The trip with the Americans was complicated, but not actually very interesting. It took two half-days of travel (actually what I was trying to avoid; the timing of it all just didn’t match up well on public transport), but I finally arrived in Marrakesh.
Navigating the warrens of the Medina was a bit crazy-making, and the turns I had to take liked to hide from me, but after asking a couple of people (and telling them that no, I wasn’t going to the place they recommended), I made it.
I liked the open windows in the warm day, although I was slightly less keen that they opened onto the main floor of the courtyard, and downright annoyed that people smoked in the courtyard, too.
I rested for a bit, and then headed out to see the fabled Djemaa el Fna. It was gorgeous. I had dinner at a restaurant with a balcony I could see everything from. The night sky was spotted and rayed with thousands of tiny lights. Bits of the scene glowed like neon daylight, while others were entirely obscured in shadows.
After countless time watching the surprisingly large crowds, listening to sirens and the call to prayer, and the chatter of everyone around me; after countless time watching every one watching every one else; after countless time smelling the cutting scent of oranges, mixed with the musky smell of sweat and exhaustion, with the savory smell of the food of the restaurant, with the smell of the stars and the sky, I finally turned to my rapidly cooling food.
Everything in Marrakesh was like this. I didn’t do much: I tried out a hammam and went to the Saadien tombs, but the rest of the time I just wandered, watching, listening, smelling (although sometimes I didn’t want to smell). I tried to figure out where people were from based on what I heard when they talked to each other. I passed judgment on irritating American tourists, and then was surprised when they were English. I put a lot of time and energy and nose power into finding good spices to bring home.
That’s how the days passed. I walked for hours every day, mostly through the markets, and I never felt like I had exhausted anything but my feet. I could have spent several more days there, eventually working my way outward in concentric circles.
But I still wanted to get to the water and the beach, so I headed out to my last stop: Essaouira. I was excited, both to go to Essaouira, a place that had been recommended to me by every single person I talked to, and because it meant soon, I was going home.
