As the wait at the long-distance taxi rank in Al Hozeima already verges on the absurd, the ancient Mercedes 240D gets finally full (three at front, four at the back) and the reckless young driver literally rockets up to the mountains. Two fortunate hours later, the triumphant German relic gradually drops passengers along a breathtaking alpine setting animated by ubiquitous agricultural work. It is harvest time. In the sweet sunset light, the vast slopes seem oil-painted with the reddish brown of the naked terrain and the green of the remaining crops. Hemp green, to be precise, a classic in these heights for centuries now, if not millennia. The taxi ride ends outside a tiny village located deep in the Rif mountains, dwelling of warm-hearted Amazigh.