On a bitterly cold but beautifully starlit Moroccan night, in the remote, rocky mountains of the Jebel Sahro, the last thing I'd expected to be doing was the hokey cokey. But there I was, in a circle around the campfire, putting my right foot in, taking it out, and shaking it all about with the rest of them. After all, with temperatures below freezing, it was a good way to keep warm.
It was Christmas Day and I, and 15 other trekkers on this Exodus holiday, had promised some festive entertainment for our Berber guide, Mustapha; our chef, Mouhcin; and six young muleteers. We'd already performed a Monty Python-style Nativity play and sung every Christmas carol we could remember, but the hokey cokey had proved to be the Berbers' favourite.
The night before, Mustapha and his team had entertained us with traditional Berber songs, accompanied by the slow, steady rhythms of a goatskin drum. Their hypnotic, prayer-like songs were perfect in this mystical setting. Sadly, the same couldn't be said for the hokey cokey.
We were half way through our 12- day trek of this lesser-known desert mountain range, south of the Atlas. Our Christmas camp was surrounded by the majestic, towering pinnacles, outcrops, and the jagged outline of the Ridge of Fingers, eroded and smoothed by the elements over thousands of years to look like – you guessed it – giant fingers. Of all our stunning nightly camping spots, this was the most spectacular. On Mustapha's advice, a few of us rose at 6am on Boxing Day and climbed to the top of a ridge to see the sun rise. It was magical.
So far, our trek had taken us through the fertile Draa Valley, passing by the occasional tiny village of red mud houses, date palms and irrigated fields. Winding our way down dried up riverbeds, we'd wondered how these rivers would look in full flow; for two afternoons on the trot we found out. Not only did it rain, it hailed till it hurt, and within minutes we were having to hop across rocks to avoid sudden streams of gushing water.
On day three we did the first of our optional "Grade C" mountain climbs, billed as "demanding" compared with the rest of this "moderate Grade B" trek. It had rained then, too, on and off, but when we reached the top of the 2,447-metre Jebel Amlal for our picnic lunch, the clouds cleared and we could see right across to the snowy peaks of the Atlas mountains. The climb and descent took more than nine hours in all and, exhausted, we all slept well that night.
Apart from one valley where we spent two nights, we moved to a different camping spot every day. The tents, our luggage, and food and drink supplies were transported on a team of eight mules along a shorter route. The muleteers would have the camp set up by the time we'd finished our daily walks.
Most days, we were woken by the Berber drum at about 7am and had 30 minutes to pack away our sleeping bags, mats and thermals ready for breakfast. Breakfasts and dinners were served in the "mess tent", basically a small marquee with a plastic tablecloth in the centre, surrounded by mattresses. Eating cross-legged wasn't easy, but three of us had followed Exodus's advice and invested in Thermarest Chairs – lightweight frames that fit around a folded sleeping mat to give back support. By day three, most of the others were wishing they had brought them too.
Considering the limited cooking facilities, the food was excellent. Dinners consisted of soup, meat and vegetables (courgettes, carrots, peppers) with rice, potatoes or couscous, and fresh or tinned fruit for dessert. Veggies had the same, minus the meat. As a special treat on Christmas Day, the muleteers bought a sheep from a shepherd en route and cooked it in a hole in the ground.
For breakfasts we ate steaming hot porridge, freshly made bread, with cream cheese, fig and raspberry jams, tea or coffee. An hour or so into our morning walks, we'd stop at a spot with a particularly good view and Mustapha would bring out a bag with a delicious mix of figs, dates, and nuts, which became known as "second breakfast".
But the lunches were the best. Most days, the chef would start the walk with us, but as midday approached we would see him disappear off ahead, traversing the rocky landscape with the agility of a goat. An hour or so later, we'd turn a corner to find him preparing a picnic spread of salads, sardines, cheese, bread, lentils or pasta, which we'd eat under the shade of a tree. The landscape became less fertile and more lunar, with jumbled rock and eroded pillars, and we needed a fair bit of concentration and balance to negotiate some of the uneven terrain, particularly going downhill. One trekker pulled a tendon and had to be driven back to Marrakesh, but apart from that there were no casualties.
The biggest hardship was the nighttime temperatures. As our camping spots rose in altitude, the nights got colder, until temperatures fell below zero. Those who had not brought four-season sleeping bags and insulated mats suffered, and by the last few nights, even those who were well equipped wore layers of thermals and woolly hats. In the daytime, apart from the two afternoons of hail and rain when waterproofs were required, T-shirts were enough. The bright blue, sunny skies were ideal for trekking and the perfect backdrop for photographs.
Each time we climbed a peak we were rewarded with another breathtaking view of distant mountains, stretching for miles, rich red or soft, shadowy grey, depending on the position of the sun. Some days we would see only one or two people – perhaps a young shepherd girl or a hooded old man on a mule.
On other days, as we wound our way through the twists and turns of the valley floors, we passed Berber villages where women were laying their washing out to dry on rocks and young children played in the dusty streets. They would watch us, and some inquisitive young boys would come closer. Shy at first, we would share a "Bonjour" or a "Ça va" and eventually they would be happily walking alongside us, escorting us through the village.
Sometimes on our lunch stop, Berber women, carrying babies in slings, would appear apparently from nowhere bearing handcrafted trinkets and scarves for us to buy for ridiculously low prices. Although very few trekking groups pass through these mountains, the villagers knew where to find us. When we asked for permission to take their photograph (something that Moustapha had urged us to do on the first night), the women refused, but the young boys were usually happy to pose and loved seeing themselves on the screens of digital cameras.
Having a local as our guide, we learnt much about the Berber way of life, their Islamic beliefs and how they survive in such barren surroundings without electricity or cars. It seemed incredible to find such a different world to mine only three hours' flying time from the UK and, in some ways, I envied the simplicity of their agricultural lives. Walking between four and nine hours a day in such surroundings inspires plenty of contemplation and soul-searching, and many of us took the opportunity to make some life-changing decisions. I made one, too, when, on our last day, we climbed the Amalou n'Mansour, the highest mountain in the Jebel Sahro, and my boyfriend got down on one knee and proposed. At 2,712m, I wasn't sure if the altitude had gone to his head or if he'd been overwhelmed by the romance of the views, but I quickly said "Yes" anyway.
It was New Year's Eve and our remote Moroccan mountain adventure had come to an end. Tomorrow we would be heading back to the hustle and bustle of Marrakesh for a few days, acclimatising ourselves to city life before flying home.
That night, as we gathered around the campfire with our Berber friends for one last time, we shared our memories of the past year and our resolutions for the new one, and agreed that this trek had been a highlight. Then, just to keep ourselves warm – and the mule team happy– we did one last round of the hokey cokey.
The essentials
Exodus (0845 863 9601; www.exodus.co.uk) offers a number of trips to Morocco, including an eight-day Atlas Panorama trek, departing 18 January. The trip costs £599 including flights, transfers, accommodation and most meals. Exodus also offers an eight-day Jebel Sahro & the Draa Valley cycling trip with departures from 7 February, for £1,069, including flights, transfers, accommodation and most meals. Optional cycle hire £85. Thermarest products are available from First Ascent (01629 580484; www.firstascent.co.uk/thermarest.asp).
