"After three sober months in Morocco, my liver was healthy - but my teeth were in trouble. The country's beverage of choice - a gunpowder tea jammed with mint - comes sans alcohol, but is spiked with a minimum of six sugar cubes. No sooner had I made peace with this Berber whiskey (as the locals call it), than a longtime expat told me about a winery just a 40-minute drive or train ride from my base in the Fez Medina. I was dubious. "They make wine," he assured me. "Good wine." If the grape moonshine usually associated with Morocco's back alleys hasn't earned column inches in Wine Spectator, it's understandable: Sommeliers don't exactly flourish in Islamic countries, where alcohol is ummul-khabaith - the root of all evil. But in the past 15 years, two progressive kings have invited French winemakers to lease prime land, and a wine industry has begun to flourish. Quietly. Wine tours are not touted like camel trips in the Sahara or Berber village treks. Though the wineries are within easy reach of the major cities such as Marrakech, Casablanca and Fez, an informal ban on advertising means that tour operators must peddle wine trips discreetly." - Anne Bouey from Bookmarklet

""If we openly advertised the tours within Morocco, our business would be seen to be as disrespectful," said Michele Reeves, who runs a tour company called Plan-It Fez. Guides often pair visits to the wineries with other adventures, such as tours of the historic city of Moulay Idriss or the Roman ruins of Volubilis, a UNESCO World Heritage Site. "We try to remain low-key about wine," Reeves said. "But in reality we are excited to be a part of this burgeoning industry that offers an interesting insight into the contradictions that take place in the country." Like so many of Morocco's splendors, the country's wine industry is dressed in plain clothes. You've got to know where to look. We drove the poppy-lined highway toward Domaine de la Zouina, passing smoky truck stop tagine joints and teenagers selling honey out of flatbed trucks. As we skirted past the walled city of Meknes, the Middle Atlas Mountains were a purple haze on the horizon. The winery was screened by a row of mature olive trees and searching for it felt like a covert operation. We drove passed the unmarked gate twice before finally calling the owner, Christophe Gribelin, for directions. Given the country's attitude toward alcohol, winegrowers are wise be discreet. But the lack of signage isn't just discretion: The Frenchman simply wasn't quite ready for visitors." - Anne Bouey

"On our way to the tasting room, we passed a vineyard worker named Mohammed Abba, who was training vines along a wire trellis. I asked Abba how he reconciled the alcohol prohibitions of the Quran with his job in a vineyard. Abba made a distinction between working in the vineyard and working inside "la cave," or winery. So long as he didn't drink - or deal directly with the wine - he felt it was allowable, and he was grateful for a good job. Gribelin provides social security benefits, support for his children and a sheep to sacrifice on the Muslim holiday of Eid al-Adha." - Anne Bouey

"As we left Gribelin's vineyard, I was convinced of a bourgeoning wine scene in Morocco, but overwhelmed with mixed messages. Muslim women worked in his wine-labeling room, but wore headscarves and paused each day at the call to prayer. Gribelin couldn't advertise his winery - yet a group of 20 French wine tourists were set to arrive the next day. Some restaurants and grocery stores peddled wine, yet taxi drivers were known to refuse rides to clients if they heard bottles clink in their bag. When it comes to describing Morocco's relationship with wine, one can honestly say, "It's complicated." For now, though, that complexity works in Gribelin's favor. "For everybody it is a Muslim country," he says. "They are always astonished that we make good wine." - Anne Bouey

I still hate Moroccan tea after my two visits to the country. I hope they switch to wine as a 'friendship drink' :) - Eivind

I like that idea, Eivind. - Anne Bouey