I forget how much I love this place. The sounds, the heat, the colors, the chaos. Motorbikes carrying things you wouldn’t think could be carried; German shepherds, lamps, 5 people, trees. Traffic pulsing and rushing forward, horns honking. Palm trees, Moroccan flags, people everywhere. It’s terracotta and slate blue sky. Green palm trees. The Medina (old city) has a different kind of energy. No cars, smaller cobblestone roads. This time I’m staying in a more residential part of the Medina. The only other tourists I see are coming and going from my riad (B&B). Bougainvillea hanging across the road, men in barber shops, women gathered talking, chicken kabobs on the side of the street. Kids running. Men spraying down the sidewalk in front of their shops with water from a bottle. The sound of tea being poured. Tiny openings to stores which are really just a small room….I don’t know what you would call it…a place where things are ironed. Men using industrial sewing machines to make bags, men working wood in tiny shops…their projects out in the street because the shop is so full of lumber. Men hammering copper. Kids hanging on the counter of the hanout (like a bodega where you can get all kinds of things: shampoo, eggs, spices, yogurt, bread, tinned foods, pasta, toiletries, etc….the lifeblood of a neighborhood. There is one in particular I have visited every day and in my few words of Darija I can ask for “jouj perly afak,” two yogurts please…which I take home to the hotel and eat in the bed in-front of the air conditioner using the lid as a spoon. Hello let’s strengthen my immune system please. By the time it’s dinner, I have had my fill of interactions and sounds and am so content to be alone with my yogurt.

I have a path to the souks I take every day…this is both good and bad. I learn the neighborhood and the people learn me. There are a few I greet, and we wish each other good days. And there are a few I avoid…duck behind a crowd of people, look the other way. One man in particular calls out Shakira! Shakira! every time I pass. A group of boys stands in an archway (a gateway to the Medina) and cause trouble…one day telling me the way was closed because they were working on the mosque. Ok dude, not falling for that. It’s a game of sorts with the vendors, “I saw you yesterday, I’ll see you tomorrow. It’s tomorrow and you’re still here. Come have a look!” And I say, “I’ll still be here tomorrow.” A man on a donkey drops his stick and asks me to hand it to him. Rewards me with the biggest smile as he trots off atop the donkey. The streets of the souks are tighter, with canvas or lattice hanging above to block out the sun. Dappled light. Hundreds of colorful shoes hanging from the ceiling; colorful leather, tassels, knots of colored leather. Sequins. Slippers. Piles and piles of shoes. Bags made from carpets. Clutches with big gemstone closures. Rugs piled high and hanging from the rafters, poufs. Spices heaped in bins, fish grilling for sandwiches, pashminas, jewelry, paintings lining the walls. Old coins spread on a blanket on the ground, a juice cart with sugarcanes six feet high and jumbled like straws in a jar, men selling prickly pears from baskets on the back of their motorbikes. Old men gathered around eating one after the other as the vendor peels them and hands them to the man greedily drinking them down as fast as the other can peel them. Donkey carts coming through carrying wagons full of cement. Scooters racing past at a speed that is incomprehensible for the tightness of the alleys and the number of people who could step out of line at any moment. Bicycles. Groups of people walking and stopping. You have to move like water, easy and loose to just flow through and around.

My first stop is to buy oils from the woman I met in March. Amina. I purposefully left everything home so I could refill with her. She remembered me! We chatted and laughed and talked about our lives. Come sit, be at home. Her boss comes in and we make faces at each other behind him and giggle like schoolgirls. Do you need this? How about this? Sure. Sure. Everything. She gives me Nila Zarqa which is a blue powder made from the indigo plant used for cosmetic purposes…and you can paint with it. I told her I would make a painting for her and bring it Sunday. Really? You’re serious? Yes. Promise. Yes, I promise. She is delighted. A jeweler calls out to me as I pass and comments on my earrings…can I take a photo? For my designs? And for some reason, I stop and say sure. I’m supposed to be surrendering, so why not? Tea? Why not. My mother would have a conniption. And we sit on the floor of the blue shop and have the wildest conversation. Answer me as your adult self and as the little child inside of you too. Slow down, tell me the real answer…you don’t have to answer so fast. I feel like I’ve entered a different world entirely. Like the universe wanted me to stop and breathe. And in the blink of an eye three hours have passed and I walk home a different person than the one who stepped out the door in the morning.

The riads feel like they have a dynamic all their own, a microcosm. I love watching the other guests…hearing all the languages. I try to find intimate places…ones where the other guests are friendly and open. It makes all the difference when you’re traveling alone. To have a home base where people talk to you. Even if it’s just the staff…better also to find a friend. It makes everything lighter when someone knows a little about you in a strange place. Says hello in the morning or at the end of a day. You can hear about their adventures, find out places you might want to go. And somehow, I always find someone. I loved my riad this time…beautiful courtyards, peaceful, conversations when you wanted them. I felt like I was living in a real home…I was, Peter planted the date palm in the main courtyard 60 years ago. He’s always around to tell lots of wild stories of his life.

And this time in Marrakech….everyone I spent time with…come back..stay here….I’ll help you find a place. I want you to be close and we will be friends. This really is the best place to be. And maybe it is.