You leave Marrakech behind through a widening palette of rust-red earth and scrub olive groves, the Atlas foothills sliding into view as your transport hums north. After roughly 150 km and a few country towns, the road bends and the first mist appears ahead — Ouzoud's cascades announcing themselves with the low roar of water. On arrival the path down to the falls is scuffed with centuries of foot traffic, shaded by thujas and olive trees, and punctuated by terraces where local families run small restaurants serving tajine and mint tea.