Don’t get me wrong. I like a lazy beach holiday as much as the average busy London mum. It is just that recently I have been reminising about adventures my husband and I had before the kids: trekking in South America and Tibet, discovering India. I was craving adventure and now the kids are all at full-time school felt confident that we could put a tamed toe back in the water.

Having not ventured further en famille than a sunny Mediterranean villa and wet country cottage, we could have picked anywhere and it would have been an adventure. We plumped for what we thought was the nearest truly ‘foreign’ destination.

The Third World smell of woodsmoke, our first taste of unfamiliarity, hits you as you disembark from the plane at Ouarzazate, in southern Morocco, a few hundred kilometres south of Marrakesh. Chaos and heat are our overriding first memories and we were not in the least surprised when three out of our five bags failed turn up. Luckily we had planned to spend two nights here. Ouarzazate isn’t in itself a destination city in Morocco, having long been recognised as a convenient gateway to the Sahara. As a busy Moroccan town though it had more than enough appeal for us: here we tasted our first (of many) tagine and enjoyed being up-close spectators of Moroccan daily life. Blood-splattered market walls were a bit of a culture shock and bear testament to that fact that refridgeration is expensive so everything is sold ‘fresh’.

A massive market seller dressed in an exotic looking tunic showed us his beautiful sequinned slippers, pottery and silverware. I was struck by how polite and interested everyone is. Our four year old daughter was an instant hit, much to her embarrassment. They couldn’t help touching her red hair. I felt chuffed that I passed the first test for a serious traveller: to resist buying a Moroccan carpet. My resolve would be put to the test many a time again. We all tried out hands at bartering – the guide books say to cut by a fifth the opening bid – it is scary but exciting. I have some beautiful green-glazed bowls and the market seller seemed pleased too.

Up early the next day and breakfasted on the most delicious Moroccan pancakes we were ready for our first proper day of exploring. Once on the road in our hired off-road jeep (more to fulfil a fantasy than an essential as the roads are on the whole pretty good), Spot the Donkey becomes the car game of choice. We are headed to Zagora, in the heart of the Draa valley, with its palm trees and oases, about a four-hour drive away. Kids are comfy in the 4-wheel drive and are very happy looking at the ever changing scenery as barren grey mountains give way to dusty valleys and then luscious palmeries. Roadside stalls tempt us with wicker baskets and boxes of fresh dates. We are the main attraction when we stop at any of the towns or villages but never in a threatening way. Often the only Europeans at any one time, we wander easily through the town centres, taking photos, buying snacks and absorbing everyday life. I am shocked by how much of people’s (and especially women’s) lives are taken up by just existing: walking miles to get water and covering huge distances between villages.

Morocco is a big country with four regions to explore: the Meditarrean coast, the plains, mountain ranges and Sahara. We have decided to confine our ten-day trip to southern Morocco, an important region of Moor history with delapidated kasbah after kasbah giving nod to rich and poor times gone. Our journey would then lead us towards the oases of the pre-Sahara and the desert itself, and then back over the high Atlas passes to Marrakesh.

The Draa valley has many fine kasbahs, or feudal family castles, the most impressive of which is Taourirt. Everyone speaks French in Morocco so, if you know French, it’s easy to understand the guides. A guide, in our case a member of the family who still lives there, approached us to give us some interesting insight into life in the past and how they have adapted to modern living.

The kids by now are getting tetchy to get to the desert, where we have promised them a ride on the camels. In fact, we have booked a night camping in the desert, which comes as a mini package with many of the hotels that border the desert. We have our own family camel train. It is hard work just sitting on the camels – you have to work with your camel to go up and down the dunes. The camel I shared with Ruby was called Jimi Hendrix. He did a fine job but we are glad not to be going as far as Timbuktu (there is a signpost saying that it is 52km further south!). We meet up with one other group (a nice German family) and we all sit around the camp fire, while our berber guides play the drums and we all sing. After a couple of ‘dry’ days, my husband gets excited when they bring out the ‘Moroccan whisky’, only to discover that this is their joke on us Europeans and really it is mint tea.

For the kids the camel trek and camping was a definite highlight of the whole trip – the memories of the huge starry sky, peeing behind the dunes, spotting scarab beetles, eating tagine by candlelight and playing ‘catch the mouse’ in the dunes with local boys who had made the day trip out to the desert, will be with them for ever.

I was relieved to be back to running water and functioning loos. Next challenge was to cross the Tizi n’Test pass over the Atlas mountains. If you are not a confident driver you might prefer to take a driver for this part. Behind the wheel of a car my husband thinks he is Indiana Jones and we took our lives in our own hands. The switchback passes are really hair raising but the views more than make up for any anxiety. The numerous transit towns remind me of those in South America. Late afternoon we arrive in the one and only Marrakesh.

Nothing in the rest of Morocco can prepare you for Marrakesh. It is melting pot of exotic smells and new experiences. As we head into town we saw boys our kids’ age (10 and 8) pushing their family’s livelihood on a cart back home after a day’s trading, men playing cards by the roadside and women carrying huge loads of washing.

Deimaa el Fna is the main square, which you must visit at dusk: gather round the musicians, storytellers, henna artists and snake charmers and feast your eyes (if not your palette; we weren’t brave enough) on the fantastic array of market food on sale. We took the kids to a recommended restaurant each night, with Ruby falling asleep on the comfy banquettes soon after we arrived. Be sure to visit one restaurant that has touring belly dancers even if it is just to show the kids the pictures in years to come.

We stayed in a hotel ten minutes out of town in the palmery district, which has more space than in the centre of town and a swimming pool (although too chilly for me). If I go again I would stay at one of the riads in the centre of town, even with kids.

Shopping in the souks is the best family activity in Marrakesh. Divided into different zones: baskets, slippers, silver, pottery, you can while away days bargaining for stuff to take home. It really is fun – the kids loved it too. They got to hold baby chameleons at the apothecary’s stall, get the faces made up in kohl, try on sparkling slippers and, when they were fading, a smoothie or meal in one of the very many excellent restaurants.

It was a new experience to learn about a new culture at the same time as the kids – and one tradition that we hope to continue at least once a year.

Getting there:

Fly from London to Casablanca and on to Ourazazate.
www.tourism-in-morocco.com. No visa required.

Essentials:

The Rough Guide to Morocco. It is a good idea to have a firm idea of where you want to go and what kinds of accommodation you want before you approach a travel agent.