One hour from Marrakesh

The sights and sounds are the clip clop of mules, the braying of donkeys, red dust and rocks, children's voices echoing in the distance, cooling breezes blowing through the argan trees, Berber villages built into the hillsides, the Asni weekly market selling heads of sheep, goats' feet, jeans, coriander seeds and golden raisins. With Mohamed as our guide, we hike to his village, walking on a well-worn path leading us to the edge of a gorge as we view terraced gardens, mountain goats with sleek black coats, women wearing head scarves and long robes wringing their washing by the river while toddlers wrapped in rectangles of fabric are slung across their backs. Mohamed brews mint tea with sugar for us in the house where he was born. There is a satellite dish on the roof and a TV enshrined on an embroidered blanket in the front room as his wife hopes for the day when she can have a washing machine.