It's funny how a prompt or some sort of stimulus can take your mind away for the here and now. The other day I was in a large supermarket looking for spices and sauces to 'jazz' up an otherwise mundane evening meal. I came across a Moroccan Spice mix, as I picked up the packet memories of last year's Morocco mountaineering expedition came flooding back.

Last December my wife (Nicola) and I decided to go to Morocco and to bag the summit of Jebel Toubkal the highest mountain in Morocco and indeed in North Africa. Whilst still at home, I had booked a Rhiad in Marrakech. A Rhiad is a multi storey house centred around a courtyard and generally has a roof garden. Many Rhiads have been converted to boutique style hotels. I also through the French Alpine Club Morocco, booked two bed spaces in the Toubkal hut (formerly the Neltner hut) high up in the Atlas mountains.

 With our kit bags packed with essentially alpine clothing and gear we flew from Heathrow to Marrakech. The nice thing about Morocco is they share the same time zone, so no resetting of watches. We landed at the airport and we greeted by a friendly taxi driver who had been waiting for us. We conversed in English, French and I threw in the odd word of Arabic I knew. He kept saying to get to the hotel we needed to get a chariot. A chariot? I didn't know what he was going on about; I kept thinking of Ben Hur! Only when we got into the walled city of Marrakesh, called the Medina and pulled into a tiny square and got out of the taxi did I see chariots. Basically because the roads and lanes are so narrow the only way to transport goods and indeed our bags are by what we would call carts, two wheeled affairs pushed or pulled by the charioteer. We now knew what a chariot was; no going around a coliseum for us then. Through busy lanes, people calling out loudly as they sold their wares and produce, and smells of cooking everywhere, we took a left here and a right there, down narrower and narrower lanes following the chariot and it's owner with earnest, and just as I thought we were lost, we got to a huge carved oak door. This was our Rhiad.

We were welcomed by the owner into a cool courtyard with a deep pool of water and a fountain, surrounded by palms and citrus plants. Before we were shown to our room we were given mint tea and some sweet biscuits. Our room was ideal for us, plenty of room to sort out kit and pack our rucksacks for the expedition. Later that afternoon we relaxed on the sun drenched roof terrace, on luxurious sun loungers, surrounded by citrus orange and lime bushes.

As afternoon gave way to evening, we made our first foray into the main square called Djemmaa el Fna (which translated means; meeting place of the dead!). This large square is a melee of activity, there's acrobats, magicians, snake charmers, apothecaries and food stalls. All so different to a Saturday afternoon market at home. It was quite overwhelming. We busied ourselves to find food stall Number 1, which had been recommended to us. There seemed to be some hundred or so food stalls and we were enticed into many by young waiters called out 'Luvverly Jubbly' and even 'I'm the only gay in the village'! We then found stall Number 1 and enjoyed a very cheap meal of kebabs and vegetables.

The next day we made out way out of the warren of lanes to the small square where our taxi driver was waiting. He was taking us to Imlil at 1740 metres a hill town in the Mizane valley, where our trek was to begin. It took about one hour and we arrived without mishap. I arranged for him to be in the same place at 3.00 pm on the following Friday afternoon. As we said goodbye and saw him drive off, I did wonder whether we'd see him again. Nicola and I put on our packs and began to walk up the main street, we were offered mules to carry our packs, but declined this service and we called into a small shop to buy fresh bread and a few supplies. As the road goes up hill there's a sharp right hand bend and I knew we had to fork off here and take a small path, which we did, passing tethered goats and cows in walled fields. We then joined a dirt track road which went to Aroumd at 1,960 metres. This town is strangely built on a huge landslide, virtually devoid of vegetation, the houses seem precariously placed around huge boulders. We didn't go into Aroumd, and began to walk up an old dried up river bed crossing this to get on the left hand bank. Here we saw our first National Park sign and a well made path wound it's way steep up hill passing the odd walnut tree. My pack felt heavy in the warm sun. I'd brought loads of equipment and food tins of chicken and corned beef, and also cereals from home. I also had a head cold which didn't help.

We rounded a corner and crossed a crystal clear river walking into the tiny village of Sidi Chamarouch at 2,340 metres. There's a huge white painted boulder here which marks a shrine and a mosque. The water here is supposed to have curative powers and the village is a place of pilgrimage. A young teenager came up to us and asked us to look into his brothers shop, I said 'no' and he said what about some tea then? Again I said 'no' and trying to think of something to say I said (trying to be cool) 'I'll see you on the way back down'.

Leaving Sidi Chamarouch the path rose steeply and we lost count of the number of switchbacks we made, slowly we gained a high valley and began to walk in snow, patchy at first and them more and more of it. It was getting late in the day and I was going slow, having a head cold and I was carrying over twenty kilos of kit. I told Nicola to go on ahead and find the hut and tell the guardian we were coming. She left, and after I while it grew dark. I was all alone in the dark in the snow and I was getting cold. Ahead of me was a light and I headed for this. This was the refuge. Just as I got to the door, Nicola opened the door and said 'where have you been, our dinners on the table'! I was about to explain the mini 'epic' I thought I had just had, but decided to just eat my dinner instead. This was a local dish called a Tagine named after the earthenware conical pot it's cooked in. Mutton, and slow roasted vegetables. It was great. We were shown to typical alpine style bunks and we unpacked, and got into our sleeping bags.

 The morning brought brilliant sunshine and there was snow everywhere. We donned our crampons and undertook an acclimatisation walk up to Tizi 'n'Ougane a high col of around 3,800 metres. We had lunch and rested hoping that this would be enough for acclimatisation. We returned to the refuge and I was pleased that my head cold was beginning to go. We sat in the lounge of the refuge near to the log fire and decided that tomorrow we'd have a crack at Toubkal itself. Earlier that day we'd watched people make their way out of the hut and up the South Cwm.

When morning came Nicola told be she'd caught my cold and didn't want to go. So I left at 7.00 am on my own and made my way over a small river and joined a steep ascent path. This wound it's way through the South Cwm and opened up into a large open area. I stopped to eat some breakfast and check my crampons. I then ascended a steep lip and left the hard packed snow behind to join scree and talus. It was clear that any snow melted here, and where I had just walked up was in shadow. I then walked up to the left hand ridge and picked my way on small paths. Ahead of me was the dome of the summit on top of which was a curious metal triangle, marking the highest point in North Africa at 4,167 metres. I climbed up the summit dome and reached this structure. Reaching the summit, I was rewarded by fantastic views of the Atlas range, snow capped mountains everywhere. There in the far distance was the Western edge on the Sahara; a desert sea of red sand. I spent a little while enjoying the summit and the views and then made my descent. This passed without mishap until I got above the hut and I could see people walking about. I wondered if Nicola was looking out for me, just then I tripped on my crampons and fell, knees and shins first, onto some rocks, it really hurt as I had gashed my knees and shins 'not cool' I thought. Hurriedly I got up and carried on as if nothing had happened, wincing at the throb of bruised shins.

Back at the hut Nicola wasn't well, but she said she wanted to have a go at the summit. So the next day we went up, always at her pace and reached the summit. We had lunch and it gave me the opportunity to enjoy the glorious view once again. She was thrilled by the achievement she had made despite the sniffles and sore throat. It took approximately two hours fifty minutes to reach the summit after climbing 960 metres and one hour forty minutes to descend.

The next day we packed our bags and settled our bill with the guardian. He graciously gave us 50 percent discount as BMC members, and we walked down the valley slipping and sliding in the snow. Down the switchbacks above Sidi Chamarouch we went, until at one bend a youth stood there and said to me 'Hello my friend remember me, you will look in my brothers shop no'? 'Bugger' I thought! Reluctantly we followed him into the village and to the shop. They had decided that I needed a Berber rug. Sitting down on the shop floor we began to discuss the 'qualitee' of the rug and it's price. Which was first quoted at nearly the price of our entire trip! I looked at my watch and it was midday. I couldn't help thinking about the taxi driver booked at 3.00 pm. I tried haggling and we agreed on a price. I probably paid too much for the rug but I was more concerned about our ride. His brother carefully folded it up and packed it. I now had to carry this as well as my pack! We walked back down the paths, through the river bed, past Armound and to Imlil. We actually got there early so enjoyed lunch of yet another Tagine on the terrace of a cafe. Sure enough outside the Imlil refuge was our taxi driver who took us back to the relative luxury of Marrakech and our Rhiad.

It had been a great week long trip. I think we both fell in love with the Altas mountains. The beauty of which was there's plenty of snow, no crevasses and it's hot. Ideal to shake off the British winter blues. We'll both be back to the Atlas mountains one day, in the meantime I'm busy trying to spice up our evening meals.