our senses.

Our guide says the Fassi leather is highly-prized for its quality – that the highest quality leather is known as “moroquinerie”. Yellow (saffron), red (poppies), blue (indigo), orange (henna), ochre (clay) and black (antimony) dyeing vats symbolise the kaleidoscope of colour in the Moroccan landscape. We come to recognise the same spectrum of colours in the exotic mosaics, ceramics, fabrics and cuisine around us.

I buy a pair of saffron babouches. “The king’s slippers – made from goat, lamb and camel skin!” cries Chemal, an enthusiastic shoe salesman. I also buy black slippers (“Moroccan Nikes!”) to go with my embroidered Berber tunic with funny knee-high pants designed for leaping high in the air. I suspect a formal dress event will never be the same again – and practise my Sahara dance back in the hotel room.

Continuing our journey, we head for Marrakesh, a day’s drive south. The road winds through a landscape of wheat fields, cypress groves and olive groves in the foothills of the Middle Atlas. Roadside stalls sell olives, olive oil and bright red cherries. We buy a bag and feed ourselves and a troop of Barbary apes amuse us with their playful antics in an ancient cedar forest. After many cities, it is good to get into the country.

We come across a women’s agricultural cooperative at the roadside. Inside, Berber peasants press the argan nut into a valuable oil used in cosmetic creams by the West’s beauty brands. Apparently, the fruit of the argania spinosa – grown in a protected Unesco biosphere - is highly-prized for its high vitamin E content. For centuries, locals have used the oil to relieve rheumatism and to make amlou – a divine paste of argon, honey and almonds. We buy a small, expensive jar of the miracle wrinkle cure.

A guide relates the incredible story of how the argon nuts are harvested. She shows us bizarre pictures of goats climbing high in the tree branches, foraging for the delectable argon nuts. The old goats do their bit for the rustic argon industry by breaking down the hard outer-shell of the nuts which pass through their digestive system. Next, the women sort through the goats’ dung to retrieve the kernels – before toasting, pulping and pressing the oil. After hearing the legend, we skip the edible paste and move on.

An old sixties song resonates in my head on “the route Marrakesh” – “Don’t you know I’m riding on the Marrakesh Express. I’ve been saving all my money just to get you there. I see the garlands in your hair.” Arriving at the gates of the ochre city, we find the Beats and hippies long gone – and a toy train which takes tourists around the souvenir souqs. The ancient oasis for caravans is a modern mecca for tourists.

Set against the snow-capped peaks of the High Atlas, Marrakesh sits on the fringe of the desert. Founded during the Almoravid dynasty in the eleventh century, the fabled capital of the South has mesmerised travellers for centuries. Entering via a tranquil palmeraie (palm grove) planted with 180 000 palm trees, the 12-kilometre long mud-brick ramparts lead us to the heart of the old city. The Lord of the Atlas, the last pasha of Marrakesh, ruled the rebellious south until Morocco won independence in 1956.

Dusk on Jemaa el-Fna, the magical town square of Marrakesh, is said to be one of the greatest spectacles in the world. We join hundreds of people jostling at open-air food-stalls which suffuse the desert air with spicy aromas – and are entranced by the hypnotic drumming, strings and singing of Berber musicians. Illuminated by lamps, the square becomes an open-air medieval stage for acrobats, jugglers, fire-eaters, snake charmers, story-tellers, fortune-tellers, herbalists and apothecaries, dancing chickens and chained performing monkeys (We could have done without the latter.)

On the final day of our imperial tour, the muezzin wakes us early, calling the faithful to prayer from the 70-metre high minaret of Koutoubia, one of the most famous monuments in Morocco. We spend the day exploring the opulent palaces, lush gardens with pink marble fountains and mud-brick mosques that define the landscape of the city. The Palais el-Badi, known as “The Incomparable, one of the most beautiful palaces in the world”, is renowned for its marble, marquetry and “zellij” – the signature mosaics which decorate floors, walls and ceilings throughout Morocco.

We watch children carry unbaked breads in covered trays to the bakers in the souqs. “Are you American?” asks a wide-eyed child, disappointed to find out we are only from Afrique du Sud. We come across school-children at the tombs, memorising a verse from the Koran by chanting it over and over. An apothecary invites us into his shop where he shows us glass jars filled with arnica oil (“for rheumatism”), oil of orange (“for stress, for the ‘nerfs’”), rose cream (“for the skin”) and saffron (a catchall cure for “acne, herpes, spots and infections”, he reassures us). But we leave without buying any quack cures for Morocco is enough of a balm for the heart and the soul.

Aziz el-Ouane, the last of our guides, explains that Marrakesh means “to walk fast” – and that Morocco is a corruption of the city’s name. He says travellers had to walk fast to make the safety of the city gates before they closed at sunset. Taking our cue, we trot along in the footsteps of the Sultans on a whistle-stop tour of the tombs, palaces, gardens, mosques and medina. I finally get to ride the Marrakesh Express.

Fact File: If You Go (280w)

The author was a guest of Qatar Airways who fly directly from South Africa to Doha with a connecting service to Morocco. Doha is a global travel hub with onward connections to 63 destinations in Europe, Africa, the Middle East and the Far-East. Contact Qatar Airways on 0861 861868, 011 523 2928 or see www.qatarairways.com.

Tour operator: Our itinerary was sponsored by Egypt and Beyond, a specialist tour operator for North African and the Middle East based in Johannesburg. Tel: 011 6784777, email: info@egyptandbeyond.co.za

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• Travellers voted Qatar Airways one of the world's top three five-star airlines in a recent poll. From check-in to in-flight service, meals and drinks and on-schedule flights and connections, economy class was excellent. The expanding fleet is new with excellent facilities and good in-flight entertainment in English.

• Costs: An 8-day tour of Imperial Morocco costs from R5285 per person (excluding airfares), including half-board accommodation in four-star hotels, transfers, tours, entrance fees to heritage sites, driver and guide.

• Currency: Dirham 2 = R1,50. The cost of food and beverages is relatively inexpensive – our meal in the casbah cost under R50 per head. Water, beer and wine is more expensive at hotels. Guides expect R125 per half-day and a R20 tip.

• Bartering in the Casbah: Leather goods, jewellery and ceramics are cheap. Expect to settle about 60% of the initial asking price for most goods. Be cautious when buying carpets which range in quality from foreign factory-made to the real thing.

• Time difference = 2 hours ahead of SA.

• Visas: South African passport holders require a visa obtainable from the Moroccan Consulate in Pretoria via your travel agent.