The very last thing I wrote before Covid struck. Oh, how our world changed. As resolute ‘non-planners’ it was nevertheless disconcerting to find all of our options were shortly to be abruptly curtailed.

Thoughts of a Travelling Man.

Normally, when I’ve been travelling for a while I soon settle down again to being based in one place. Get back into a routine and catch up on all the things I’ve missed. This time though, we’ve both been unsettled. The last trip was interrupted by a decision to look for a different van – one suited to long-term travelling as our last home from home was on its last legs – and the quest had been difficult.

The last couple of days have seen things moving forward and we’ll soon be ready to head for ‘wherever’ and then  ‘points beyond’. So much choice and absolutely no time/financial constraints is a wonderful situation to be in and we seem to speak of little else these days. We have our favourites amongst places we’ve already been and a pecking order of countries we’ve yet to explore in-depth.

Sometimes, we agree absolutely on ‘favourites.’ Best country to visit for variety – France. Country we’d happily live in on a permanent basis – New Zealand. Most eagerly anticipated country to return to, time and again – Morocco. Even though we only left it a few weeks ago.

Morocco is a fascinating country of stark contrasts and I love the way of life there. Maybe, it’s my hippie roots. I had the long hair, the outsize moustache, and a burning desire to live my life in a different manner to my parents. If you remember the sixties, you weren’t there, they say. It’s not far off the mark.

When we first took an extended trip to Morocco, I finally had the chance to surf the wild Atlantic breakers off the coast of Essaouira. What an incredible place.

The Iles Purpuraires, or Purple Isles, lying just off shore from the ancient port of Essaouira, were named after the dye workshops built by Juba of Mauritania and used to colour togas in that shade of Imperial purple favoured by successive Roman Emperors. Tiny shellfish, indigenous to the region, were crushed to produce the dye, although the precise secret of the recipe was jealously guarded. Juba’s son, Ptolemy, was reputed to have been killed on the orders of the Emperor Caligula for having the temerity to wear a toga of the exact shade as that reserved for the Emperor.

The islands are now a bird sanctuary, having been uninhabited for many years. The largest of the islands, Mogador, contains a ruined prison built to contain political prisoners and had been a place of pilgrimage for the sizeable hippie community which settled in Essaouira in the sixties. The legendary Jimi Hendrix came here as did many other figures from the Rock Scene. It was a place of pilgrimage for the Beautiful People; the Flower Children who could have changed the World back in 1967, the Summer of Love.

Make Love Not War was the battle cry for a generation and its leading lights came to Morocco, to Big Sur, to swinging London and many other places to exchange ideas and to preen in their finery. If only my generation had allowed practicality a fair shot instead of concentrating on music, idealism and designer drugs, what might we have achieved?

Morocco isn’t really about beaches. The ancient cities of Fez, Rabat and Marrakech are largely unchanged since the Middle Ages while the High Atlas mountain range takes a grip of my soul every time I draw near.

The highest peak in North Africa, Djebel Toubkal, rises to over thirteen thousand feet and is at the centre of a wild tract of land where roads and even tracks are scarce. Three clan families had traditionally controlled the high passes. For many years the so-called ‘Lords of the Atlas’ held sway in a region where officialdom was unknown, operating under a set of rules unique to themselves. Even now, residents of the more remote areas do not consider themselves bound by the same laws as their fellow countrymen far below on the Great Plains.

The Atlas Berbers never adopted the Arabic language, even though this was compulsory for all citizens of Morocco for hundreds of years, maintaining their indigenous Tashelhaït dialect in the face of extreme provocation from the State. The same applied to the imposition of the Islamic faith with Berber tribes preferring to retain their traditional beliefs. These people of the remote mountain areas kept their distance from the materialism to which other regions aspired, cherishing their ancient ways and systems of government.

Here in the rarefied air of the high plateau, small villages exist far from any road, unmarked on any map, in the same way as they have always existed. Organised trekking groups do not come here and the villagers rarely leave the immediate environs of their settlement. For many months of the year the heavy snows of winter prevent any access at all and at other times, the only known tracks are difficult to find and even more difficult to traverse.

I love the sense of communing with nature; the clear air, the community spirit that exists in these mountains. We’ve been here many times; made friends with the remarkable people for whom these mountains are home. Within a few days, modern life ceases to exist. Life is simple here. Reduced to basic needs. Food, warmth, shelter and the interaction between people whose sense of community is what keeps them alive when nature brings its extremes of heat and cold to bear.

Finally, this land keeps the very best to last. Passing through the mountains, traversing the great plains on which the ancient cities took root, we reach the vast expanse of the desert. The Sahara is a timeless region of shifting sands and infinite peace. The people who call the desert home are a breed apart and time spent in their company is humbling beyond belief. There’s a spiritual element to having a love of travelling in one’s soul and nowhere is it more apparent than in the uncharted desolation of a desert where the silence is absolute.

We have parked our van and walked around in the certainty that we were the only people within fifty miles without experiencing the slightest concern. Deserts have to be treated with respect, but we know and understand this and the compensations are vast. I’ve never felt so much at peace, or so alive, as I do in a desert landscape. Being away from the tourist trails makes the experience special. We’re a couple who’ve been together a long time and know what we like. We’re not cut out to enjoy package holidays or the close proximity of people obsessed with cramming as much as possible into two weeks of hedonism.

Our next trip is almost upon us now. An open-ended trip without a planned itinerary or fixed timescale. A trip that’ll take as long as it takes We’ll visit ancient cities and tiny villages throughout Europe, Asia and North Africa. Explore different cultures, meet people, make friends, but the real joy of travelling lies elsewhere. We both have an enduring and almost insatiable love of wilderness, whether it be for mountains, lakes or deserted sandy beaches, but most of all it is the desert that demands our return.