On long walks, taking time out for lunch isn’t always practical and on these occasions we have to make do with a picnic. I love al fresco dining but if I never see another gum-shredding baguette filled with ham and cheese again, it’ll still be a day too soon. There must be a European wide rural hotel guidebook which states ‘if a guest asks for a picnic, it must include a ham and cheese baguette.’ Thankfully, there are exceptions to this rule.

These are some places where we’ve enjoyed some tasty lunches on the trail.

Tabernas on Symi

Hardly hardcore walking, but the trek up the Kali Strata from Symi Town on the Greek sland of Symi to head to one of the island’s many dream beaches can work up a sweat and a thirst. Greek tavernas remain my favourite establishments to while away the time drinking retsina and munching on mezes. The Greek heat, unbelievably turquoise sea, heady aroma of honeysuckle and wild herbs, creamy dips and sweet wine is an intoxicating mix (and not just because of the retsina). These aren’t lunches to be taken mid-walk. Thankfully you can catch a water taxi back to Symi Town.

Picnic in Provence

Sure there are plenty of quaint bistros serving food so good it can elicit involuntary moans of pleasure. But one of the best mid-walk lunches I’ve enjoyed was at a picnic table beside a stream near the moss covered ruins of the Prieuré de Carluc near Rellaine. It was a simple lunch consisting of chunky fresh bread and ripe Banon cheese, melted by the sun’s rays. Simple, but as sweet as the fresh spring water gurgling in the brook beside our table.

Konoba Lambik on Hvar

If an experience exceeded that of losing time in a Greek taverna it was an afternoon at Konoba Lambik on Hvar in Croatia. The walk to reach Konoba Lambik included wild flowers, olive groves, wild boar towers and English aristocracy. All juicy ingredients themselves, but the food and drink, all created, caught and distilled by the owners, erased memories of the walk and replaced them with an extra special experience. It was the first place I’d ever truly appreciated how good artichokes really were, thanks to a life-changing artichoke and broad bean stew.

On the road in the Atlas Mountains

En route to to Tachdirt in the High Atlas Mountains I lay in the sun on a hot wall beside a dusty track whilst our guides washed peppers and tomatoes in a mountain stream, which also provided the water to boil rice and make sweet mint tea. The salad they created was a mish mash of ingredients, including tinned sardines, olives, chopped pork, rice tomatoes, green pepper and red onion with some fresh bread. It tasted as good as any salad I’d eaten in a gourmet restaurant. That dash of al fresco seasoning just can’t be matched indoors.

Mountain Hütte in Salzkammergut, Austria

Austria and Germany’s hinterland is riddled with hüttes, perfectly positioned at some of the most scenic spots on mountain trails. Both countries are as good as anywhere we’ve been for being dependable when it comes to finding somewhere to have lunch mid-walk. The only problem is that many of the dishes on hütte menus are hefty affairs and lie too heavily on my stomach to be taken when there’s still a long way to go. Such was the case above Gosausee in Salzkammergut where, as everyone around us tucked into warming soups, we settled for belegte brote, a type of open-topped sandwich, with speck (cured ham) onions, gherkin and tomato. Another basic dish, but the accompanying views of the snow-capped Dachstein Mountains and a musically clanging cow bell soundtrack raised it way above the average mid-trail sandwich.

Lakeside Hütte in the Black Forest

Rarely have I been so pleased to see a lodge/hütte/taverna/pub as I was to see Vesperstube Unterkrummenhof on the banks of Schluchsee in the Black Forest. Despite having wind-proof gloves and a hat a bear would eye enviously, the icy sleet which stabbed at exposed skin for hours as we’d walked around the large lake had robbed all feeling from fingers, feet and legs. The hütte was warm and welcoming and, despite there being a third of the route still to complete, we pigged out on currywurst and chips. It did exactly what a good hütte/taverna/tasca should do – act as a sanctuary for cold and hungry travellers

Lunch in a Cave in the Canary Islands

One of my favourite walks anywhere is in the Anaga Mountains on Tenerife, a place which is the antithesis of what many people think of when the imagine Tenerife. The route to the cave village of Chinamada is uplifting – ancient laurisilva forest, hamlets and narrow agricultural terraces clinging to hillsides, jagged peaks, tiny hamlets, goats, the odd hen and killer views. The cave village lies halfway along a circular route so perfectly placed for lunch in La Cueva. Ironically, most people choose to eat outside the cave part. The food is basic Canarian with the signature dish being a messy splodge called escaldón (basically stock mixed with gofio flour). I love it because it is the real Tenerife.

Ham and Cheese Overlooking Lake Iseo

Everything tastes fabulous around the Italian Lakes. I can’t recall one mediocre meal. However, we didn’t always meet with success finding places to eat along the trails we walked. On one route we planned to eat in a bar/restaurant halfway along the route. It was shut… for lunch. On the largest lake island in Europe, Monte Isola on Lake Iseo, we were introduced to a classic Italian snack in a nondescript café with a sunny terrace overlooking this most dazzling of lakes; the piadina – basically a flat bread sandwich. I only ordered it because I saw another luncher eating something that perked my interest. They only did one type filling, ham and cheese. I loved it.

Trust the Italians to make even a ham and cheese sandwich seem gastronomically interesting.

Jack is co-editor, writer and photographer for BuzzTrips and the Real Tenerife series of travel websites as well as a contributor to online travel sites and travel magazines. Follow Jack on Google+

It’s bliss. A simple teapot and two glasses filled with sweet mint tea lie on the grass at our feet in the Atlas Mountains. Beyond is a gurgling brook, sparkling and dancing in the sun; a sun that can’t reach us thanks to a cooling and protective canopy of leaves. It’s the first shade we’ve enjoyed since daybreak.

I remove my boots and wiggle my toes. My feet relish their freedom after being imprisoned in the heavy walking boots for hours.

On the opposite side of the brook a woman bends double, gathering huge clumps of grasses which she then loads onto a mule. A blindingly white egret walks at a respectful pace behind her, stabbing at the disturbed ground with its beak. The greenery in the valley basin contrasts sharply with the the dry and dusty one higher up the slopes. It feels like a completely different world.

I take a sip of the tea. It’s hot, sweet and refreshing after our long trek through the Atlas Mountains.

A pot of mint tea beside a stream. Simple pleasures.

It’s not bliss, it’s sheer bliss.

Jack is co-editor, writer and photographer for BuzzTrips and the Real Tenerife series of travel websites as well as a contributor to online travel sites and travel magazines. Follow Jack on Google+

The Atlas Mountains appear as though they could have remain unchanged since gods and men fought, haggled and tricked each other on their sparse slopes; traffic comes with feet attached and ramshackle mud and stone Berber villages seem from another age, save for one incongruous addition.

To explore their dusty paths is to enjoy a hike back in time.

The High Atlas Mountains

Simply a mythical landscape and home of the Berbers whose women are famed for the beauty. On a hot and sunny September day it is difficult to imagine that in winter these arid slopes are swathed in white and the only way in and out is on skis.

Villages by the Stream

If I was a Berber I’d prefer to live in one of these little villages that hug the deep clefts in the valley – you’ve got trickling streams a few feet away and the greenery makes them seem less harsh than the ones on the dry slopes.

Portable Tea Pot

Our mule’s baskets made a good windbreak for brewing a pot of sweet mint tea. I suspected if you rubbed this pot, a genie might have come swirling out of the spout.

Mud Coloured Berber Villages

Muddy and ruddy Berber villages blend perfectly with the Atlas Mountains scenery. From a distance they might be invisible if it weren’t for the vibrant, woven rugs airing on many rooftops and balconies.

Rush Hour

There’s not much chance of suffering from carbon monoxide poisoning when walking along routes linking villages; even at busiest times you’re only likely to bump into the occasional mule, an odd goat or two and a few cows.

Mud Coloured Berber Villages Part II

Ramshackle is the word that springs to mind when you see village scenes like this one. These higgledy piggledy homes look as though they’re built on top of each other and a decent huff and puff could bring them tumbling down.

21st Century Perks

The scene could be almost biblical except for one thing; the circular white dish on many roofs. These primitive homes are the last place you’d expect to find satellite TV.

Jack is co-owner, writer and photographer for BuzzTrips and the Real Tenerife series of travel websites plus lots of other things. Follow him on Google+

On occasions, the mode of transport that we’ve used to get to a new location has added a tasty dollop of exotic spiciness and adventure to the whole experience.

These have been some of our favourite ways to arrive at a destination.

Water Taxis in Symi
Step on board, chill out… and get slightly intoxicated. Getting to remote and idyllic beaches on the Greek Island of Symi involves taking a water taxi from Symi Town. These transported us to picture postcard bays with the most intense cyan seas and where vine-covered tavernas provided respite from an unrelenting Greek sun. The getting drunk part? Too much retsina over long meze lunches mixed with the obligatory ouzos that came as part of the water taxi fare.

River Boat in China
There’s something old school travel about journeying by river boat. Cruising up the Yangtse is one of the world’s great river trips. It provided a fascinating insight into life on a river that turned out to be more industrial than pagodas and pandas. The ridiculously early and jaunty wake-up music that couldn’t be turned off will stay with me forever.

Toyota Land Cruiser in Africa
Travelling between Safari lodges in Tsavo East and Tsavo West in Kenya by a dirty and dusty khaki Toyota Land Cruiser felt much more like the real deal than by one of the zebra mini buses. It was the way to get up close and personal with some local critters.

Luxury Train in Asturias
The most decadently luxurious way I’ve travelled anywhere was on the El Transcantábrico Gran Lujo; a sexy, sleek train that gently rolls along the track through exquisite countryside between San Sebastián and Santiago de Compostela in Northern Spain. Overwhelming opulence, first class food in first class dining carriages, a disco car and the most sophisticated shower I’ve never been able to figure out made it one of those classic travel experiences.

Fishing Boat on Bute
The last time we visited the Scottish Island of Bute, my birthplace, we did so in the most magical fashion. We sailed from Troon on my brother in law’s fishing boat, a lovely wooden affair that looked like something straight out of Para Handy. We sailed glassy waters through the Kyles of Bute, where basking sharks cruise and wild goats add life to the purple clad hills, for a barbecue on a get-away-from-it-all highland beach. Even though it was April, it was sunny and warm; a minor miracle in the West of Scotland.

By Foot on La Gomera
Let’s not forget arriving somewhere on those trusty plates of meat (feet – if you’re not familiar with Cockney rhyming slang). The two of us, a guide, a mule and a muleteer trekking through the Atlas Mountains to North Africa’s highest Berber village was very Treasure of the Sierra Madre. But the biggest WOW walking moment was when walking between hotels on the Canary Island of La Gomera, checking route directions for Inntravel, we descended a steep merchants’ trail from way up high to the town of Hermigua.

By Classic Car in Barcelona
The most fun mode way to arrive anywhere was during a tapas tour of Barcelona in bright yellow and blue Seat 600s (seiscientos). These little sweethearts turned heads at every bar we parked outside and made much more of an impact than if we’d turned up in a gleaming red Ferrari (which is so yesterday’s way to arrive anyway).

Parachute in Costa Brava
The most relieved I’ve ever been to reach a destination was getting my feet back on Terra firma following a sky dive at Empuriabrava in Costa Brava. Jumping out of a plane and free-falling for 60 seconds before the chute opened and I floated to safety was one of those things that I’m very glad that I’ve done; with the emphasis being on the word ‘done’.

Skimming the Water in a Dhow at Lamu
Arriving on a runway the width of a country lane on Lamu’s neighbouring island in a tiny plane flown by a pilot wearing no shoes was different in itself. But transferring to a small Arab dhow, complete with assorted animals and Hessian sacks filled with rice to glide across the waters to Lamu itself, one gunwale disturbingly level with the water, was just about the most exotic way we’ve arrived anywhere.

The Quintessential Bond Moment – Arriving in Style at Krabi
Still to be outdone though is our transfer to Krabi from Phuket. After being dropped off by a chauffeur driven air-conditioned car at a jetty in the middle of nowhere, a speedboat piloted by an officer in a pristine white uniform was our next mode of transport. Reclining in the back of the boat as we scythed through the water below Krabi’s incredible limestone peaks had that Bond theme off and running big time in my head. The golf buggy transfer to our villa at the Rayavadee Hotel (still the most impressive place we’ve stayed) after stepping off the speedboat (windswept but beaming) finished off this sensational way of turning up at a destination.

It is still candle light that flickers through the cracks in the clay walls of the old village clinging to the mountainside behind the lodge, but now the straw roofs struggle to support the weight of satellite dishes that beam an alien world into the family living space, exiling stories to the past.

I finish my mint tea and wander upstairs to the second floor terrace for a last watch of the Berber goatherds at work on the mountainside behind Tacchedirt village.

Darkness is falling quickly.

I can just make out the movement of the herds as they thread their way down from the uppermost peaks of the Toubkal range to the safety of the village.

“I bring you extra blankets.” Hassan appears out of the gloom, his arms filled with camel hair blankets which he hands to me. “You come in with Ibrahim,” he says. “I like Ibrahim.” He flashes me a grin before the dark consumes him again.

The blankets will be welcome.

It is the end of September in the Toubkal National Park in the High Atlas Mountains of Morocco and winter is on its way. I have already seen the first fluffy clouds which Ibrahim tells me augur the end of summer. Soon the snow will fall and the only way out of this, the highest village in North Africa, will be on skis. But for now the mountains still wear their mantel of dusty brown while below, a steady stream of fresh spring water feeds the valley floor grasses and juniper bushes which carpet it in emerald.

We arrived at Tacchedirt, which stands at 2345 metres, at 3.30pm this afternoon, my thighs bitching at the interminable climb from the valley floor, up large boulders on which the village washing was laid out to dry and across skittery scree slopes to reach the village.

We trudged through narrow, rubble filled alleys lined with three storey, straw roofed pisé houses the colour of dirt. Under foot, goats, sheep, hens and children all ran through the mud and the donkey excrement.

The children had their hands outstretched towards me, chanting “dirham, dirham, dirham”  so quickly that it sounded like fingers drumming impatiently on a table.

Behind the menagerie of children and animals the women slowly climbed, bent under the heavy loads of animal fodder gathered from the valley floor and slung over their backs.

I left Marrakech at 8am this morning to make the 64km journey to Imlil, a Berber village huddled at the foot of Djebel Toukbal – North Africa’s highest peak. There I met up with my guide Ibrahim and muleteer Hamid and began the 600 metre ascent through Berber villages and pine forests to the top of the Imenane Valley and the Tigmi Tacchedirt Lodge where I am spending the night.

Across the valley, the grey, breeze block houses of Tacchedirt’s Berber nouveau riche stand in rows, their rooms illuminated by light bulbs. Gone are the clay walls, thatched roofs and Middle Earth-style huddled composition of the traditional village.

In its place are echoes of Britain’s 60s housing estates where homes stand in rows, their stone-walled yards a status symbol. It is to here that the herds of goats are being driven down the breakneck slopes of the mountains and corralled into paddocks behind the houses.

As I watch, the persistent cries of a lone kid pierce the darkness from beneath the protective arm of a goatherd who’s carrying it back up the mountainside, its bid for freedom thwarted.

Peering through the gloom I can make out the shapes of the dogs that lie at intervals in their sentry positions around the perimeter of the village.

My night will be punctuated by their false alarms.

I carry the extra blankets into the unfurnished room I have been given and throw them onto the mattress on the concrete floor which will be my bed for the night. Ducking through a cloud of white moths that are noisily bouncing off the only working light bulb on the landing, I head back downstairs to the warmth of the lodge where Ibrahim and Hamid have prepared a steaming bowl of noodle broth and a lamb tajine for supper.

Tomorrow we will hike down the Imenane Valley and then make the skittery 600 metre descent into Imlil to begin our return drive to Marrakech along the road which is currently under construction, reducing the travel time between city and mountains and aiding the inexorable march of progress.

Trekking in the Atlas Mountains
My two day trek of Imenane Valley, including overnight at the Tigmi Tacchedirt Lodge, guide, muleteer and all meals cost 570 MAD ($70) per day arranged through Sahara Touring.
Taxis from Marrakech to Imlil cost as little as 50 MAD ($6) each way for a shared mini bus taxi if you are prepared to wait until the bus fills before setting off. A private taxi costs 600 MAD ($74) each way.

Andrea (Andy) Montgomery is a freelance travel writer and co-owner of Buzz Trips and The Real Tenerife series of travel websites. Published in The Telegraph, The Independent, Wexas Traveller, Thomas Cook Travel Magazine, EasyJet Traveller Magazine, you can read her latest content on Google+

Guided treks are available for anything from one to eight days and can be tailored to meet individual requirements depending on whether you want to add Africa’s highest mountain, Toubkal (4,167 metres), to your tally of peaks climbed or simply to witness the beauty of the valleys.

But whatever your personal goals or hiking experience, here are a few essential pieces of advice to help you get over the peaks and troughs of trekking in the High Atlas Mountains of Morocco.

Pre-book your guide. The muleteer is usually responsible for travelling ahead and preparing your lunch on the trail, and in the mountain refuge or camp it’s your guide and muleteer who will cook your evening meal. Pre-booking your trek allows your guide to stock up on essential ingredients, hire a mule and muleteer he knows and trusts, and be ready to hit the trail with you as soon as you arrive.

Costly returns. The cheapest way to get from Marrakech to Imlil is by Grand Taxi where a seat will cost you between 50Dh and 75Dh (£4/$6 – £6/$9 ) depending on how many people are sharing and how long you’re willing to wait for all the seats to be taken. But a much larger portion of the 300Dh (£23/$35) cost of the return journey may be yours if there are no other hikers at Imlil to go back with you. Make sure you have the cash, taxi drivers don’t take plastic.

Double up. Although you’ll be accompanied by mules to carry the bulk of supplies, the muleteer will often take a different route from hikers or move at a different pace so you’ll not be able to reach a hand into the saddle bag whenever you need the sun block. Pack all your overnight requirements in one bag which the mule will take and keep essentials with you in a lighter rucksack for carrying.

Keep an oily nose. Unless you intend visiting the High Atlas Mountains in the depths of winter, you will find the mountain trails to be extremely dusty and rhinitis sufferers will find their condition going into overdrive. Applying Vaseline to the nostrils before you begin trekking each day and renewing it regularly will help to cut down some of the discomfort but you’ll still need a good supply of tissues to hand.

Be a water carrier. The dry atmosphere at altitude keeps throats parched and as your mule is likely to be out of sight or reach for much of the trail, it’s essential that you carry water with you. There are fresh streams and springs to refill bottles and you should never miss an opportunity to do so as it may be a while before you reach water again.

Be prepared. Mountain lodges such as Tigmi Tacchedirt provide very basic accommodation with communal bathrooms, and ‘essentials’ can quickly disappear when a group of trekkers arrive. Having your own toilet roll ensures that you are never short of the basics. Keep a roll in your rucksack on the trail too, you never know when Nature may call.

Bedtime story. The High Atlas Mountains are not known for their lively night life. Once dinner has been cleared away and the following day’s itinerary and start time agreed, there is little to do other than chat to fellow hikers. Bed time tends to be an early affair and if you’re not used to lights out by 9.30pm, a good book and a small torch will be your best friends.

Soften the night. Sleeping arrangements in mountain lodges in Berber villages will often consist of a mattress on a concrete floor in a very basic room or a dormitory. Pillows can be the wrong side of concrete hard and of indeterminate cleanliness. Having your own inflatable pillow should ensure a good night’s sleep without a bruised ear.

Soundproof. Berber villages traditionally have domestic dogs whose job it is to provide an early warning system against goat attacks by wild dogs. Not immune to false alarms at regular nightly intervals, ear plugs will not only blot out the volume but also reduce the vivid Hound of the Baskervilles nightmares.

Keep it small. Tipping is an essential part of Moroccan culture. Having a good supply of small notes and coins will ensure you get an extra blanket if the night’s cold, fresh mint tea when you arrive at a lodge after a day’s trekking and hot water for a shower.

Info bar:
Treks begin from around 560Dh (£43/$65) per person per day including guide, mule, muleteer, all meals and accommodation.
There are many tour companies and lodges who arrange guides and treks in the High Atlas Mountains including Journey Beyond Travel, Tourdust and High Atlas Lodges.
I pre-booked my guide Ibrahim and muleteer Hamid through Saharatouring.

Andrea (Andy) Montgomery is a freelance travel writer and co-owner of Buzz Trips and The Real Tenerife series of travel websites. Published in The Telegraph, The Independent, Wexas Traveller, Thomas Cook Travel Magazine, EasyJet Traveller Magazine, you can read her latest content on Google+

“Will the mule be with us while we’re walking?” I ask Ibrahim as Hamid drops our rucksack into one of the large, wicker panniers that straddle the resigned beast of burden’s back.
“Yes,” he replies confidently.
So I fill the small bottle with water and place the full, litre and a half bottles in the pannier alongside the supplies.

The morning is clear and warm as we set off walking up the dusty hill, exchanging the ramshackle buildings, half constructed houses and buzz of activity of Imlil for the fertile valley, barren slopes and desolation of Morocco‘s Toubkal Mountain Range. I feel an unaccustomed freedom of movement, my habitual role as water and fleeces carrier usurped by the mule, as I take in the dramatic beauty of my surroundings and pace my steps to adjust to the altitude and the incline.

The intensity of the sun strengthens in direct relation to our ascent, and with continual worried glances over our shoulders for the non-appearance of our mule with our water supply, we ration sips from the small bottle to appease our parched throats. Onwards and upwards we climb, through the random maze of our first stone, mud and straw constructed Berber village, my lungs now snatching at oxygen and sweat running into my eyes as I glance at the dwindling water level in our one, small bottle.

Above the village we emerge onto a wide, gravel road and I hear the sweetest sound – the clip clop of hooves as our mule appears over the ridge behind us, Hamid walking by its side. Note to self: next time you come walking in the High Atlas Mountains take two rucksacks, one for the mule and one for yourself.

We’ve chosen to do our trekking in the High Atlas Mountains through the Toubkal range, taking in the valleys and villages rather than the popular ascent of North Africa’s highest peak, Jbel Toubkal, which stands at 4167 metres. Currently based in the north of Tenerife with the 3718 metres peak of Spain’s highest mountain, Mount Teide, under our belt and the spectacular Anaga Mountains on our doorstep but scant surface water, we crave the sight of mountain streams and  Berber villages rather than wanting to simply add another ‘largest peak’ to our achievements.

It isn’t long before our visioning is realised as we rest beside a small stream where the end of summer water trickles over white, limestone boulders like liquid glass, echoing around the valley like children’s laughter. Through sparse pine forests and along dried up river beds we climb, the world around us growing ever smaller as we reach greater heights, until we arrive at a mountain road on which traffic is as rare as a summer shower, and on a small bridge over a stream, we stop for lunch.

The straw panniers are unloaded and double as a wind shield for the butane burner which is heating our mint tea and boiling our rice. The mule, temporarily relieved of his burden, snuffles in the barren rocks for signs of anything edible while Ibrahim and Hamid hunker by a small waterfall where a piece of plastic sheeting has been used to funnel the flow into a running tap. They’re peeling and washing the ingredients for our salad.

I lie on the small wall of the bridge and breathe deeply. The air is resonant with heat, cicadas, and the quiet conversation of Ibrahim and Hamid as they meticulously prepare the onions, green peppers, cucumber and tomatoes that will accompany the rice and tuna of our picnic lunch. All around me the jagged peaks of Toubkal shimmer in the heat haze and beneath my back, the hot stones are soothing my muscles and lulling me into a semi-doze. The Marrakech I left this morning seems a lifetime away and tonight’s bed is as yet an unknown destination, so all I have is the moment, the perfect, blissful moment that will  stay in my memory as the ultimate trekking experience…to date.

Andrea (Andy) Montgomery is a freelance travel writer and co-owner of Buzz Trips and The Real Tenerife series of travel websites. Published in The Telegraph, The Independent, Wexas Traveller, Thomas Cook Travel Magazine, EasyJet Traveller Magazine, you can read her latest content on Google+