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We arrived in Marrakech late in the evening. The city felt very different to Fez; somehow both newer and older, catering to tourism and yet steeped in history. The streets were often narrow, made for walking and riding animals, not cars, and were crowded with people despite the hour. Our first step, after parking, was exploring Jamaa el-Fnaa square.
It blazed with life and colour, music and light. Like something out of a storybook, there were dancing men and chattering monkeys on long chains, hissing cobras and their clever charmers, and wizened old men with cymbals and drums, flutes and ouds.
It blazed with life and colour, music and light. Like something out of a storybook, there were dancing men and chattering monkeys on long chains, hissing cobras and their clever charmers, and wizened old men with cymbals and drums, flutes and ouds.
Afterwards we walked through Koutoubia Mosque's courtyards, ancient and solemn and still after the cheerful cacophony of the square.
That night, we slept in a small motel undergoing renovations just outside the square,...
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