Original subtitles

The Sahara Desert, Mali,

home to one of Earth's most mysterious and legendary places.

Africa's fabled city of gold.

Timbuktu.

My name's Alice Morrison.

I'm an Arabist and explorer.

I live in Morocco,

and since childhood I've dreamt of making the gruelling journey

across the Sahara to see this ancient city

before it's lost for ever to sand and war.

I love touching history.

In this series, I'll track 2,000 miles following ancient trade routes,

often known as salt roads, across some of the world's most hostile lands.

Timbuktu is at the centre of all these trade routes,

and I want to follow them, and find it, and see what's there.

'I'll pass through some magical places that time has barely touched.'

Oh, wow!

'Relying on the hospitality of Berber nomads.'

He's just cutting up the heart.

'And I'll come face-to-face with some frightening modern-day realities.'

I'm beginning to feel quite nervous.

'Travelling deep beneath the veil

'into the heart of ancient and modern North Africa,

'I'll discover its incredible forgotten history...

'..en route to the legendary city of gold, Timbuktu.'

The Mediterranean Sea, Mare Nostrum.

'The basin of civilisation.

'My 2,000-mile journey begins here.

'Behind me, Europe, ahead of me, Africa

'and an intoxicating mix of new experiences, danger and untold wealth.

'First up, the historic trading port of Tangier,

'on the northernmost tip of Morocco.'

I'm trying to imagine what it was like hundreds of years ago,

when you had ships here in full sail, stuffed to the gunwales with spices,

with ostrich feathers, with metal, with wool from Manchester.

I wonder what it would have been like if you were a merchant in those days,

coming across from cold, rainy Europe,

and seeing Tangier glinting in the distance, this promise of Africa.

For centuries, merchants have crossed these waters

seeking the fantastic riches of the African continent.

Tangier was founded in the fifth century BC,

and has always attracted adventurers, pirates and even spies.

It's where European merchants would have encountered the flow of gold from

the south for the first time.

And it's my first leg of the journey on the original trade routes that

brought it all the way from Timbuktu.

'This city is full of treasures,

'and in a small book shop I've found a reproduction of the most important

'map of medieval times, the Catalan atlas.

'It confirms Timbuktu's reputation as the gold capital of Mali

'and of Africa.'

You can see, very clearly,

the king of the kingdom of Mali sitting there,

on his throne with a great big nugget of gold in his hand,

and a huge gold crown on his head.

This is Mansa Musa, king of Mali,

and stories of Timbuktu's fabled gold began to spread

during his reign in the 14th century.

Even today, he is said to be the richest man in history.

There is an inscription on the map...

"So abundant is the gold found in his country,

"that he is the richest and most noble king in the land."

800 years on, modern gold traders still thrive here.

'I'm dying to touch the real thing to find out why it was so prized.

'So I'm meeting an expert in Moroccan antiquities.

'Much of the gold was used to mint coins,

'and she has an ancient one to show me.'

Here are some inscriptions saying

that it was from the Marinid dynasty of the 15th century.

Gold came from the sub-Saharan Africa through the trans-Saharan trade.

And this is evidence of that, it landed in Morocco.

Do you think this coin might have come through Timbuktu?

Yes, of course, most likely it did come from Timbuktu.

Yes. I would say that it was probably the most important crossroads for gold.

It's very exciting for me, I feel like I'm touching history.

You are! Yes! You are touching history.

It's in your hands.

I've got gold fever.

I can feel how its allure drew the merchants of old to make the journey

south to Mali, and the city of Timbuktu.

The roads they forged are the very ones I'm going to travel, too.

This is going to be my Bible.

Absolutely invaluable.

It is a map of all the major trade routes across the Sahara.

But I think the journey's going to take some doing.

I think we're going to have a lot of fun in the Atlas Mountains,

because that is a big, big natural barrier.

And each of those mountains is three times higher than Ben Nevis.

So it's quite a difficult thing to get across.

And, of course, then, that is all the Sahara Desert, all the way along.

That is going to be another major thing for us to cross.

And then the routes, all routes, lead to Timbuktu.

'It's not difficult to see why Timbuktu became a mecca for gold traders.

'It was surrounded by gold mines.

'But the merchants didn't just deal in gold.

'There was a huge trade in slaves, leather goods, ivory and also in salt.

'Back then it was the only way to preserve food.

'It was almost as valuable as gold,

'and that's why many of these routes were called salt roads.'

So, the gold went north, and then the salt came south.

And they met in El Dorado, they met in Timbuktu.

It makes perfect sense, when you look at the map.

The next place I'm heading on my desert odyssey is Fes.

Five hours' drive away,

it's where many merchants started the long trek to Timbuktu.

To get to Fes, I'm going to use one of Morocco's most popular forms of

transport, the grand taxi.

There's a taxi rank in every city,

with old Mercedes going in all directions.

And it's one of the cheapest ways to get around,

IF you know the tricks of the trade.

'First, you have to find one going your way.

'Then you negotiate your fare.

'But if you can find another traveller to share the back seat,

'you can split the fare.

'Having found a travel buddy to share the cost,

'we're whisked out of town towards the coast road.

'It turns out my fellow passenger, Driss, is a trader himself.

'He's going to Fes to buy artefacts to sell to tourists.'

Say you buy a dagger for 150 dirhams.

Daggers for 150 dirhams, no.

How much would you sell it for?

Maybe a profit, five euros, maybe a profit some day of ten euros.

Some days no profit.

That's my business.

And which country spends the most money?

American people. Oh! We love those dollars!

Profit. They have plenty of grand bucks!

We're travelling south along the Atlantic coast,

and I'm enjoying a comfortable ride with Driss.

But on such a long journey,

it's customary to pick up other passengers

along the way.

THEY SPEAK ARABIC

And just when I'm thinking three's company...

It's getting a bit cosy in here.

I'm in here with two Drisses and Akram.

'My fellow passengers make for charming company on the long drive,

'and ahead of me lies a city with a charm all of its own

'and a history of welcoming travelling merchants through its gates.'

Fes, the ancient capital of Morocco, dating from the eighth century,

and the oldest of its four imperial cities.

It's said to be surrounded by springs,

providing travellers with the supply of precious water.

And between the 8th and 16th centuries,

Fes grew rich from the gold and salt traffic coming across the Sahara.

Its old medina, or walled city,

is the biggest pedestrian zone in the world.

And it's full of narrow streets where life remains seemingly

untouched by modern times.

Once traders finally got here from Timbuktu,

they needed a sanctuary where they could rest, wash,

feast and store their goods.

'They would stay in a caravanserai, a motel with camel and mule parking.'

So this is a caravanserai.

I guess you'd have put your camel or your donkey

in these little rooms, in the past.

And then kipped down in your B & B.

The space is still occupied by traders.

The building was last used as a caravanserai more than 80 years ago,

but there are tantalising bits of evidence of its original use.

Upstairs was a safe place for weary merchant travellers to rest,

luxurious in comparison to where they'd been.

Berbers, Arabs and West Africans all would have stayed together,

vying for the best traveller's tale.

The atmosphere here is absolutely fantastic.

You can actually feel the history.

600 years old, relatively unchanged.

OK, it's different downstairs,

because that's where the animals would have been,

and now there's trading goods,

but up here you've got little girls sitting there drinking tea,

you've got their mothers doing the washing.

It feels like I've gone back in time.

'I've decided I'm going to bed down here for the night to get a feel for

'what it was like centuries ago.'

Just a sleeping bag.

'I've brought with me some writings from travellers and adventurers who've

'trodden this perilous path before me,

'to help bring these ancient journeys to life.'

"It is more profitable and advantageous for the trader

"to export his product to a distant land,

"and take a dangerous route.

"In this way, the distance and the risk incurred will give a rare quality to

"his merchandise and thereby increase its value.

"This is why the wealthiest and the most prosperous merchants

"are those who dare to go."

I've just woken up. Five o'clock, the alarm's gone off,

because I want to get up and see the dawn rising over Fes,

and hear the call to prayer.

It's very, very, very cold.

But I think my first night in a caravanserai, I would say,

it's not been at all bad.

Fes is known as the spiritual capital of Morocco,

and Islam was first brought to the country by the Arab invasion in 682 AD.

It spread to the native Berber tribes,

who went on to form Islamic kingdoms.

CALL TO PRAYER

I always find the early-morning call to prayer very moving.

Prayer is better than sleep, the muezzin says,

in the Adhan al-Fajr, the dawn call.

The five calls a day frame life in Morocco.

Hasten to prayer, hasten to salvation.

Dawn reveals ancient tombs left behind by the Marinid empire,

which flourished in the early Middle Ages.

They shaped Fes's religious and academic reputation.

The city has 14 theological schools and the world's oldest university,

the Qarawiyyin, founded in the ninth century by a woman, Fatima al-Fihri.

It's amazing to think that while Europe was languishing in the Dark Ages,

this was a centre of learning.

Philosophy, mathematics, religion and law were all being taught here.

And then, years later,

all that knowledge went back across the Mediterranean Sea, into Europe,

and informed the Renaissance.

There's an old Moroccan saying,

"manage with bread and butter until God brings you honey".

Every neighbourhood has a communal bread oven where people take their

dough to be baked, and it's hardly changed since the Middle Ages.

'I'm meeting a friend at one of them.'

Oh, my God!

How are you?

'Najat Kaanache is a Michelin- starred chef,

'a Berber from the Moroccan mountains.'

How are you? I'm good.

How does it make you feel?

The smell, it reminds me of home.

It reminds to childhood, for me.

Like, when I was little.

Yeah?

Look. Amazing.

Warm.

This, it just happens here.

Let me cut it. The power of bread.

Wow!

'Najat is one of the world's top chefs.

'She worked in Spain's famous elBulli restaurant.

'She's come back to Fes to open one of her own.'

Look at all the sausages, dried.

That's like haggis. Look at this.

Beautiful.

'And she's bringing back the kind of food that merchants in the Middle Ages

'would have eaten, but with a modern twist.'

Here we are!

This is the one. OK. Here we go. Oh, my goodness.

Our friend Camel has a little grin in the face.

Wow!

So this is... Look at the meat.

It's really super beautiful.

It's really, really lean.

You wouldn't think this.

You would not think this meat is like that.

People think of a camel being very dry, but, no...

It's very soft. Look at the fat.

Amazing, from the back.

Oh, my goodness.

It's very unique, this.

That is the camel hump?

Yes. Very, very unique.

'Apparently, camel's milk was a popular drink for trans-Saharan traders too.

'So, of course, I have to try it.'

Bismillah.

It's delicious.

It's absolutely delicious.

SHE SPEAKS ARABIC

It has medicine, people believe.

They have been using for a long time.

The camel meat, camel fat, camel belly.

It's medicinal.

And that we're going to use like

the fat that you use when you cook some meat.

It's going to get a little brown, magically.

Yeah?

'And with two kilos of prime camel,

'it's off to Najat's newly opened restaurant, Nur,

'to cook up a trans-Saharan feast.'

So, here we are.

Home sweet home. Very incognito!

Be careful. OK, thank you.

'It's my very own MasterChef.

'I'm helping Najat to prepare today's special,

'camel meatballs.'

I thought it was going to smell horrible...

No! But actually, it certainly smells nice.

Now that we're doing this, look here.

I have my fermenting...

er...camel milk,

that is already a week.

It smells... That smells...

But this is going to make a beautiful, magical...

Oh, my God, look at your face! Everything good smells horrible

at some point. Yes. That's true.

Yes, or no? Even me.

Even human beings. So,

in the times of the great trade across the Sahara from Africa to Fes,

when the merchants arrived at Fes, would they have a feast of camel?

Because that's a special meat, isn't it?

I think camel was very important in their menu, because it meant,

like, wealth, you know?

Now, you see people, they try to buy camel, camel milk,

just for health benefits.

Still it's a little bit pricey.

But, in that time, it was festivity.

OK.

'Najat's ultramodern restaurant

'is one of several springing up in the city

'catering to tourists and the young, emerging middle class.'

I'm just going to try one of these meatballs.

'With growing prosperity, Morocco is evolving into a modern,

'global player, and Fes, like most of its cities,

'is embracing the change whilst still holding on to its cultural history.'

Michelin-starred camel meatballs.

I'm leaving Fes and heading for Marrakech,

'the other great terminus at the northern end of the trans-Saharan trade route.

'Both were places where merchants gathered money, provisions and goods

'for the long trek south to Timbuktu.

'But I'm exchanging Fes's spiritual calm for the buzz of Marrakech,

'where everything is for sale.'

The weather's really changed, so it's time now for the winter woollies.

It's very, very chilly.

'I was born in the '60s, so there's only one way to go to Marrakech.

'And that's on the Marrakech Express.'

MUSIC: Marrakesh Express by Crosby, Stills and Nash

# Looking at the world through the sunset in your eyes

# Travelling the train through clear Moroccan skies... #

'Today the train isn't the sun-filled hippie experience of my imagination,

'just modern Moroccans commuting between cities.

'It's an eight-hour train journey to Marrakech,

'but for a trader in the Middle Ages, it would have been a gruelling trek,

'lasting several days.'

"The distance and the hardship of the road they travel are great.

"They have to cross a difficult desert

"that is made almost inaccessible by fear and beset by thirst.

"Water is found there only in a few well-known spots,

"to which caravan guides lead the way.

"The distance of this ordeal is braved only by very few people."

'The explorers of old all say the same thing,

'that this was the toughest of journeys.'

Marrakech - it's called the Rose City, Daughter of the Desert,

and it's always been a place where traders picked up

high-quality goods to take with them on their journey.

It was founded in the 11th century by the powerful Almoravid Berber dynasty,

who made it the capital of a huge empire stretching right through North Africa

and into southern Spain.

50 miles to the east, the Atlas Mountains provide a spectacular backdrop.

Moroccan porridge.

Some of the most popular merchandise

on the trans-Saharan trade routes were

leather goods. And some of the best- quality leather was produced here at

Marrakech's oldest tannery.

It's as ancient as the salt roads themselves.

And I'm surprised to find it's still in full swing.

'Najib is one of the tannery's oldest workers.

'He's been here for 48 years.'

This is a cow.

'It takes 20 days to turn an animal hide into the leather used for the

'world-famous bags, shoes and belts sold in the local markets.

'It's dirty work.'

I'm primed, ready for action.

OK, so this tank is full of gypsum.

It smells totally and utterly disgusting.

And I can't believe this guy's doing it with his bare hands,

because I reckon this stuff burns.

'This potent cocktail removes the hair from the hide.'

That actually comes off really, really easily.

'But there's worse to come.'

Smells fantastic.

Excited to get in.

'Pigeon excrement contains ammonia,

'which acts as a softening agent to make the hides more malleable.'

This is harder than it looks.

We're trampling on the animals in, like,

a circle but I can't keep up with them.

It's like being in a whirlpool.

A whirlpool of pigeon shit.

'Finally, we move the hides into a vat of water for rinsing.

'Is this what would have been happening 1,000 years ago?'

So, the process is exactly the same, passed down from father to son,

so basically what I'm doing now,

apart from the fact I've got new waders on,

is the same exactly as they'd have done in the 11th century.

This labour-intensive process was a highly skilled craft,

which back then ensured the global reputation of Moroccan leather.

And it's amazing that this tannery is still providing fine-quality hides

for the shoes, bags and belts in the souks of Marrakech

and markets all over the world.

At night, Marrakech, the party town, comes to life.

In the main square, Jemaa el-Fnaa,

you're transported back in time to a more exotic world.

The air is rife with hawkers' cries, wandering minstrels and magicians.

You could end up with a monkey on your shoulder or eating a bowl of snails.

And I can't help noticing how many more West African faces there are here,

echoes of traders from the past who would have arrived

from across the Sahara with their wares.

But the performer who is attracting the biggest crowd is offering perhaps

the simplest and oldest form of entertainment.

'Storytelling.'

This is the most interesting history lesson in the history of the world.

He's talking about the trans-Saharan trade and about crossing the Sahara

and he's got this line where he says,

"The sun was beating down from above and the sun was burning up from below.

"The camels were dying, the men were dying,

"they were loaded with skins and hides from the south,

"coming north and they were searching for gold and for salt."

Many years ago, these stories would have been the only way for people to

learn about life in faraway lands.

Now they're opening a door into the past

for us and it's thrilling to hear

1,000 years of history, and the journey I'm making, come alive.

In this magical world,

I feel like Timbuktu could be just around the corner.

But I've still got 1,500 miles to travel.

Time for me to get some sleep,

as North Africa's largest mountain range awaits me.

For this next leg of my journey,

I've left Morocco's cities behind me and I'm continuing on foot

through the Atlas Mountains.

They stretch right across the country,

forming a massive natural barrier, and climb to over 4,000 metres.

I'm no stranger to endurance treks,

having completed the gruelling Marathon Des Sables across the Sahara and

run races through these mountains.

But this will be a different kind of challenge,

as the snows have come early, making it cold and treacherous underfoot.

Up here, it's Berber country.

There are around 14 million of them in Morocco and many of them live in

these mountains.

I'm starting my trek in the Berber village of Afra.

'In these villages, traditions are part of everyday life.'

This lady's been explaining to me about her henna.

So she... I asked if it was for a wedding and she said no,

but apparently she just wanted to look nice for her family,

so she went and got it done. And it doesn't last as long as you think.

I thought it would last a couple of weeks but she says it goes quickly

because, of course, she's working hard here, using her hands.

'I'm meeting my friend Saaid Naanaa, who's a mountain guide.'

Saaid, la bas! And you? Good!

'We've taken on these mountains together before, but never in the snow.'

OK, so...

'If anyone can get me across these steep peaks in one piece, it's him.

'We're heading for Tizi n'Tichka, the highest major pass in North Africa,

'a gratifyingly tough half-day hike away.

'Trans-Saharan merchants would have made this journey by mule

'or, like us, on foot.'

How high are we up here?

We are here about 2,100 metres.

I can feel it already on my chest.

Yeah, me too. It's normal. Really? Yeah.

'Up here, the air is thin, making it harder to breathe, even for Saaid,

'who has spent most of his life here in the mountains.'

Saaid, my friend? Yes. You're a Berber?

Yes, I'm a Berber.

What does that mean?

Berber is... They say this is a nickname given by the Romans

when they occupied the north of Africa. Yeah.

But the original name is Amazighen.

It means free people or noble people, if you want. Yeah.

'The Berbers, or Amazigha, are the indigenous people of North Africa

'and can trace their heritage back to 3000 BC.'

Does Berber have its own language?

The Berber, they have their language,

which is totally different than Arabic.

So, Arabic you write from right to left and the Berber is the opposite,

from left to right, or you can write like Chinese, down.

The weather is closing in, which is worrying,

because the paths ahead are getting seriously precarious.

You see, the path is going down from here. Yeah.

Then you see that rock ledge. Whoa!

Then you go uphill to the path.

So we've done the easy bit. This is the hard bit, isn't it? Yeah.

We've still got four miles to go and the light will soon be disappearing.

SHE PANTS

I really like Saaid, but right at the moment I actually hate him.

He's making me go fast and we're uphill because we're worried about the dark.

I don't really want to go fast uphill, frankly.

He's all chirpy. I'm not the least bit chirpy.

And how they ever did this with donkeys and mules laden with goods -

totally beyond me.

It's zero degrees and plummeting as the afternoon draws on

and I'm cold and wet.

Have we got long to go, Saaid?

Nearly. This is the Tichka Pass.

Yeah? And there we go. Good. Nearly there.

Well done. I'm beginning to feel it a bit.

'It's one last push to reach the top

'and we make the Tichka summit just in the nick of time,

'before the bad weather really rolls in.'

Is this it, Saaid?

We made it. Yeah, you did it.

Woo-hoo-hoo-hoo!

Good job.

Well done.

We spend the night in the tiny village of Tazga,

where we're lucky enough to find rooms.

For the merchants centuries ago,

it might have meant a cold night under canvas.

In the morning, with the toughest part of this leg behind me,

I set off alone.

It's refreshing! Whew!

I'm following an old trade route south along the Ounila Valley.

The mountains here are rich in natural deposits - copper, silver,

iron ore and a commodity much favoured by the traders - salt.

The salt mines marked on my map are all in the desert,

so I didn't expect to find one this far north.

The track is dusted with the stuff,

the first evidence I've come across

of why these routes are named salt roads.

The place seems deserted, but as if from nowhere,

someone arrives to open the mine up.

It looks pretty old and I'm wondering whether it was around

in the days of the ancient salt roads themselves.

One of the men, Zakaria Aboelkassem,

is a co-owner of the mine and knows its history well.

Oh, wow.

Wow.

'Parts of the mine date back to the 13th century,

'which puts it right at the peak of trans-Saharan trade.'

ALICE LAUGHS

A flower of salt.

There were salt mines all along the routes to Timbuktu.

Until paper money was introduced by French colonisers

in the early 20th century, it was used as a form of currency,

and it's where our word "salary" comes from.

Some say that at the height of the trade across the desert,

salt was as valuable as gold by weight.

I feel like Indiana Jones. I've just been down this incredible salt mine,

and this is where they'd have come, the traders,

with their mules and their donkeys,

which they'd just brought over that snowy pass,

and load up with the salt to take to Timbuktu.

As I continue my journey southwards,

I'm finding evidence all along the way

that travelling merchants used this route.

It became known as the Valley of the Kasbahs

because it's dotted with ancient buildings where the traders stayed.

Proof of the sheer volume of trade crossing the desert.

Kasbahs, like this beautiful one in the small village of Tamatert,

were built by rich and powerful families

as fortresses for themselves

but also for the many merchants who passed through the area.

This is a fortified village,

absolutely typical along this route where all the merchants travelled.

You've got every single thing you would need in it for a stay -

somewhere to put your animals, a water supply, a granary,

somewhere to store your goods and to sleep, and also things like a mosque

and even in some of them they had two cemeteries,

one for the Jews and one for the Muslims,

in case you were unlucky enough to die on the route.

But really the main reason that the merchants wanted to come here...

..was for the kasbah. The kasbah was the fortress,

and typically had four big towers, one on each corner,

tiny little windows and each one of those towers would have soldiers

guarding it. So once you got yourself into a fortified area,

into a kasbah, you knew that your goods were safe

and that you weren't going to get robbed,

because there were a load of robbers and thieves on this highway,

and the only downside, I guess, is that, of course,

you had to pay for it. So the guy who owned this would take a tax

and there were really quite rich pickings from those caravans.

A safe and secure place to rest for the night was something

sensible merchants would gladly pay for.

After all, most were carrying a precious cargo.

"Six days past, a nobleman arrived here from Gago called Jordabasha.

"He brought with him 30 camels laden with tibar, which is unrefined gold,

"also a great store of pepper, unicorn horns

"and a great quantity of eunuchs, dwarves and men and women slaves,

"besides 15 virgins."

This must have made extraordinary reading for 16th-century Europeans.

Tales of this kind of cargo on the salt roads would only have added

to Timbuktu's already glittering reputation.

This morning, I've left the Valley of the Kasbahs

and I'm heading into the mountains and plains of the Jbel Saghro.

I'm trying to reach the ancient city of Sijilmasa,

the great northern crossroads of the old trade routes.

But first, I have to cross

some of the most barren terrain in the world.

Jbel Saghro means "mountains of drought".

This area of the Atlas gets a mere 10cm of rain a year,

the same as parts of the neighbouring Sahara Desert.

This landscape feels completely prehistoric, it's so rugged,

it's so violent in some way and yet it is completely beautiful,

and very, very few outsiders,

very, very few Westerners get to come here,

so it's unchanged.

I have some help to navigate this vast territory.

This is home to the Ait Atta tribe of Berber nomads,

who for centuries have guided traders across these mountains.

I'm lucky enough to count one of the last surviving nomad families

as friends.

I was saying I can see the whole family waiting for me.

Alice, la vas. La vas!

THEY SPEAK ARABIC

'Zaid is the head of a large family.

'He and his wife, Izza, have six children,

'including a little one, Brahim, who I haven't met before.

'Zaid's mother, Aisha, is 77.'

Mama.

'Berbers venerate their elders and she commands a certain respect.'

Zaid and his family have 250 goats, which are the main source of income.

To find grazing for them, they have to keep on the move.

Every day in summer,

they pack up the tent they live in and all their belongings

to find new pastures.

All the family, young and old, help out.

Traversing this rocky landscape is no mean feat

with all the animals, goods and people in tow.

We have six miles to cover before we stop for the night

and there are few paths or landmarks to navigate by.

Their knowledge of the area made these Berber tribes invaluable

to the merchants, who needed to get their goods across the terrain.

Centuries ago, these Berbers were doing exactly this.

They were transporting goods across these treacherous mountains,

down these difficult paths that they know so well,

and still today it's the Berbers, with their mules and donkeys,

who get things to the very remote villages

that aren't accessible by vehicle. So nothing has changed.

Zaid's family come from the Ait Atta tribe of Berbers,

whose history dates back to before the arrival of Arabs and Islam

in the seventh century.

At the height of trans-Saharan trade,

they were the leading Berber tribe.

But now, nomad numbers are dwindling.

So Zaid's just been telling me about how he came into this life

and his father was a nomad before him.

And his father used to migrate between here and Ait Bougmez,

which is a three-week trek, and he did that all his life.

Then when he got older and a bit more tired,

he bought a very small piece of land down in the valley

and Zaid is carrying on the tradition with his family,

which he will pass on to his sons, probably.

After five hours, our entourage finally comes to a halt.

It doesn't look much to my eye,

but this is going to be home for the night.

But first, there's some work to do.

The first thing the women did when they got into camp was to go and

collect the kind of dry scrub

and then they've just put it straight onto the fire

because it burns immediately and they put the tea on, first thing.

This is an azib, left behind by other nomads passing through.

Experienced hands quickly turn the tumbledown walls into

a robust enclosure and shelter.

Once the goatherd tent is up, it's time to think about dinner.

With typical Berber hospitality,

they're preparing a meal in my honour,

and with no supermarket for miles, there's only one thing on the menu.

Fahid and Zaid...the two Zaids are taking a goat up here to kill it

for a celebration for my arrival, and of course for me

it's really difficult to watch an animal being killed,

even though I do eat meat, so I'm not looking forward to this

but I have to do it, so I'm going to.

GOAT CRIES

SLICING

It's hard to watch, but it's a great honour.

Goats represent the family's wealth, so it's a big deal to eat one.

They immediately set to work to skin the carcass.

As night falls in the Jbel Saghro mountains,

Zaid is preparing skewers

to put the best bits of goat on the open fire.

Nothing of this animal will be wasted.

He's just cutting up the heart.

Got the livers cooking already

and the kidneys are somewhere in the middle.

The smell of the meat and Izza's bread cooking on the fire

is making everybody hungry after a long and active day.

But I'm not sure whether hearts, livers and kidneys are going to be

as much of a treat for me as they clearly are for them.

Tastes really, really good.

Salty and really savoury but it's a little bit crunchy.

BOTH: Mmm!

By 8:30, I'm ready for bed.

The family all sleep together under rugs and blankets in the tent,

much as their ancestors would have done,

and I'm bedding down with them.

THEY LAUGH

It's just after six in the morning and everyone's starting to wake up.

The mother's got up and has put on the fire.

The kids are awake.

I'm beginning to get a feel for what the caravans must have been like,

loading up the animals, unloading them,

living in a big tent all together,

eating together and everyone having their job to do and doing it quickly

and efficiently as they can,

but I still haven't experienced the burning sands of the desert

and I'm beginning to look forward to that because it's been so cold.

The morning fire takes a little chill off the mountain air

and the hot, sweet tea helps as well.

THEY SPEAK ARABIC

Zaid's just telling me that life here in the mountains is too hard,

that it's too cold, that every day packing up the tent,

putting up the tent, trying to find food for the animals,

the children always, always being cold,

the children getting sick because there's no medicines here,

that it's too much and what he really wants within the next ten years is to settle in the village

and what he wants for his children is that they go to school

and that they get jobs, things like drivers.

Which of course, to us seems, you know,

it's such a romantic lifestyle, this, when you see it,

when you see the family all together,

when you see how happy they are,

when you see how hard they're working.

But having spent the night under canvas, it is absolutely freezing

and seeing how hard they have to work even to get a fire going,

it makes you think, would you want to do this?

And I have to say, the answer is no, I wouldn't. It is too hard.

So I can completely understand

why he would want something different for his children.

It's sad to say goodbye to Zaid and his family.

There are few nomads left in these mountains, and in a few years' time,

this way of life may have disappeared altogether.

I'm leaving the rocky mountain terrain of the Jbel Saghro

and travelling east.

100 miles away is my next destination, Sijilmasa,

an ancient city which was a mecca for trans-Saharan traders due to its

position on the edge of the Sahara.

Strangely, it's not marked on any modern maps,

but I do know that it's next to the modern town of Rissani.

Rissani seems typical of so many towns in Morocco.

A bustling market in the centre of town

and a lot of new houses going up on the outskirts.

And so far, there's nothing to give me a clue

as to where the ancient city might be.

It's proving very difficult to find - no signs, no blue plaques

and at the moment I'm in what appears to be

a great big building site.

Then, something begins to show itself above the skyline.

A vast, lost city in the sand.

Sijilmasa was founded at the end of the eighth century

and became the most important city

on the trade routes north of the Sahara.

Its position on the northern edge of the desert meant

it could control the gold supply coming up from the south.

It boasted a mosque, a palace

and probably barracks for soldiers.

And on its fringes, a huge oasis

meant there was one thing in abundance - water,

a lifeline for travellers

arriving after a gruelling journey through the desert.

'I've arranged to meet Chloe Capel, a French archaeologist

'and one of very few who have worked on this site.'

It's about 2km long,

800 metres wide and there are so many things to know about it.

It's not done, not yet.

There's lots of work for archaeologists here on this site.

The site has remained a well-kept secret

and no-one has excavated here for several years.

There are still pieces of history lying all over the place.

Here, as you can see...

..there is a lid. Uh-huh?

You take it this way on the top of a...

a cup or a little jar, something like that, and it's medieval.

How do you know? Because of the shape, because of the paste.

Maybe it's 12th century or 14th century.

And it's just lying here on the site?

It's everywhere, all around you, on the 2km wide of the site. Wow.

And if I were here at the height of the trans-Saharan trade,

what would I have seen?

Probably a very rich city with many houses,

gardens, numerous gardens,

because medieval texts tell us that there were many gardens

inside the city and it was spectacular for travellers

because they were just emerging from the desert

and they found this oasis, it was impressive for them.

The oasis was large enough to cater not only for the townsfolk

but visiting traders and caravans too.

And Chloe believes it was planned that way,

to attract the burgeoning trans-Saharan traffic of the time.

People, travellers, merchants were aware that

when you stop in Sijilmasa,

whenever you stop here, whenever it is in the season, you can find food,

water, camels, numerous camels to travel, dates, fodder,

everything to be sure to go safe until Timbuktu,

until the sub-Saharan Africa.

It seems to me that in its way, this was the Timbuktu of the north,

a vital refuelling stop for traders coming out of

or heading into the Sahara.

How sad, then, that this great city

was destroyed in the early 19th century by invading Berber nomads.

In fact, the same tribe as the nomad family I've just stayed with.

It's less than a mile back into the centre of Rissani and I'm travelling

in the way of most traders here, by donkey cart.

We park up at the town's answer to pay and display.

SHE SPEAKS ARABIC

In Rissani's bustling market,

you can buy just about anything and there are stalls laden with the same

fresh produce that would have gladdened the hearts of weary desert

travellers of the Middle Ages.

Hafida? Hi! Hey! How are you? I'm good.

'I've come here to meet Hafida H'douban,

'Morocco's first-ever female trekking guide.'

Are you looking for some dates?

'Hafida's taking me on the next, most dangerous leg of the journey,

'into the Sahara Desert, and she's stocking up with provisions.'

Taste it, if it's OK.

That's nice? Yeah.

I think the best one is that, so I will take from there.

'Dates were a staple food for people crossing the Sahara.

'They say you can survive on just seven a day

'and their high-sugar content means they last for ages.'

Very energetic and very nice

and now we are lucky because it's a time for the dates.

Perfect! It's for this year, it's the new one,

because in October we have dates.

Yeah. So it's OK.

Tomorrow, Hafida and I will be embarking on the most challenging part of my journey so far,

one which many a trans-Saharan trader didn't survive.

Next time,

we trek into 3.5 million square miles of desert...

..and some of the most extreme temperatures on the planet -

the great Sahara.

It was incredibly perilous.

This is why the goods, when they got to the other end, cost so much,

it was the danger factor.

Modern life takes an ugly turn...

My security contingent has got extremely nervous

and they won't let me go any further.

..and I finally make it to the city of my dreams, Timbuktu.

Now I get it, my first glimpse of the icon of Timbuktu.

The Sahara Desert, Mali,

home to one of Earth's most mysterious and legendary places.

Africa's fabled city of gold, Timbuktu.

My name's Alice Morrison.

I'm an Arabist and explorer.

I live in Morocco,

and since childhood I've dreamt of making the gruelling journey

across the Sahara to see this ancient city

before it's lost forever to sand and war.

I love touching history.

In this series I'll trek 2,000 miles following ancient trade routes,

often known as salt roads, across some of the world's most hostile lands.

Timbuktu is at the centre of all these trade routes

and I want to follow them and find it and see what's there.

I'll pass through some magical places that time has barely touched.

Oh, wow!

Relying on the hospitality of Berber nomads.

THEY SPEAK OWN LANGUAGE

He's just cutting up the heart.

And I'll come face-to-face with some frightening modern-day realities.

I'm beginning to feel quite nervous.

Travelling deep beneath the veil

into the heart of ancient and modern North Africa

I'll discover its incredible forgotten history

en route to the legendary city of gold, Timbuktu.

I've already trekked 800 miles

from the top of Morocco

to the edge of the Sahara Desert.

Scaling the high Atlas and Jbel Saghro mountains

to reach the market town of Rissani.

Along the way I've experienced first-hand how tough the journey was

for the traders who used these often dangerous routes

to transport their goods.

But it's still more than 1,000 miles to Timbuktu

and it's about to get tougher.

Hafida. Hi. Hi. How are you?

I'm meeting up with Hafida Hdoubane,

Morocco's first-ever female trekking guide.

She's stocking up on provisions for the desert.

Take this. Taste it, see if it's OK.

Delicious, yeah. That's nice?

I think the best one is that so I will take from there.

Her expertise is going to help me on what was the most perilous part

of the traders' journey.

The Sahara, the deadliest of deserts.

It spans 11 countries, a vast area of more than 3 million square miles.

It can reach staggering temperatures of 50 degrees plus,

but this morning at the Chebbi dunes it's a little chilly.

Our mode of transport is authentic trans-Saharan.

Hafida and I will be making this trip, like so many before us, by camel.

THEY SPEAK OWN LANGUAGE

Ben Didi and Hussain are going to help us steer these ships of the desert.

Maybe now is not the time to say, "I'm not that keen on camels."

They bite, they spit.

Which camel is the nicest camel?

Getting on is the nerve-racking bit for me.

Apparently God designed the camel with the desert in mind,

so I hope He's a good designer.

The camel's mentioned in seven verses of the Quran

and they're known for their cunning, their sense of direction,

their intelligence, and slightly worrying for me,

apparently they're very vengeful

if you are a cruel or intolerant master or mistress.

For the traders of old it was a 50-day journey,

across the seemingly endless sands of the Sahara,

all the way to Timbuktu.

They were following routes forged on trade in two precious commodities,

gold and salt, and it must have been a magnificent sight

as caravans, often made up of 1,000 camels or more,

filed across the desert in pursuit of riches.

You can't walk in this desert without falling in love with it.

It's such an incredibly beautiful landscape,

but it was incredibly perilous.

Probably the most dangerous stage of the journey.

Bandits all around here ready to rob the caravans,

water was in incredibly short supply

and people did die of thirst all the time.

So, even though for me it's so romantic walking through the dunes

as the sun sets, as the sky looks all blue,

but actually, when you did it for real, this is why the goods,

when they got to the other end, cost so much - it was the danger factor.

But in the scorching heat of the desert,

one thing was more valuable than anything else they were carrying -

water.

Many travellers met their death in the sand,

as the great medieval adventurer, Ibn Battuta recounts...

"We passed a caravan on the way

"and they told us that some of their party

"had become separated from them.

"We found one of them dead under a shrub

"with his clothes on and a whip in his hand.

"The water was only about a mile from him."

As dusk approaches, we find a sheltered spot

to make camp before nightfall.

I'm descending to bribery to keep Hamoun, my camel, sweet.

I've broken out the dates.

We bought these dates for ourselves, but I think Hamoun deserves them

more than I did, cos he did all the work today.

At this time of year,

the temperature often plummets to below freezing.

Wood for the fire would have been an essential part

of the caravan's huge cargo.

HE SPEAKS OWN LANGUAGE

By the fire we swap stories.

Hafida is a rare creature, a female guide in an all-male profession.

But what she tells me about her extraordinary family history is shocking.

So, my great-grandfather,

they gave him a gift, like a woman, from Ethiopia because she's...

she's a slave and he married her.

And she gives him a boy, it was my grandfather.

What happened to your grandfather?

My grandfather, he was born a slave,

so he married my grandmother that is a slave also.

So, my father, he is a slave too.

To me, it's incredible that he could be born a slave in modern Morocco.

Yeah, we don't really speak about slaves in Morocco.

It's a bit, um, what we say, taboo.

Because, it's a suffering history, but it exists.

It wasn't very far away, just 20th century.

An estimated 13 million slaves were transported north across the Sahara,

a similar number to those shipped to America.

To this day, slavery has never officially been abolished in Morocco.

I'm proud of it.

Me, I'm born also from this slave's family.

This country is like a mosaic.

We have black, we have white, we have Arab, we have Berber,

we have Jewish, we have a lot of...

faces, a lot of tradition,

a lot of culture, and that makes this country very rich.

I'm humbled by Hafida's story.

In Morocco there are whole villages of people descended from the slaves

who were forced along the salt roads from West Africa.

The country's culture has been enriched

by the traditions they brought with them.

This is so magical.

I just woke up.

It's still the middle of the night, but I woke up,

and I looked up and I can see the Milky Way,

and I can also see the Plough, absolutely clear.

A most beautiful night.

We get up with the dawn

like the traders who had to beat the heat of the day.

I feel like I'm getting a taste of what life would have been like.

Quite difficult days,

difficult on the body,

having to trust yourself to somebody else completely

because you don't know the way.

Moments of huge beauty in the desert

because it is stunning, the landscape.

And then night-time,

food, hot tea and the time to just socialise with everyone around you.

Just after sunrise we're back out in the desert again and heading south.

We have 15 miles to cover today,

which should take our camels about five hours.

In the past, caravans would be guided by highly paid Berbers

who navigated by the sun, the stars, and the shape of the dunes,

and acted as security to keep the merchants safe from raiders.

Climbing to the top of one of the highest dunes,

the view across the desert stretches all the way to Algeria.

This is the border between Morocco and Algeria.

Yeah. And it's, like, 1,500 kilometres.

Wow! Yeah.

And how far away is it from here?

It's like 60km from here.

Morocco's border with Algeria has been closed since 1994

after a terrorist attack in Marrakech

brought relations between the two to an all-time low.

It's said to cost the Moroccan economy

$2 billion a year in lost trade.

It also means I can't go any further along this particular trade route.

But the network of routes was extensive

so there are other possibilities.

Hafida's made it quite clear that the Algerian border

is completely shut and no longer an option.

That southern route was a quick way down, was the fastest way down,

but there is also a western route, which, although it's slower,

was in fact safer because there were more places to provision

along the way, it was more populated.

So that seems the logical way to try next.

Taking the road west means saying goodbye to Hafida,

and my now-beloved camel, Hamoun.

I'm driving towards the city of Guelmim.

This particular route came to prominence in the 18th century

when Guelmim became one of

the biggest trading crossroads in North Africa.

I'm skirting across the northern edge of the Sahara

and making a stop in a desert town called Tamegroute

because I've heard it holds a secret treasure.

This sign in Arabic says...

SHE SPEAKS ARABIC

Which means a treasury or a treasure trove of books.

Very surprising to find that here in such a small remote place.

This sanctuary is a Zaouia, a centre of Islamic learning,

which houses a library of 4,000 ancient books.

Its custodian is 89-year-old Hajj Khalifa El Fasi.

His family have handed down this job from father to son

since it was founded in the 11th century.

Now his son, Rashid, works alongside him.

This Malian scholar left behind rare manuscripts,

which, as an Arabist, I'm dying to get my hands on.

How exciting that these roads I've been travelling were on a kind of

medieval information highway and knowledge network.

I almost, but not quite, got to touch 400 years of history.

That book in the library is absolute evidence that the trade routes

between sub-Saharan Africa and this area of north Africa

brought knowledge and learning, as well as just gold and salt.

And that knowledge made its way across the water to Europe

where ideas from Muslim scholars on subjects like philosophy,

science and mathematics informed the European Renaissance.

A 350-mile bus journey brings me to the market town of Guelmim.

It's nicknamed Bab Sahara, gateway to the desert.

In the 18th and 19th centuries, it was known for its huge camel market,

the medieval equivalent of a massive car showroom full of four-by-fours.

I want to see if any of that trade survives.

This is a fantastic livestock market, full of noise and colour

and smell.

But, actually, I'm looking for camels because it used to be

the biggest camel market in the whole of north-west Africa

and I haven't seen any yet.

I'm imagining this market in the days of trans-Saharan trade,

bustling with merchants bartering for camels by the hundred.

Eventually, I find a small collection of them in a corner.

Today, the trade is very different.

THEY SPEAK OWN LANGUAE

So times have really changed.

In days of old, this was the place to buy your camel

and to refuel your camel for the trek across the Sahara,

or from the Sahara up to the north.

But now these camels are actually used for food

and we've just been told

that one camel can feed up to 300 people for a party.

So that's mainly what people come and buy them for now.

Ahmed al Ansari's family has been in the business for generations.

If anyone knows the going rate for a camel, it's him.

It depends. It depends on the camel.

If the camel is very strong...

Yes. ..the price is like that.

If the camel is not strong, the camel is down.

Sometimes you can find a camel and it's 20,000 dirhams.

But it's very, very big, you know?

It's enough for 500, 600 persons.

20,000 dirhams is £1,500.

After my trip across the desert on Hamoun,

it seems like a bargain to me.

And it's easy to imagine

why a strong camel was an asset for Saharan traders

when they might carry loads of up to 200 kilos.

Apparently, the white camel is called the president of the caravan

because it can sniff out water.

So they used to send it ahead to find where the water was in the desert

and it was highly valued.

The days of camel caravans are clearly over,

so I'm making the next leg of my journey by car.

I'm going south towards the town of Zag, 115 miles away.

There's a military checkpoint at the entrance to the town

and people in Guelmim have told me I'm unlikely to get through.

I'm about 25km outside of Zag on the western route

that the merchants followed towards Timbuktu.

The issue here is, of course,

that the borders have changed since those times

and political and social tensions here are quite high.

Zag is the last town before the border with Western Sahara.

A territory that's been disputed by Morocco,

Mauritania, and the Sahrawi Berbers who have always lived there.

When Morocco secured control of it in 1979,

they turned the area into a military zone and built a long sand berm

to keep out local independence fighters.

I'm just getting everything ready. I've got my permit

and I've got the map to show them where I'm going at the checkpoint,

but I am really nervous that we're not going to get through.

It's a military zone, there is a lot of tension over the Western Sahara

and this really is one of the points

that I think could block our journey.

Bonjour. Bonjour.

THEY SPEAK ARABIC

It turns out my worries were totally unfounded.

Instead of a show of military bravado,

I'm warmly welcomed and waved through the checkpoint and into Zag,

a town straight out of a spaghetti Western.

Here, I want to find someone to take me on to the border,

but when I ask around, everyone says it's not possible to get there.

Finally, a local cloth trader, Mansour Hamadi,

agrees to take me down the road south of Zag towards the border.

He used to travel it himself to buy fabrics in Mauritania.

But just four miles along the track, he stops the car.

This is as far as he is prepared to go.

The military presence doesn't bode well for my onward journey.

Mansour tells me there are thousands of unexploded mines

along both of these roads

and the conflict between the different factions is very much alive.

This is extremely frustrating. This should be so simple.

I'm actually standing on a crossroads

for two roads that go to Timbuktu.

That one goes through Tindouf and this one goes through Mahbes.

But unlike the days of old,

when the merchants passed freely along these routes,

I can't go and the reason is there is a built-up military zone,

this area is under dispute, it is mined,

and there is absolutely no possibility for me to cross.

So, I'm stuck, I'm absolutely stuck here, there is nothing I can do.

I'm out of options.

I can't follow the salt roads

through the closed border and a military zone.

So, to continue on my quest for Timbuktu, I have to fly 1,000 miles

over the no-go territory of Western Sahara and Mauritania

directly into Mali.

This is Bamako, the capital of Mali,

and one of the fastest-growing cities in the world.

Arriving here is an assault on the senses.

I feel like I've been parachuted into craziness.

I'm in the heart of West Africa and everything's going at ten times

the pace of normal. It's brighter, it's noisier,

I keep sneezing because of the chillies.

What an incredible contrast to the sounds of the Sahara.

Just couldn't be more different.

We're still 700 miles from Timbuktu,

but I've spotted something in the market

that tells me I'm on the right track.

Timbuktu?

Everywhere I go, there are glimpses of Timbuktu luring me in.

Here I've found this massive block of salt,

which must have come down from the north, through the city,

and all its way over here to Bamako.

I've found salt. Now I'm searching for

the other prized commodity of these trade routes - gold.

Mali is the third-largest producer in Africa,

yielding over 50 tonnes of gold a year.

In the Middle Ages, the great West African empires of Ghana,

Mali, and Songhai got rich from it.

Gold is still mined here and I'm keen to see a working mine

for myself and maybe do some prospecting.

So I'm making for Narena, 40 miles south-west of Bamako,

taking the local transport with some of the workers.

SHE SPEAKS LOCAL LANGUAGE

It's a sociable ride and I learn a new phrase in Mandinka,

the local language.

SHE SPEAKS MADINKA

Slow down. It's getting a bit bumpy.

We're off-roading through the bush on the way to the gold mine.

We rattle to a halt at what I'm told is the mine.

I was expecting a modern, hi-tech operation,

but instead I'm greeted by the sight

of people busily wielding picks and shovels.

This is a community mine run by the local landowner.

You have to pay him a fee before you can mine here.

Assalaamu Alaikum. Walaykum assalam.

I've brought him a traditional gift of kola nuts.

The Malian equivalent of a nice bottle of red.

SHE SPEAKS FRENCH

Keita has an entourage

who seem amused by my eagerness to do some gold mining.

Yacouba is the chief's cousin and the mine's foreman.

The mine has only been open for eight months.

He said, "Do you want to see gold?"

Assalaamu Alaikum.

These men are the modern-day version of the traders of old,

buying gold to sell on.

I'm surprised it's all so shiny and bright.

Somehow I thought it would be in big rocks and you wouldn't

actually be able to see that it's real gold, which it obviously is.

And these guys here are weighing it and pushing it out.

Apparently the price varies a lot.

But it's great to see it here.

At the moment gold sells for the equivalent of £20 per gram.

The mine here produces three to four kilograms a month.

It's hard to work out where it's all coming from.

All I can see is a series of holes in the ground,

but it turns out all of them are mine shafts

with people working down them.

Working underground appears to be a male-only zone,

but I'm desperate to have a go myself.

Time to get my hands dirty... if they'll let me.

It's boiling hot, this is really hard work.

All the miners are laughing at me, but I'm actually doing my best.

There's a lot of hard graft involved in striking gold.

And once you've used all your muscle power

to shovel earth from the ground,

actually spotting the gold is more difficult than you might think,

even with the help of a metal detector.

THEY SPEAK LOCAL LANGUAGE

I found gold.

When I say I found it, me and 30 excited miners found it.

I think that's going to pay for me to get all the way to Timbuktu.

I'm told my piece of gold is too small to be weighed,

but I don't care,

this is trans-Saharan trade in the palm of my hand.

This is just a small community mine, but you can see the potential

for enormous amounts of gold coming out of the ground.

I already found my own little nugget, I dug it up myself,

and it makes me realise that Timbuktu,

this mythical city of gold, may actually be a reality.

I'm finally setting off on the last leg of my journey.

I've travelled 2,000 miles to get to Mali

and there's just one last 700-mile stretch before I reach Timbuktu.

It looks so simple on the map, a short plane ride away,

but while once all routes led to the city,

recent events have changed that.

Allahu akbar.

NEWSREADER: 'On the night of April 1st,

'Islamists and local Tuareg rebels drove into Timbuktu.

'By dawn they were in control.'

In 2012, rebels invaded Timbuktu,

turning it from a cultural treasure trove

into one of the world's most dangerous places.

Tuareg separatists wanted to create an independent state.

But they were soon supplanted by Islamic militants

who implemented their own extreme version of Sharia law.

A year later, French and Malian troops reclaimed the city.

Now, a UN presence keeps the fragile peace there.

The security situation means flights are strictly limited.

I'm camping out at Bamako airport, trying to get on a military plane.

This is the most difficult leg of the journey

because the only way to get into Timbuktu now is with the UN.

The political situation means that even in the olden days

when the traders came across the Sahara and had to face

all those difficulties, it's now worse,

it's harder to get into the city.

After waiting around, I finally managed to pick up a flight.

I feel as excited as those early European explorers must have felt.

"At last we arrived safely at Timbuktu.

"At the moment when the sun touched the horizon,

"that was when I saw this capital of Sudan,

"which for so long had been the focus of all my desires.

"Entering that mysterious city,

"which all the civilised nations of Europe have striven for,

"I was seized by an inexpressible feeling of satisfaction."

But when I touch down at Timbuktu,

I'm faced with the alarming reality

of a city which is effectively under siege.

It's really chilling to come into all these military checkpoints.

In the airport you see civilians and people greeting their families

and then here, it's all military personnel,

it's barbed wire everywhere, there's weapons everywhere.

There are only three miles of the Sahara between me and Timbuktu.

After travelling 2,000 miles, I'm just a few minutes away

and I'm getting butterflies.

The city's world-famous mosques are some of

the last surviving remnants of the medieval trader era

and I'm heading for one of them, the Sankore.

I've been waiting for this moment for years.

It's been a really, really long journey

with lots of obstacles in the way.

Slightly different ones from the traders,

but the same kind of feeling.

And now I get it, my first glimpse of the icon of Timbuktu -

this beautiful, stunning mosque

that looks nothing like anything I've seen before.

You can see it in pictures, but it's not the same as being here.

The Sankore Mosque was built in the 14th century

and its name means, white nobles,

reflecting the pale-skinned Berbers who ruled the city.

It must have been a hugely imposing sight for medieval traders

as they emerged from the desert.

I love touching history.

Just imagine all the people that made this,

all the people that have worshipped inside.

It's a symbol, but it's so much more than that because it's actually

a living, breathing place, the centre of the city.

The inside of the mosque is reserved for Muslim worshippers.

But just the sight of it transports me back

to the heady days of trans-Saharan trade.

I'm picturing this main square at the height of Timbuktu's glory

when it would be a cacophony of crazy noise and colour,

with everybody here, the caravans, the merchants,

people trading every good imaginable.

Over there, we'd have people sitting with their weighing scales,

weighing out the goods.

Maybe over there you'd have the horrible scenes of the slaves

getting ready to be loaded up and taken up to the north,

crying because they didn't know where they were going,

what was going to happen to them.

Just a melee of humanity - Jews and Arabs, Tuaregs, Songhai,

all mixing together to make this

the most important trading centre of its day,

the city of gold.

The cultural richness of the city,

with its fabulous mosques, grew out of its material wealth.

The oldest and largest of them, the Djinguereber,

was built by the greatest king of Mali, Mansa Musa.

Though I'm not a Muslim, I've been granted special permission to go in.

Under the tall arches, I find Salem Ould Elhadjie,

a historian and storyteller,

who tells me the tale of the richest man in history,

Mansa Musa.

Tales of Mansa Musa's astonishing wealth spread across the globe

and thus began the legend of Timbuktu.

Many explorers over the centuries tried and failed to reach it.

In the 19th century,

a French explorer's club even offered a prize

to the first adventurer to reach the city and return.

But the first man to get here wasn't French, he was British.

Major Alexander Gordon Laing's house.

This is where he stayed in Timbuktu when he was here

and it's one of the places I've really, really wanted to come to.

He's a fellow Scot and I consider him an extremely brave man.

Alexander Gordon Laing reached Timbuktu in 1826.

It had taken him a year to trek from Tripoli across the Sahara,

and on the way he'd been viciously attacked and robbed.

Tuaregs had fractured his jaw and nearly cut off his right hand,

and he had a musket ball in his hip.

I have a copy of the letter he wrote when he arrived here.

He was only 32 years old.

"I have been busily employed during my stay,

"searching the records in the town, which are abundant.

"But my situation in Timbuktu has been rendered exceedingly unsafe

"by the unfriendly disposition of the Fulas,

"whose Sultan has expressed his hostility to me

"in no equivocal terms.

"He has now got intelligence of my being in Timbuktu

"and as a party of Fulas are hourly expected,

"Alkaidy Boubacar, who is an excellent good man,

"and who trembles for my safety,

"has strongly urged my immediate departure."

This was the last letter Laing ever wrote.

After fleeing Timbuktu, he was captured

and then brutally strangled by Tuareg raiders.

It's bittersweet, sitting here in Laing's house...

reading his letter in the place that he stayed in Timbuktu.

I'm here, I'm wandering the same streets that he did.

He died in such a horrible way,

but he achieved such an incredible thing.

It puts my puny attempts to get here into perspective.

This man was incredibly courageous.

He knew that he might die, but he still did it

in the interests of finding out about this great city.

I wish I had half that courage.

Two years later, in 1828, a Frenchman, Rene Caillie,

won the race for Timbuktu and returned alive

to claim the 10,000-franc prize.

That's more than £75,000 in today's money.

It was a prize which had cost Laing his life.

Today, 60,000 people live in Timbuktu,

a mix of the different tribes who have made their mark on this city

throughout its history.

It was founded in the 12th century by the Tuaregs

with their trademark scarves and fierce reputation.

They're nomads of the Sahara

and the mainstay of the caravan trade across the desert.

Most still live a nomadic life, like the Agata family

who come to Timbuktu to trade.

Muhammad's forefathers grew rich

from trading in salt and Malian gold.

He still uses that gold in his jewellery.

Since the militants' incursion, the Sahara has become too dangerous,

even for Tuareg nomads,

and the Agatas now rely on their jewellery to survive.

Zacate. Zacate.

I've been invited to join the family for lunch,

which Muhammad's wife, Maya, is preparing.

The meat is goat, cooked slowly to tenderise it.

I want to know if it's true

that in this warrior culture, women rule the roost.

I'm not used to seeing men veiled

and women uncovered in a Muslim country.

It's a complete role reversal.

Maya has provided a feast.

But times are hard for the Agata family.

The security risks in Timbuktu have scared away the tourists

and it's too dangerous to cross the desert to trade.

Their nomadic lifestyle is on hold.

To me, Timbuktu seems a peaceful, friendly place,

but the UN presence all over the city is a constant reminder

of the dangers that lurk outside its boundaries.

And that's where I'm going next - to follow the salt road south.

What made Timbuktu such a great centre of trade

was its geographical location.

A crossroads between the desert of the Sahara

and the great Niger River.

The Niger lies just five miles south of Timbuktu,

but once again, I have to rely on the UN to take me there.

This time in an armoured convoy on one of their daily patrols.

There are 1,200 UN peacekeeping troops in Timbuktu,

their third largest force in the world,

and Mali is their deadliest mission.

My driver, Kai, tells me that only two weeks before I arrived,

there was a rocket attack here.

So, when you patrol, are you looking out for anything in particular?

Everything that's sort of unusual, or...is it calm or not?

You can't sort of pinpoint what you're looking for,

you're just looking that is it... the same way that it usually is.

The desert eventually gives way to a sea of green.

This is where the camel met the canoe

in the days of trans-Saharan trade.

And when I see the Niger River for the first time,

it takes my breath away.

The port of Korioume is going about its daily business,

oblivious, it seems, to the danger around it.

And I'm curious to know what kind of goods

are passing through here today.

Monsieur.

Ibrahim is the harbour master here.

Two boats have just pulled in and are unloading their cargo.

There's a huge variety of merchandise

including a whole consignment of motorbikes...

..but hiding under a tarpaulin is something much more interesting.

Just uncovered a big treasure trove of salt.

This is an exciting discovery.

I'd thought that the salt trade through Timbuktu had been halted,

but here it is, in huge 30kg tablets,

waiting to be shipped south.

Ibrahim tells me that Saharan salt is still highly prized.

In days of old it was vital to preserve meat.

Now it's a gourmet item, and after all these centuries

it's still an important part of Timbuktu's trade.

Timbuktu is a place where legends abound -

of fierce Tuareg warriors and brave, moustachioed, European explorers.

But I'm here to meet some unlikely heroes, the librarians.

Bonjour. Bonjour.

In its heyday, Timbuktu was one of

the world's most important centres of learning.

Priceless manuscripts were created here

and transported via the trade routes throughout Africa and into Europe.

Here at the Ahmed Baba Institute,

Bouya and his team had collected thousands of them.

When the Islamic extremists took over the city in 2012,

the heritage of a whole continent was put in jeopardy.

But the librarians were determined to save their treasure.

At dead of night, they began sneaking the books out,

hidden in trunks, right under the noses of the militants.

Haidera and the librarians managed to smuggle out

almost all of the collection.

But in January 2013,

when Timbuktu was finally reclaimed by French and Malian troops,

the extremists committed one final act of vandalism

as they fled the city.

They brought out a box of the remaining books and set fire to it.

Throughout history, men have burned books,

fearing the knowledge they contain.

The charred remains of the manuscripts have become

part of the collection, fragments of Africa's golden past.

Since I've been in Timbuktu,

I've been really touched by how the city has coped with

all it's been through in recent years.

THEY SPEAK LOCAL LANGUAGE

The physical and emotional turmoil of invasion

and the damage to its culture and lifestyle.

Today its people live with the constant threat

of danger on their doorstep

and many have been left in poverty.

But the city has another enemy,

one it's lived with since it came into existence -

the desert.

I love the desert, but it's a very harsh place

and I can see that when I look around behind me at Timbuktu,

because everywhere there's sand,

it's encroaching, it's eating away at the buildings

and it feels like it's almost making the city disappear.

On every corner, I see people battling to keep the sand at bay.

It attacks the buildings too, wind and sand eroding the walls.

And it's a constant fight to keep those mud-built mosques

from crumbling back into the dust.

El Bukhari bin al-Suyuti is in charge of maintaining

the city's cultural heritage,

which includes fighting off the scouring effects of the weather.

It's not just the abrasive combination of wind and sand.

Recent heavy rains have also severely damaged

the exterior plasterwork on these mosques.

I'm pleased that the city is getting some help from outside agencies,

like UNESCO, to preserve these iconic buildings,

but what's more difficult to deal with

is the march of the Sahara into Timbuktu.

The city is in danger of being gradually swallowed by the desert.

Timbuktu is no longer El Dorado.

It's a charming, sleepy town that's slowly disappearing

and it seems to me its streets are now paved with sand, not gold.

It's a place where the Sahara, which brought untold wealth to its gates,

has been both a blessing and a curse.

Timbuktuans love a party.

Their fierce history, the violence of the occupation,

the encroaching sands - nothing can stop them,

and I've been invited to a Tuareg shindig by my friends Maya and Muhammad.

Traditional Tuareg music has two components -

a three-stringed tehardent and a calabash drum.

First, the women dance and, of course, I have to join in myself.

I choose Maya as my dance partner.

THEY SING IN OWN LANGUAGE

It's a curiously sedate experience,

but that all changes when it's the turn of the men.

Oh-la-la-la!

The women's dance was very, very gentle.

I just had to wave my hands a little bit and wiggle my eyebrows.

Very enjoyable.

The men's dance is incredibly energetic.

They're leaping up and down like little frogs.

Five years ago, when the city was occupied, all music was forbidden.

Now, the irrepressible spirit of these desert people

is free to express itself again in the song and dance

that the Sahara has been witness to for centuries.

It was the promise of gold and salt,

as well as precious books and manuscripts,

that brought the world to Timbuktu's gates

and helped forge the trans-Saharan trade routes, the salt roads of old,

that I've travelled to get here.

Along the way, I've crossed spectacular landscapes

and met extraordinary people with ancient ways of life.

I've uncovered lost empires

and found treasure in the strangest places.

But most of all, I've finally completed my quest

and discovered for myself the living myth of Timbuktu.

Am I disappointed not to find my El Dorado?

No, because in every corner you can feel the legacy

of its magnificent past.

It's a heritage that needs protecting,

from both nature and mankind,

so future generations can, like me,

make their own journey to this magical city.