You leave Marrakech behind on a winding road that climbs into the High Atlas; the city’s heat peels away and the air sharpens with pine and cold stone. By midmorning the minivan pulls into a patchwork of terraces and low‑stone houses—mules loitering by the trail, local women arranging produce, and mountain silhouettes cutting the sky. The walk from Imlil to Aroumd runs on old mule tracks, switchbacks that rise between walnut orchards and dry‑stone terraces, opening onto a terrace lunch with North Africa’s highest summits looming above.