With its never-ending street theatre and labyrinthine medina, this timeless city swallows you whole – and reveals new secrets with each visit

The rising sun sets fire to the snow-covered caps of the Atlas mountains. Within moments, the shadowy gorges are gleaming with warm terracotta hues. I turn my back on north Africa’s highest peaks and look north where Marrakech – nicknamed the Red City – rests like a jagged ruby amid the jade swathes of palms and the silvery sheen of olive groves.

Swinging 800 metres (2,625ft) above the stony desert in a giant wicker basket, I try to imagine what this scene would have looked like when camel trains trooped this way, loaded with salt, spices and enslaved humans bound for Marrakech’s souks.

A fabled boutique hotel in the Atlas mountains makes a stunning base for hikes to spectacular viewpoints

Coming up the footpath from Imlil, Hussein and I step aside to let a laden mule go past and I look back. On the wooded lower slopes of the valley are clusters of tall houses, some plumed with wood smoke. There appears to be a lot of building work going on, some of it to repair the damage caused by the 2023 earthquake. The sound of a concrete mixer comes cutting through the cool mountain air mixed with birdsong and human voices. Turning back to face south, I can see the Atlas mountains, austere and aloof, a few snow patches on the upper slopes. That’s where we are going, to the top of Toubkal at 4,167 metres, the highest peak in North Africa.

Hussein has been a guide in this beautiful Moroccan valley all his adult life. “Most people here work in tourism now,” he says, waving a greeting to a muleteer who is passing us. The man is clutching the tail of his animal to steady himself up the steep track. “Twenty years ago everyone grew walnuts and subsistence food,” Hussein says. “Now we’ve still got walnuts, but we’ve also planted apple trees as a cash crop. It leaves time for the tourist work.”