Chapter 2

As we stepped out of the Casablanca airport to meet our guide, we watched the crowd of fellow travelers and their welcoming parties. Women concealed in full-length black burkas mingled with others decked out in brightly colored form-fitting dresses with their hair and faces exposed. I spotted some clad in Western garb— jeans and t-shirts. Mothers pulled their children as they tried to herd them toward the exit. Boys darted between and under the throngs of people. Men draped in long robes or squeezed into American-style blue jeans milled around. Taxi drivers shouted at the top of their lungs. A strong aroma of coffee and cumin piqued my nostrils. My senses had reached overload capacity when our guide, Abdul, spotted us in the crowd.

Abdul expertly snaked his way between travelers and their belongings and led us to his air-conditioned jeep. When we shut the car doors, we entered another world: the noises, smells and oppressing heat dissolved. During the six-hour ride to our first destination, KK shared our itinerary for the next week. She had planned each day down to the hour. The journey sounded beyond belief.

As we approached the UNESCO World Heritage site of Ksar of Aït-Ben-Haddou, a light from the heavens illuminated the village and transfixed us. The six-hundred-year-old mud-constructed dwellings melded with the sand dunes as the last rays of sun painted the landscape a dusty rose. The iridescent shadows and lights reflected off the sand-toned village in such a unique way—no wonder movie directors favored this setting. Scenes fromBabel,Gladiator andThe Jewel of the Nile flashed across my mind as the magical vista seduced me and raised my spirits.

Ksar Aït-Ben-Haddou had blossomed at the height of the trans-Saharan Trade Route. This passageway connected the North African coast with Europe and was used by merchants to trade gold, salt and slaves. We crossed a shallow river to reach the majestic tribal village, stretching our legs as we climbed in and around the towers, gates and dwellings. Remnants of geometric carvings hinted at the exotic Moroccan style known around the world. From here, we headed to the Sahara Desert, beginning our action-packed adventure.

On our way to the Sahara, we drove through the Valley of Roses. Rows of pink buildings lined the streets in honor of the Festival des Roses, which takes place in May. The farmers reap more than 4,000 tons of petals every season. The aroma of roses perfumed the air. We stopped to buy the famous rosewater, which was supposed to purify the skin and, the seller told me, make me look ten years younger. I fell for it all, purchasing bottles of rose oils, jars of creams and bars of soap. Beautified and giddy with the overpowering scent of roses, we had to roll down the car windows to catch fresh air.

By late afternoon, we arrived in the oasis town of Erfoud, the last town before the desert. Stones embedded with fossils dating back to the Devonian Period, 380 million years ago, lined the shops’ entryways. These artifacts originated from the first Mediterranean Sea, which extended into what is now the Sahara Desert. Abdul led us int