Marrakech. I have a hard time imagining there's another city that would enrapture us as much as Marrakech. Within a hour of arriving, Nick and I were plunged into the city's beating heart, its chaotic vibe pulsating from every bright color, intoxicating smell, or shouted greeting from a street corner. Barely cognizant of direction, we wound our way deeper and deeper into the old city, and by the evening we found ourselves in the busiest city square we'd ever seen: Djemaa el-Fna. We pushed through the crowd, dodging dancing cobras and eager merchants alike. Our noses pulled us towards a roasted meat stand, where we crouched on crude stools and watched as the cook set aside a entire goat head to access the steaming pot of rich, fatty goat stew.
To many, this zero-to-100 acclimation would be overload. Indeed, most of the travel books suggested pacing yourself early on. For us, it was everything. We knew immediately that it would be painful to leave this city behind - we even considered rearranging the whole trip right there on the spot... a first for us, and a sign of how just how head-over-heels we were for this new city. This sensory overload - the sights, the sounds, the smells, the infinite menagerie - is what makes Marrakech. As a result, it's impossible for pictures alone to do it justice.
With that, let's start at the beginning. Our baggage didn't arrive on the flight from Amman, and the modestly-helpful airport personnel simply told us to call again the next day. Not an auspicious start given that we'd traveled all night in these clothes - saved on a hotel though! - but we resolved that it wouldn't slow us down. Our taxi parked at a nondescript doorway to the old city, and took off into the maze. Even lightly burdened by our carry-ons, we could barely keep up, as we twisted and turned down long, sunlit corridors. The walls were reddish mud brick, punctuated by pops of color from the ornate doors - I have more photos of doors than of anything else.
What we learned later is that behind every beautiful door is a beautiful riad, an inward facing sanctuary of a home that is built around an open area with a garden, pool, or fountain. While there are many residents in the old part of the city, many of the riads have been transformed into guesthouses or B&Bs. We stayed in an amazing little place called Riad Melhoun, which we would highly recommend for anyone traveling to Marakkech. It was a hidden gem on a quiet street, helmed by a staff that was unbelievably friendly, helpful and kind. If it's booked, fear not! There are many gorgeous riads to experience - I challenge you to Google "marrakech riads" and not be totally smitten.
Our daily itineraries included the myriad souks, palaces, and madrasas. I wore long dresses to cover my knees and shoulders as a sign of respect, and was welcomed at every stop. Even though I often felt out of place in the busy cobble stone streets, we found the denizens of the old city to be warm and friendly. Plus the long dresses helped me blend in with the broad spectrum of colors: heaping mounds of spices, naturally-dyed wool and camel hair rugs, hand-woven cushions, brilliant fabrics, weathered antiques... and all of them dappeled in light from enormous lanterns hanging from old eaves. Around each corner, in every nook and cranny, there was a surprising sight, a new memory that no photo could truly capture.
