Marrakech is a dusty, pink labyrinth of pushy merchants trying to sell me goat skin backpacks, Berber silver jewelry, and an array of orange-colored spices while luring me in with tooth-decaying sweet mint tea. Lots of little motorized bikes, traffic, exhaust fumes, hot, hot heat and scorching sun. You have to be fearless and aggressive as a pedestrian crossing the street, never pause or hesitate – just keep walking through intersections. Kinda like bartering.

At night the African Voodoo nature of this little convergence of Middle East, European and West African flavors comes together in the Djemaa el-Fna Square with a nightly carnival full of snake charmers, street food, sugar coated nuts, henna tattooists and intense drum circles… I heard the Moroccan Jewish fortune tellers are the most accurate, but I cant seem to find any.

Im tired and my allergies are acting up – very excited to meet my mule at the next Moroccan stop in the High Atlas Mountains. Yalla.

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September 3, 2013 · 8:51 am

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