IT was only when they started trying to put snakes around my neck that it all got a bit much. Watching at what appeared to be a safe distance as the cobras rear up, flare their hoods and sway just inches from their charmers' faces, was obviously not involved enough for those always on the look-out for a few dirhams more.

As they came towards me with snakes over their outstretched arms like skeins of wool, the gap had closed to an alarming distance, of, oh, ten metres or so, before I managed to make my legs move and speed backwards into the crowd.

Until then, it had all seemed fairly straightforward. Wander through street after street in the souks of Marrakech, look disinterested, never let your eye linger on any one thing, keep walking, but always smile as you turn down the constant entreaties to try on slippers, beat carpets and admire jewellery.

True, even that can become a little tiring, but it's worth it to taste the sheer vibrancy of life within the souks, an overwhelming assault of sounds, smells and colours. Think of your normal English street market, and then discard that thought as of something from another world entirely.

The souks themselves appear to be a bewildering maze, but within the chaos there is a perfect order, of a sort. The street of ironworkers opens out onto the street of carpenters, in turn leading to the street of fabric dyers and then coppersmiths. Leather workers make way for jewellers, whose goods are replaced by carpets, animals skins, wool, textiles and pottery.

While there's no getting away from the fact that the selling techniques are not exactly what most of us are used to - not so much "are you looking for anything in particular?" as "this, in particular, is just what you're looking for" - they are all part of the incredibly rich experience of Morocco's second-largest city.

At the end of the souks, we came to Djemaa el Fna - a huge square packed with musicians, stalls, hawkers, acrobats, beggars, even street dentists, as well as the snake charmers. During the day, it may have the atmosphere of a lively market, but come early evening, it is transformed into a swirling maelstrom. Guidebooks warn of pickpockets, but any danger seemed to be more from hustlers than thieves.

Marrakech is not without its quieter attractions, however. The Saadian tombs are the city's main "sight" - lavishly decorated mausoleums, within a garden and courtyard, which altogether provide last resting places for more than 160 members of the royal household, as well as a haven of tranquillity in the heart of the city.

The city also boasts the 12th Century Koutoubia Mosque, whose 70m high minaret is one of the few landmarks visible from any distance, and the most complete of the three great towers built by the Almohad dynasty, the others being in Rabat and Seville.

But, after the frenzy of Djemaa el Fna, our escape was to retreat to our hotel, the five-star Palmeraie Golf Palace, a few minutes taxi ride from the city. More of a complex than a hotel, it has its own heated outdoor swimming pool - worth it for the novelty of swimming outside in November - shops, nightclub, health suite and, of course, a golf course. And, although the weather was more warm than hot when we visited, its whitewashed exterior and stone floors exude a cooling and calming influence.

The following day could hardly have been more of a contrast to the souks and squares of Marrakech. Loaded into 4x4s, we headed into the High Atlas Mountains. As the vistas of olive groves gave way to snow-capped peaks, the roads changed first into dusty lanes and then into pot-holed tracks.

The climb was rapid, and we were soon looking onto Djebel Toubkal, at 4,167m the highest peak in North Africa, before passing through Berber villages, where it seems little has changed for hundreds of years. Homes made from mud-bricks, women gathered around a well with buckets of water, and families herding their livelihoods, of a handful of sheep and a cow, over rocky hillsides.

Each stop sees you instantly surrounded by expectant faces - but this time, instead of shopkeepers, they are children, and it is pens, not tourist dirhams, they're after.

While Morocco has always been a popular destination for Britons, tourism has plunged sharply since September 11. A combination of a reluctance to fly and, perhaps more significantly, a new wariness of going to Muslim countries, has seen tourism fall by more than 40 per cent. This is a major problem in a country where tourism is one of the largest industries, and baffling to most Moroccans, who feel no connection with fundamentalist terrorists. And during our visit there, which came just weeks after the bombing campaign started in Afghanistan, it's fair to say that the only problems we encountered were perhaps an increased desperation on the part of the shopkeepers, anxious not to let the few tourists they had seen escape.

But, while there's no doubt that the gap in cultures between the West and Morocco is substantial, and there are times when it can seem a bit much, for the chance to taste - and smell and hear - another way of life, it is enormously rewarding. Just be careful of the snakes.

* Nick Morrison travelled with Cadogan Holidays (023 80828300).