ON THE ROAD THROUGH MOROCCO, FAMILY STYLE

“Don’t worry, madame,” whispered the turbaned man next to me, “that snake around your daughter’s neck is not poisonous.”

It couldn’t have been more than 30 seconds since I had taken my eyes off my 12-year-old in Marrakech’s throwback medieval square, Djemaa el-Fna. Yet in that time, a snake charmer had succeeded in wrapping the creature around my startled child, who now stood stone-still as the slithering serpent slowly wound its way up around her neck.

“Get that thing off her. Now,” I ordered. As the snake’s owner complied, my daughter shot me one of those if-looks-could-kill glances. (To Alison, being almost strangled by a snake was preferable to being embarrassed by her mother.) So on this, our first day in Morocco, the stage was set for Alison and her 9-year-old brother, Will. Surprise, intrigue and unrivaled family adventures would continue to mark our 12 days in this exotic North African country.

Friends had warned my husband, Bill, and me about our summer travel plans to Morocco, particularly since we really had no plans other than knowing we would rent a car in Marrakech and, sans guide, drive south through the High Atlas Mountains, ending up in the Sahara.

“You’re bound to get lost on your own” . . . “The roads are treacherous” . . . “Your kids will fry in the desert” . . . were all phrases that fell on our unconcerned ears. OK, I’ll admit it. We did get lost a few times. But Morocco’s well-developed system of roads was perfectly navigable. And neither Alison nor Will suffered heatstroke. While Morocco had the faraway allure of other countries already stamped in their passports--Thailand, Tanzania and Ecuador--it also offered a level of safety that allayed our parental concerns.

Specifically, it has a reputation as a politically stable and socially liberal Moslem country with a major economic stake in tourism. Religious extremism seems to be kept in check by King Hassan II, and violent crime and personally owned weapons of any kind are rare. We figured that some tourists--especially those from big U.S. cities--might be safer here than at home. As for health issues, Morocco gained points when I told the kids that this country requires no immunizations--”Yes!” said Alison (although bottled water is recommended, and malaria pills may be prescribed for coastal areas).

Best of all, as we discovered, seeing the less traveled parts of the country at our own leisure was an experience not to be missed.

Slightly larger than California, this North African country lies within an arm’s reach of Spain, across the Strait of Gibraltar. Morocco is blessed with long coastlines bordering the Atlantic on the west and the Mediterranean on the north. The Atlas Mountains rim its eastern border, while the Sahara Desert lies south. Thus geographically shielded from the rest of Africa, Morocco’s culture is an amalgam derived from numerous invaders (particularly the Arabs) mixed with its indigenous people, the Berbers. Flavoring this rich cultural soup are remnants of French and Spanish colonization.

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We began our adventure in Marrakech, a city of 600,000 that resonates with rich Moroccan traditions and is laced with European flair. Since we knew our trip to the south would be extremely economical by U.S. standards, we decided to splurge our first two nights at the five-star Hotel La Mamounia, where two double rooms cost a total of $500.

One of the world’s most legendary hotels, the Mamounia earns its elite reputation. Our adjoining rooms featured expansive balconies looking out over 20 acres of lush gardens. And the kids immediately staked out their claim to a palm-island oasis in the middle of the hotel’s gigantic swimming pool. (If they noticed the topless French ladies sunning poolside, they didn’t show it.)

To lure them out to see the sites of Marrakech, we promised caleches, or horse-drawn carriages. For a hard-bargained price of 40 dirham (about $4), they clip-clopped from the hotel to the heart of Marrakech’s main square--the Djemaa el-Fna--where we stepped right into medieval Morocco. With its jostling throngs of people, seductive scents of food and the ceaseless din of horn-honking, instrument-playing and human bantering, Djemaa el-Fna assaults the senses.

Conspicuously absent was the dreaded “pestilence of Marrakech” we recalled from our childless days here in the ‘70s: the repellent barrage of hustlers or unofficial “guides” who relentlessly hounded us for money in the guise of “just wanting to practice English.” Now a Department of Tourism crackdown has addressed the problem but not totally eliminated it. Shopkeepers, grateful for the new “hustler law,” told us that offenders are punished with a few nights in jail or whacks on the bottom of the feet with a stick.

Although it was quite intimidating to our kids (and their parents) at first, we soon began adapting to the square’s bizarre rhythm. Musicians, magicians, acrobats, folk healers, fire eaters, storytellers, snake charmers, monkey trainers, tooth extractors, hustlers, beggars and, of course, those who merely observe this amazing scene are among the crowd that converges here as the sun sets each evening. It’s then that dozens of small mobile eateries are set up on the periphery, serving everything from traditional Moroccan lamb stew to couscous and pastries to steamed lamb heads replete with their most coveted delicacy, the eyeballs.

It was this latter food item that convinced us we would eat in a bona fide restaurant, Dar Marjana, about five minutes from the square. There, an elderly, bent-over man in a djellaba, or long robe, greeted us with a lantern in hand and led us down a dark, narrow alleyway opening onto a beautiful courtyard ringed by knee-high tables. We sat on a low bench surrounded by dozens of satin pillows, and were served a sumptuous meal of 11 hors d’oeuvres, couscous with grilled vegetables, fowl wrapped in a crepe and tagine (lamb stew)--all topped off with a huge brittle crepe dessert drenched with honey. We passed up the evening’s traditional dancing entertainment and led our weary, overstuffed travelers out of the restaurant just as they began to melt into the comfort of the pillows.

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Our second day in Marrakech, we hired an official guide for $20 in the hotel lobby. This was a necessity for our day’s activity--visiting the souk, the ancient labyrinth of shops, adjacent to the square, that teems with people, bicycles and donkeys.

Bargaining in the souk is not only customary, it is expected. From a $1,000 silk rug to a $2 bracelet, every item demands intense negotiation. “Start at one-fourth the asking price and bargain patiently, aggressively and with humor,” a guidebook advised. The kids immediately took to this game, learning to walk out of the shop if, after several rounds of haggling, no agreement on price was reached. Inevitably the shopkeeper, an expert at the retail ballet, called after them in a contrived, defeated tone, “OK, OK, what’s your final price?”

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Our third day, we left the splendid Mamounia and headed off in our rented Volvo to “Le Grand Sud,” the southern region of Morocco, choosing the well-traveled Tizi n’Tichka, a winding but well-maintained two-lane route popular with tourists. We would climb 7,000 feet before dropping down into the oasis of Ouarzazate, about 120 miles (or four hours) from Marrakech.

Along the way, each switchback afforded a view more spectacular than the last. Mountain landscapes--from verdant green to stark lunar--and small mud villages built into the hillsides presented photo ops too precious to pass up. Only one other sight equaled this startling High Atlas panorama: the Berbers. As we drove through small villages, djellaba-clad men rested and chatted in the shade of mud buildings, or sat around tiny cafe tables drinking tea. The women, with their distinctive facial tattoos and garishly colored shawls and clothing, herded goats, carried massive bundles of straw on their backs, tended children or drew water from wells.

At noon, we arrived at Ouarzazate, a lush oasis on the Draa River. As the center of Morocco’s growing film-location industry, the city boasts of being the backdrop for scenes from “Lawrence of Arabia,” “Jesus of Nazareth,” “The Man Who Would Be King”--and, most recently, Paula Abdul’s music video. We stayed the night at the Berber Palace, one of several modern hotels in this rapidly developing town. Set amid well-maintained gardens and reasonably priced at $75 for a double room, the hotel offered a good restaurant with meals from the menu or buffet, and pizza selections wildly popular with Will and Alison.

On Day 4, we set out for Zagora, a town of 15,000 and gateway to the Sahara. Motoring on yet another unpronounceable road, the Tizi n’Tinififft, we snaked through spectacular mountain scenery before dropping down into the Draa Valley. Here many oasis dwellers live in ksour, fortified adobe-type villages built generations ago and occupied by multiple families.

Zagora, though unimpressive, is a good base from which to arrange a trip into the Sahara. We stayed at the Kasbah Asmaa, where the garishly decorated double rooms cost about $30 a night. A new hotel built around an inner courtyard, Asmaa also offers nomad wannabes two authentic Berber tents available for camping out on the hotel grounds. We passed on this, but did arrange with the hotel’s front desk for a next-day camel trek and overnight in the Sahara. It would cost about $300 for the four of us, including camels, trek guide, the tent, dinner and breakfast, as well as the host, cook and musicians, six or seven people in all.

The next day our guide, Naji, waited for us in the parking lot with our transport: four massive single-humped camels with saddles of thick, rolled-up woolen blankets from which protruded metal handlebars.

“Climb on,” Naji glibly instructed, motioning to the four sitting dromedaries, their legs neatly folded beneath their hulking bodies. He neglected to warn us to hold on for dear life, though, while the camels reared up first on their long hind legs, keeping the front ones folded--a motion that sent us into a head-forward position almost parallel with the ground. Then straightening out their front legs, the animals jolted us back to vertical.

“Do you suppose the hotel has any bike helmets?” I asked Naji once I realized we were now 5 feet off the ground. The kids rolled their eyes as I started my usual lecture about head injuries. But Naji either didn’t understand my request or chose to ignore it. As we bumped through the edge of Zagora, children chased after us and men drove stubborn mules overburdened with supplies along the narrow, dusty road. Low, flat houses of mud, many surrounded by thick adobe walls, disappeared as we entered the rocky, hilly countryside with its herds of grazing camels.

Three hours of riding across the rock-strewn desert put us at our evening’s accommodation: a low-slung Berber tent made of goat hair. Our camp crew--a cook, an assistant and three musicians--welcomed us. Dinner of couscous and tagine did not excite us, but the three musicians did with their offering of traditional songs played on tambourines, stringed instruments and ceramic darbukas (cylindrical, goatskin-covered drums). Before turning in, we took a short hike but didn’t stray far; the noiseless night was inky black, and aside from the occasional faint sounds of camels belching, there were no markers to lead us back to our camp.

In the morning, we awoke in time to watch the red sun edge its way over the endless sand dunes, where the only other signs of life were the tracks of scarab beetles.

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Our next destination was the town of Erfoud, another four hours away. Although the drive was uneventful, our stay in Erfoud and the cozy Hotel Tazimi was not. With rates of $30 per double room ($60 with breakfast and dinner), this family-owned hotel is built around a center courtyard and features 20 rooms, each with thick adobe walls and tasteful furnishings. The staff, trained at the nearby hotel school, was gracious and friendly; the charming restaurant served excellent Moroccan, international and French cuisine.

The first night at Tazimi we were awakened at midnight by the haunting sound of women ululating. This wailing chant marked the beginning of a three-day wedding celebration for one of the owners. The next morning, the gracious groom invited us into his honeymoon suite to meet his wife, an exquisitely beautiful 17-year-old dressed in a white embroidered caftan. Her black hair was perfectly coiffed, her heavy eye makeup meticulously applied, and her hands intricately decorated with rich, reddish-brown geometric designs.

In a country in which most marriages are arranged and result from social and economic contracts between families, men may legally take up to four wives. Our host, 32, was on his second. Had she remained single into her mid-20s his bride would have been referred to as a meskin--”poor thing.”

The couple treated us to sweet cookies, dates and nuts and invited us to the festivities that evening. We gladly accepted and hours later joined the celebration, where Alison and I sat segregated with the women in the parlor as they tended their babies, danced and talked. They were dressed in elegant finery, and their hands bore intricate geometric designs similar to the young bride’s. The two males in our family hung out in the courtyard with the men.

For our final day in Erfoud, we arranged for a guide to drive us at 4 a.m. to Erg Chebbi, Morocco’s most massive dunes, about 40 miles south. Our intent was to scale these 10-story-high mountains of unforgiving, shifting sand in time to catch the sunrise. But as my family trudged ahead, my progress slowed and it seemed that for every few steps I took, I sunk back one. Suddenly a hand appeared and pulled me up the rest of the way. Thanks to the kindness of a young Berber man, I arrived at the peak of the dune in time to witness the sun shedding its growing light on the Sahara for as far as the eye could see.

That afternoon back in Erfoud, our desert guide, Mohammed, invited us to his home, an old kasbah he shared with many other families. Once inside, he introduced us to Fatima--a henna artist with whom he had arranged a hand painting session for Alison and me. For the next two hours, we sat with Fatima while she meticulously drew elaborate geometric and floral designs on our hands and arms with a blunt-edged applicator, applying a mud-like concoction of powdered henna, sugar and water. Mohammed’s sisters and mother hurried in and out of the room serving us mint tea and small delicacies.

As we said goodbye to our host, his family--and soon to Morocco--Mohammed told us that the henna, which would remain on our hands for another few weeks, would bring us good fortune and beauty.

But indeed, we had already experienced that: The good fortune had come with traveling as a family in this gracious and intriguing part of the world. Long after the henna faded, the memories of family wanderings in Morocco would continue.

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GUIDEBOOK

Marrakech, er, Express

Getting there: Flying from L.A. to Marrakech requires a change of carriers. The only single connection (only one plane change) is one day a week (Wednesdays) on French AOM to Paris, changing to Royal Air Maroc to Marrakech. All other connections involve either changing airports within a city or changing planes twice. Round-trip fares begin at $1,160.

Getting around: Morocco has an excellent road system, with two-lane roads between all major towns and cities and paved roads in most of the remote villages. But car rentals run about $100 per day at the major U.S. agencies with offices there. Heavyweight cars or four-wheel-drive vehicles are advised for desert trips, as is hiring a guide.

Where to stay: La Mamounia, Bab el-Jedid, Marrakech; telephone (800) 223-6800 or 011-212-4-448981, fax 011-212-4-444044. Double room $240-$430 and up.

Le Berbere Palace, Quartier Mansour Eddahbi, Ouarzazate; tel. 011-212-4-883077, fax 011-212-4- 883071. Double, $75.

Kasbah Tizimi Hotel, Route de Jorf, Erfoud; tel. 011-212-5-576179, fax 011-212-5-577375. Double $30; $60 with breakfast, dinner.

For more information: Moroccan National Tourist Office, 20 E. 46th St., Suite 1201, New York, NY 10017; tel. (212) 557-2520, fax (212) 949-8148, Internet https://www.kingdomofmorocco.com.