Elite Traveler September-October 2015

INSPIRE MARRAKECH

The car purred through the foothills towards the Berber heartland, its equilibrium impressively undisturbed by slope and gravel. In the first village, we were faced with a sharp corner between crumbling stone buildings that was too tight for our turning circle. Andrea, the lone female member of Jordi’s team, stood in the middle of the intersection, fingers waggling to indicate left, right, straight on and back up. At the time, I was arrogant enough to think I could manage all of this without instruction. Later, I would understand that she was laying down rules for tests that lay ahead. A reassuring coffee break in the hills and we were ready to tackle the ancient drovers’ tracks that grew narrower and tighter the higher we went. With cliffs on one side and a drop on the other, our outside wheels needed to nudge the void to prevent damage to the paintwork. Anas wisely offered praise and encouragement, especially on the increasingly technical hairpin bends. Again Andrea, lean and imperiously Hispanic, masterminded reverses towards the abyss with great precision. By now, I could see more clearly where she was coming from. Ninety torturous minutes later, we pulled up in the remote village of Tnirt. At 1,500ft above sea level in Marrakech, the noon temperature was a sulphurous 95 degrees; but at 6,000ft it was much cooler, the air much fresher against the snowy backdrop. Almond, peach and apricot trees clung to the hills in tiny lush fields thick with daisies. To urban eyes, Tnirt has seen better days, its young people have relocated to the cities, its subsistence farmers struggling with the values of an electronic world. From another perspective, jaded city slickers may find subtle pleasure among simple Berbers who wear their sky-blue robes with pride. The only hotel, Auberge Benija, is family-owned and old style – a square red tower with a flat roof that’s ideal for spying on neighbors, a terrace with straw parasols, eight rustically furnished bedrooms and a bright dining room with traditional couches for hot or cold weather cover. And real food. In the post-colonial era, Morocco combined French and local cuisine with enterprise and talent. However, no-frills airlines brought visitors who believed that a steepled ceramic tagine dish was a passport to gastro credibility. Sole meunière and boeuf en daube disappeared from restaurant menus, replaced by tagine one day and couscous the next. During our first two days in Marrakech, we’d had lamb tagine for every meal. In Auberge

late for that now. My mission is to drive an SUV with a V8 engine that can deliver 0-60mph in 7.4 seconds across any and all hazards I may encounter on a 113-mile circuit through mountains and deserts. Anas, the Moroccan father of two who has drawn the short straw as my designated passenger, may doubt my capabilities, but I’m not entirely unqualified. I once did a day’s training in a Land Rover Defender – that’s the workhorse the baddies used in the 1969 movie The Italian Job starring Michael Caine – with a view to negotiating Namibian sand dunes without getting stuck. So my credentials are not to be sniffed at. The British luxury tour operator Abercrombie & Kent added Land Rover Adventures to its Moroccan program for 2015. The scheduled drives take place in fall and spring, typically lasting from four to seven days, but individuals or groups can plan their own tailor-made journeys – upping the degree of difficulty, the standard of accommodation and the catering as required. Longer itineraries go into the deep Sahara, including Erg Chebbi, the sea of dunes near the Algerian border, but my tester comprised a day behind the wheel and a night of high-end glamping. Given the complexity of the route, our driving was micro- managed, with all participants maintaining a designated position between lead and rear cars at all times. Jordi, who heads up the Catalan Land Rover Adventure team in Barcelona, has brought a fleet of cars and a team of drivers to Marrakech for Abercrombie & Kent’s inaugural program. Jordi is a regular in the Dakar and other rallies, but today’s first task was to negotiate Marrakech in the rush hour. The traffic was a trickle by London standards. But that made it harder to keep my eyes on the road as it ran alongside the rose-red city walls, 12 miles of imposing 12th century fortifications that enclose formal gardens, rabbit-warren streets and the medina where we’d posed for selfies with de-fanged cobras the evening before. As the highway headed out of Marrakech, we passed Amanjena, now celebrated as David Beckham’s choice for his 40th birthday party. In May, the Beckhams flew in 90 of their closest friends, among them Tom Cruise and Gordon Ramsay, for an Arabian themed extravaganza that cost a reputed $460,000. On the opposite side of the road, the Saudi-owned Jnan Amar Polo Estate is still a work in progress, but already established in its second year as the venue for Morocco’s British Polo Day in late April. Among the regulars are Sir Richard Branson, owner of exclusive mountain hideaway Kasbah Tamadot, and his 91-year- old mother, who cleverly uses the polo event to raise money for her Eve Branson Foundation. A decade ago, Marrakech was mass market: today it’s for the glitterati. After an hour cruising towards the glittering peaks of the High Atlas that dominate Marrakech’s southern skyline, Jordi left the surfaced road for a dirt track leading to a much older world.

The car purred through the foothills towards the Berber heartland, its equilibrium impressively undisturbed by slope and gravel