It is the most Western of the Arab countries, and 13 centuries ago, it was called by the armies of Islam Maghreb, the "land where the sun dies". The name has remained, albeit in joint-ownership with Algeria and Tunisia. Today, with the ports and road junctions of southern Europe thronging with North African dockers and car-windscreen washers, "Maghrebian" has almost become synonymous with immigrant; originally, however, that name stirred very different images: Maghreb evoked a distant, different, unreal land; a land that was exotic not only for the peoples of Europe. There where the sun dies, for centuries flourished a highly unusual civilization: Arab, admittedly, but only up to a certain point, for the inhabitants of the Maghreb were still above all Berbers, sons of the oldest native peoples of North Africa. Hence Morocco is a separate story in the Muslim world; for this reason it has nearly always been a sovereign empire, detached from the caliphs of the East. The forefathers of the emigrants who today in Italy and Spain sell cigarette-lighters at road junctions, once ruled a vast portion of the world, from Spain to Senegal.

This is, however, easier to believe after having visited the four "imperial cities", their courts and their treasures. There for centuries (from 786 to 1907) reigned six dynasties of sultans: the Idrissids, Almoravids, Almohads, Merinids, Saadians and Alawites. The Morocco of gardens and sultans can start only from Marrakesh, the best-loved and much-sung imperial city. We consider it first, perhaps for the red walls that rise from a large palm-grove, like an unexpected miracle; or because it stands against the backdrop of the unreal snows of the High Atlas, the gateway to the Sahara; or perhaps simply because it successfully guessed just what the jet set wanted: minarets and luxury hotels, souqs and golf courses. Whatever the reason, many have been seduced: writers, film directors, numerous VTPs. The first was Winston Churchill; then came Paul Bowles (The Sheltering Sky) and Gabriele Salvatores (Marrakesh Express); then Alain Delon, who bought a piece of palm-grove outside the city. Sweet and spoilt, worldly and dreamy: this is Marrakesh today. However, the city was founded with a very different purpose: it was born as the austere fortress of a religious sultan of the Sahara. One day, armed with his sword, the Koran and a few orange seeds, he went north in search of souls and land. His name was Youssef bin Tachfin, a charismatic leader of people; his army was not made up of Arabs but of Berber nomads and black Sudanese, which all Europe called Moors. It was the year 1070: Islam gained followers as far away as Spain; the nomads had fields, Europe discovered citrus fruit; and Youssef returned, bringing with him a lovely Andalusian girl as a prize, the future mother of all the Almnravirle Mosques, souqs, the minaret of Koutoubia: Marrakesh reeks atmosphere. The best place of all is a square, Djemma el Fna, where every day the multicoloured fantasy of the Magreb is re-enacted: it is populated by story-tellers and fire-eaters, jugglers and magicians, snake-charmers and water-sellers. Youssef had nothing to do with all this: that playful and vibrant atmosphere is rather a revival of the soul of Ahmed al-Mansour, the sultan of another dynasty, the Saadians. It was he, in 1500, who made Marrakesh a temple of fine living, rich not only in walls and mosques, but also in secular art, flowers, games, odalisques, good food: a city of narrow streets fragrant with spices and pleasures, become exemplary and now synonymous with all Morocco.

To continue