The eternally snow-covered peaks of Morocco have an evocative name: that of Atlas, the god condemned according to mythology to hold up the sky for ever. Between sky and sea, the kingdom’s landscapes present dazzling contrasts. The High Atlas slides down its slopes form two regions with varied relief, the Middle Atlas and the Anti Atlas. Long rivers dig grooves in the volcanic earth of Azrou and Khenifra. Lakes fit neatly into the Zad hollows. The forests of Bou Naceur are dotted with cedars and oaks. Vertiginous waterfalls cascade into foaming gorges. The multi-coloured prairies are bathed with graceful springs. Deep faults penetrate the flesh of the red rocks.
Tiny villages perch to get a good view. Countless paths meander, intertwine, draw unusual itineraries where the smallest bend is the start of a new adventure. In the North of the Kingdom, the Rif rocks advance softly right up to the clear waters of the Mediterranean, close enough to give the impression that they would like to dive in. On their slopes, swept with winds mingling iodine and the scent of cedar trees. Secluded villages huddle round their small white houses. From Tangier to Saidia, the Rif I a continual marvel, a unique viewpoint at the foot of which the sea tirelessly rocks the boats up and down to the rhythm of its long beats.