Nomading Morocco
We woke up this morning in Fes, Morocco, and decided to stroll the Medina (Old Town). But before that, let’s cover some old ground. Nomading Morocco.
In November, I escaped the snow and darkness of Alaska by flying to Europe to meet Ursula to spend our “Snowbirding” days of Winter 23/24 in Provence, France. If you read our earlier Blog, you know the deal. Provence was resplendent with warmth, sun, beaches, deep dark red wines, and delectable meals, all for them! So, why leave? The Schengen (27? Countries of Euro) has a 90 out of 180-day visa time limit. It’s not possible to do an entire winter from start to finish without busting the limits and possibly being blocked from re-entry on the next visit. So, we had to make an excursion out of the Schengen zone to “book” time…. And, of course, Morocco featured high on the list.
Fes
Sadly, we left our beach apartments and found a vanilla hotel in an industrial community near Marseille International Airport. It worked for what we needed: a transition point from Europe to Africa. The reviews of the Marseille airport were atrocious, so we braced ourselves for the worst experience that never materialized. It’s an old airport, and the processes are a little strange. But, we rushed through the experience and found ourselves staring at our names plastered on a welcoming sign outside baggage pick-up in the Fez airport in no time. Our ride to the hotel awaited.
We also read dire warnings that customs in Fes could take hours…..so we skillfully selected seats at the front of the airplane and made a mad dash to the customs kiosks… second in line. After landing, we were through the airport like ‘shit through a goose,’ loaded up with Moroccan Dinahrs and great expectations. No complaints here! Our driver led the way with New Town Fes in our windshield.
Off to the Medina (old town)
Ibrahim, the tour company driver, promptly picked us up and whisked us to our awaiting tour guide, a genuine Medina resident. With ‘Adil’ in the lead, we skillfully avoided all the crowds. We expertly negotiated through the labyrinth of 9,450 alleys to view the selected morsels of Moroccan architectural beauty, ‘factories,’ and shops. Most notable were the University, a Mosque, former horse stables converted into a woodworking Museum, and the infinite number of shops, stands, and stores. 
What a joy, pure energy of pulsating life with industry, focus, fun, and colors, and oh, what magical colors and geometric designs; a rapture for the eyes. Feeling elevated with all the sights and sounds, we ventured into the shops. Oh my, the Medina lives up to its reputation for artisan craftsmanship (behind the imported ‘fake Moroccan’ Chinese crap on many of the kiosks). The real shops featured the quality of skilled artisans. It would be tough not to buy everything (if we could)! Ultimately, we escaped relatively unscathed with only two of their incredible handcrafted wares. We were saved by two saving graces. First, we traveled with small bags and have scant space available to fit on the return flight. The second is my magical shopping weapon.
Shopping
While scurrying along through the corridors, one of us made mention of how interesting we found the traditional Moroccan garb, the “Djellaba”, and how it would work great in Alaska as a warm housecoat in the winter (they are the real deal, old-school ‘Hoodie,’ and fall all the way down to one’s shins – and made of wool). Naturally, we ended up in a fabric shop. Naturally, we adored everything they had. Their best salesman eyed me and knew he had his fortune in the waiting. He rightly figured a few minutes with me, and I’d walk out with too much stuff and too little remaining cash in my wallet. He did not expect my Magic Weapon to follow me into the store. 
You see, Ursula is argumentative a little bit. Some of you may know that! She’s as stubborn as a mule as well. He did not expect this. Where this skill and talent peaks is in negotiations and bargaining. We selected a few items we’d like to take home, then I unleashed Ursula.
Watch and Learn
The friendly salesman didn’t know what hit him! She was fierce and relentless and scoffed at his exorbitant first asking. She rebuked with a 25% offer. He counted with, ‘But I have a family to feed.’ She was unmoved. He countered with a 75% offer. She threatens to leave. He stood firm, and we left. Our tour guide, who saw a commission on the line, played his role to the hilt and brought us back to the shop for round number 2. The salesman made one last pitiful attempt to retain dignity. Not happening, but, I think Ursula met him at 45%. The real boss stepped in and approved the transaction. Another gladiatorial contest in the Medina fabric shop and the out-of-town underdogs won this time.
We think he made a profit….but not as much as he expected. By the time we left, with our wares and still some money in the wallet, he was almost in a shambles. He was happy to have made a sale, not so excited to have not reinforced his ‘nest egg.’ Probably delighted to see us go and that other tourists were not in sight to take Ursula’s lead!
Well done, my Girl! Nomading Morocco may not break our lifesavings afterall!
The Sights
We visited the ornamental front gates of the king’s palace, the Blue/Green entrance gate to the Medina, and then off to lunch. Along the way, our Guide pointed out the ‘Medina Uber,’ a donkey with a packing saddle. He was a funny guy,,, but he was spot-on as the alleys of the Medina are too small for vehicles, and moving the mountains of goods isn’t done by hand. This time, we landed in another busy alley with tiny restaurants, singing/dancing performers (buskers in the US), and the most delicious chicken you could imagine.
We were done! We walked the hour back to the hotel (on the map, it looked closer!, I swear!) and chilled the rest of the evening – December 31st.
Apparently, New Year is not a real big deal in Fes, and we were happy with that. We roosted back in our nest, not making it through the evening to usher in the new year, and hoped it would be better than the previous four of this decade. Happy New Year! (Update: we made it to Midnight, 12:04 to be exact).
Back into the fray of the Market
Another day-out-and-about, and this time alone-and-unafraid….wandering the Medina, both the Jewish and Andalusian quarters. We did not get lost! Strangely. Well, at least not in the Medina itself, but several times along the way to get there. One notable difference between the Moroccan markets and the Cairo market is in the politeness and aggressiveness of the shop tenders. Both make a concerted effort to get you into their shops if you make even the slightest nod of interest. Sometimes just walking by is enough. However, in Morocco, they are all so polite. They speak multiple languages, take no for an answer and not a challenge, and say “Thank you” as you walk away. It’s almost a delight… almost, but not so.
It does get tiring to constantly have to avoid eye contact and be unable to browse and look around without constant ‘supervision and assistance.’ One almost becomes nostalgic for the good old US stores where the service staff absolutely ignores you,,, even when asking for help. Different cultures, different ways,,, different types of tolerances, I guess.
We closed out this day with an OK meal at a tourist trap restaurant that featured a spectacular view of the famous Blue/Green Gate and Water Tower from a 4th-floor balcony overlooking the entrance. It was pretty cool, but the taxi ride to the hotel was also pretty cool.
Further Afield?
We elected not to take the tours to the Roman ruins and the “holy city,” a common locally based tour, because it just didn’t seem worth the 8-10 hour day of driving and rushing through old ruble and small towns. Two or one full day on the ground is probably enough to get your Medina fix.
Off to the famous Blue City of Chefchaouen in the morning; stay tuned as we update the Nomading Morocco Blog.
Check out our short Fes Video
Blue City of Chefchaouen
The foothills of the famed Atlas Mountains and valleys are lined with sinuous, narrow, bumpy streets that are speckled with cars traveling way too fast for the conditions. That’s how we got to Chefchaouen, in a shared van for 3+ hours, zipping along these streets and valleys. Car lanes are a suggestion here; passing rules do not exist. Driving four to five car lengths behind the car in front is not even a concept in use. One could have a nervous breakdown if they were of the nervous sort. But, with no accidents or safety issues, we arrived at our next hotel without a bump or scratch; it’s exhilarating to watch skilled drivers negotiate safely through these conditions, particularly when you are not paying the Insurance premiums.
Chefchaouen is a medium-sized town astride a verdant mountainside overlooking the nearby valley. The attraction for so many tourists is the Medina, painted in two complementary blue colors. It’s located on the high side of the hill, just under a domineering bluff. The alley walls, building facades, even a few roofs, and most of the many stairs and stairwells are all the same colors of blue. It’s lovely and peaceful.
Wandering the Alleys
The narrow alleys and corridors of the Medina run up and downhill, leading to several protective, covered gates. Half the old wall and ramparts still exist in fair condition on the higher side of the town. Near the middle of the Medina lies a plaza with the old fortress and Casbah on one side, surrounded by many restaurants, their accompanying hawkers using every trick of social manipulation to get tourists into their seats and tables. Old ladies dressed in traditional garb line the corners, soliciting all the passing women to their Henna artistry. Two main arteries of alleys are the main attraction of shops and stalls, with dozens of other pathways leading off with their own varieties of artisan enclaves. The rest of the Medina has homes and hotels. It’s not just a tourist trap; it’s a living, active village.
By noon, many day-trip tour busses and vans arrive from Fes and other major cities. The small alleys become congested with tourists gawking at all the artisan wares and snapping selfies or trying to find that iconic shot of the charming blue alleys and staircases adorned with colorful lights, plants,,,, and cats.
The Cats
The cats are a staple of the town; they are everywhere. Most are dirty (but no cat is ever filthy) but appear healthy and happy as they play games, sun themselves, and skirt away from tourists trying to pet them. We’re ‘Cat People,’ and this quality alone draws our admiration and respect for the town and culture that treats their cats well. Apparently, dogs are ‘Dirty,’ and one must wash their hands before prayer if petted. However, healthy, happy dogs sun themselves in the plazas and play amongst themselves, no bother to any passerby.
All in all, Chefchaouen is an attractively adorable village, definitely worth the effort to experience, given the opportunity. If you could make it out of here without taking entirely too many pictures to remind you of just how alluring the views are, something needs to be fixed with you.
Our hotel room, a seven-minute walk to the main Medina gate, is an oasis of color and eye-catching adornments. Chez Aziz is designed in a more traditional style of layered bricks and stone, lighted with colorful glass orbs, surrounded by an entire flea market’s worth of old collectibles.
Our suite featured a ‘casbah’ style seating area with wall-to-wall 
couches and a small center table. The walls and Moorish door openings with a central keystone archway, with intricate, colorful designs (two colors of blue, of course), surrounded the sitting area. One drifts off into a One Thousand and One Nights revelry in our small apartment room. The rest of the stone and brick-lined walled apartment followed the design. One could easily just hang out in the room, looking out the balcony and into the Medina, and be happy without ever leaving the building. But, naturally, shopping’s siren song called. Off we went.
More Shopping
Another two small purchases and another gladiatorial contest of wills bargaining the price of the wares. Again, the out-of-towner underdogs took the victory (or so we think). Ursula, once again, left the small shop owner happy for the sale, even happier for our departure. He was worn down by her relentless approaches and finally conceded to her price.
He, as well as our Fes shop owner, expressed his admiration that he had never given away his products at such low prices. Usually, this is an ‘easy letdown’ given to buyers so they don’t feel too bad about the cost of their gifts. In this case, he may have made a genuine statement based on the sweat flowing off his brow, the intense nature of his eyes, and the bewildered look on his face. Either way, we were happy with the price and our gifts to ourselves.
Two days of the Medina is enough time to enjoy all it offers. On our third day, it rained, and we spent most of the morning on the covered rooftop balcony writing and reading and looking out the wall-to-wall windows of the surrounding scenery of Medina, new town, hills, and valley….with a few rainbows thrown in there in the event Ms Nature for some peculiar reason thought this town needed just a little bit more color. Tomorrow, we’re off to Rabat to scurry through its medina streets and another adventure. Stay tuned.
Click below to view our short Blue City Video
A Day or Two in Rabat
Our 0615 cab wasn’t there…as coordinated and confirmed the previous evening. It would have been a mad, furious bag ladened dash through the hilly, darkened streets of Chefchaouen had the night manager not come through and woke one up somewhere. Not only were we on time, but we were early for our 0700 bus ride to Rabat.
The bus was modern, punctual, and very comfortable. In the one coffee/piss stop along the way, one very odd coffee shop owner played some Austrian Umpa lumpa music just to make Ursula feel at home…and she did. 
As I said, we’ve met nothing but pleasant, genteel people along this entire adventure. This definitely was not expected, but it was very much welcomed.
The Town
The Rabat bus station is modern, sleek, marble-encrusted, busy, and easy to maneuver. We found the rest of New Rabat to be the same. Rabat is the capital of Morocco and the King’s hometown. As such, it is impeccably clean and very safe,,, and becoming very modern. Apparently, the largest building in Africa is just about completed in construction in the northern part of the town. I don’t know what it’s supposed to look like: a sale, a modern lighthouse, or a beacon of some kind, who knows, but it’s visible everywhere.
Medina
The medina has a different vibe from the others. Again, it’s the King’s Medina, so one finds no liter, the alleys are 
constantly swept and washed down, the aggressive shopkeepers are kept at bay, most of the alleys are wide streets.
The construction of this medina is also different in that it features a lot of sandstone, along with brick and wood. All the ornamentation is carved into the sandstone, not the wood or plaster as found elsewhere. Iron filigree augments everything. It presents a sturdy, solid, and archaic feel to the town, which overlooks the Atlantic Ocean.
Beaches
The beaches were very rocky and perhaps the only place with the King’s exemption for litter. The ocean must have blown in all the plastic and crap stuck to the jagged rocks. It looked really out of place.
The Casbah was probably something in its day, but we only put in about 45 minutes of walking around and found we saw enough. The modern part of the city, with its avant-garde Museum and multicultural sites, such as a prominent Catholic Cathedral, were all impressive. The Museum we visited was of modern art. I’m not much of a fan, but it did have some remarkable pieces. A few could compete with Ursula’s self-made collection on our walls (but I’m sure we couldn’t afford them even if they were for sale).
Shopping
The Souk was OK. Vibrant with life, and most of that life seemed to be local Rabatans. There were a few foreign faces amongst the crowds which gives this medina an authentic, local shopping vibe. The food smells are delectable and 
enticing, but the ‘craps stores’ are not as colorful; it doesn’t have that electrical, out-of-this-world feel like the Blue City or Fes. It’s just a town.
One full day was enough. Two nights in our ‘Deluxe Suite’ hotel room that was neither deluxe nor a suite was enough. The new young owner was diligently visibly trying hard to make his business successful and accommodating. He has a way to go to align reality with the advertising, but we wish him well.
Off We Go, again
We caught the morning train at the modern train station, 1 km from the medina. It must be a work in progress, as the external visage is impressive. But internally, it appears as though funds ran out before they could complete the inside as there is much work undone, halfway done and no work crews visible. As expected, the train was efficient, timely and comfortable, and an easy way to relocate to our final destination in Morocco, the “Kesh”… or Marrakesh as some call it.
Rabat, it’s worth a day if you are going that way or have business with the King. Otherwise, bypass and spend time with the more distant locals to satisfy that craving for exotic mystery
Sorry, such a short visit, there is no accompanying Video.
The Kesh!
Kech
Taxiing to the runway, ready to escape from Marrakesh, the scene of intense absurdity unfolds. We may go back to the terminal; everyone on board is frustrated. Before this point, we had an argument with a Stewardess who seemed to single us out for her ineptness. Just as we finished our tiff with her for being punished for following the rules while rewarding everyone else for bringing on too many carry-on bags, the outburst one seat back erupted.
Apparently, the couple with a child and a small baby were removed from their paid assigned seats to the ones behind us. They weren’t happy but compliant. It wasn’t till we were rolling to the runway that one of the flight attendants realized they put a baby in a non-baby seat and demanded (without an apology) that the parent with a child separate from the family and move again. This time, the couple was less than compliant.
Punctured egos
The controversy unfolded in French, but my failed high school struggles were sufficient to understand the argument. Finally, the senior little man with the vest and beard strolled back to force a solution. His arrogance, worn on his sleeve for all to see, worsened matters. He had had enough after finally getting the young man with the child to move to a new seat. His ego was punctured, and he stormed to the steward’s telephone to stop the plane and demand we return to the gate.
Resounding pleas of Non, non-Monsieur, Sil vous plait, sil vous plait! by most of the passengers seemed to inflate his sense of power, and he convinced himself that serving his ego was preeminent to the passage of paying customers to their next destination. Just absurd! Poorly trained and frustrated stewards and flight attendants create the seeds of their problems, then take it out on pissed-off customers. This was an unfortunate experience to end the incredible one in the Kech!
But again, I’m getting ahead of my story.
Marrakesh, it’s the bomb! It ushers in a whole new level of cool and exotic. It is in a league of its own compared to the other cities we visited. Arriving by the famed Marrakech Express helps to accentuate that feeling.
Our Riad
Ursula scored another lodging triumph. Our Riad (exotic hotel in the middle of the Medina) was an incredibly beautiful and peaceful place (Riad XO (Amira Victoria)). Because it’s in the Medina, cars can’t reach it, so our taxi driver dumped us onto the winding, confusing streets to fend for ourselves. With bags strapped to our bodies, led by Google Maps, we wandered the alleys, searching for our new home. It’s a scene you see all over the Medina. As we were told that helpful people telling us where to go were only looking for tips, we argued with each other, as couples tend to do when frustrated and lost, and somehow found ourselves at the Riad’s front door. No tips were given that morning. It was an unceremonious beginning.
Riad XO
The open skies, white stucco walls, and winding stairs leading apparently in circles remind me of an MC Escher sketch. The only other color to offset the white walls was from the abundance of green plants was the sparkling blue sky, alabaster colored floor tiles, and stark black of the railing ironwork. The abundant and spacious rooms are secreted around the two private gardens that reach three floors. Arabesque windows and door openings accentuate the feel of living in an exotic lost treasure. When the fine young gentleman brings you your tee and coffee while sitting around the numerous wide couches chatting about the day’s events, the day’s exertions evaporate into memory, and photos. We found our oasis in the Medina sea of cacophonous noises and rapid movement.
The Shops
Most streets within the Medina have shop facades. They range from 6 feet wide to the depth of the building to the standard 10x 14 foot box. Some are filled with odds-and-ends junk; others are converted into bicycle repair shops next to pastry or butcher shops. There are no OSHA rules nor rhyme or reason for their placement. Most sell wares to meet local daily demand for foodstuff or other household needs. The touristy streets and alleys feature all varieties of tourist crap, from Moroccan clothing to leather works, intricate brass lampshades, wool carpets, shoes, spices, and all sorts of colorful things that nobody really needs but everybody wants. Most of the touristy shops are appealingly arranged, some even very boutique-like. The buildings are two-storied, burnt, salmon-colored, adobe-looking places. A few feature overlooking decks transformed into resteraunt lounges.
Shop keepers
Everybody said to prepare for more aggressive shopkeepers in the Medina. I didn’t find them more aggressive; they were just a bit more persistent when ignored. After a few days of ‘Hey, where are you from?’, you find them to be annoyingly irritating. They usually don’t appear upset when you ignore their attention, though a few do. I wonder if they know how they come off to the people they want money from. The first dozen, “Where are you from?”…followed quickly by a solicitation to come into my shop, cheap prices, best quality, are enticing. It’s fun to see the look on their faces when they hear Alaska. They quickly feign to know about it, ask interested questions, and set up a conversation. This short discussion is followed promptly by the solicitation to check out their shop.
It quickly loses appeal after the 20th time, and by the 4th day, it’s just downright oppressive. I guess that’s why everybody thinks they are more aggressive. Because almost all of the shops seem to sell the same things, they’re desperate to stand out. I guess most of the same shops are owned by a few patrons, and the ‘shop owners’ just hired hands. Who knows. It’s a challenging way to make a living.
The sweet, small pastries shops and coffee houses are the best. We almost had a routine visiting one Alley stand-up shop; the Barista took great pride in his concoctions, and we took great pleasure in drinking them—a quick fix to recharge our Medina wandering adventures.
Prices
We found the prices to be higher than Fes and Chefchaouen’s. We’re unsure about Rabat as we didn’t see anything interesting to buy there. Most shopkeepers were reluctant to drop their prices by much unless you had a really engaging conversation beforehand. I guess they’re as worn out from fickle tourists as the tourists are of ‘curious’ shopkeepers. As soon as you tell them you got the same thing in Fes for a third of the price, they become agitated, and the negotiations come to an abrupt end. The food prices are about the same.
The Streets and Alleys
The Medina passages were more sophisticated than Fes’s; while they didn’t seem older, they appeared more mature, more seasoned. They wound in and around themselves, but most lead somewhere, often to an archway in the surrounding city wall or the great market square. You could get lost, but only for a short time. The Kechians seem to pride themselves on their driving skills and have turned the game of ‘Chicken’ into an art form. The contest between mopeds, donkey carts, motorbikes, and pedestrians is a meter-by-meter occurrence.
Cars are prohibited in the Medina, so motor bicycles, mopeds, motorcycles, and donkey carts are the means of lift and quick transport. We learned one does not need a license to drive, and it’s obvious. They drive too fast and carry a lot of stuff, and because they are untrained, they are undeterred from pushing the margins of safety beyond any reasonable levels.One taxi driver told us that there was one ‘official’ reported traffic fatality every day in the Medina. He didn’t know how many ‘unreported’ ones.
Lively Alleys
It’s easy to see why, and one must pay attention when walking around a blind corner in the alley. But, all that builds the energy and vibrancy in the streets. When you throw in all the colors, shiny objects, extraordinary scents, and noises, one can’t help but feel alive and active….if not just to stay out of harm’s way, be that from an errant moped, aggressive shopkeeper or tourist who looking through their telephone and not in front of them.
The streets are alive….at least after 10:00 until 18:00. Then, only the major squares and tributary alleys leading to them are open. They team with life as everybody seems to come out at night. It’s a scene from a movie stage, food stalls mixed with henna painters intermingled with the enchanted snakes, and all hosts of entertainment and curiosity. Nighttime is the time to see the main square (Jemaa el Nfaa).
Violence or Danger
Other than the crazy driving, we didn’t see any. The Moroccans appear very peaceful and courteous. They appear happy and interested in socializing, making a living, and attending to their devotional duties. The street dogs and cats are even more congenial. But there was this one event, and I’m sure it was not staged for tourists.
I observed a middle-aged man administering discipline or an attitude adjustment to a young guy on a street corner. I’m unsure if the guy was a bully collecting late ‘security fees’ or correcting a family member’s embarrassing attitude. For one-millionth of a second, I considered butting in, but quickly, fortunately, sanity returned to my thoughts as I saw all the nearby older men watching or embarrassingly trying not to notice.
Across the street were a couple of soldiers standing watch at a government building with a couple of cops milling around. They were only mildly concerned and not interested in stopping anything; perhaps they were just intrigued by the older guy’s technique. Who knows. The young guy ended up getting popped in the nose and lopped down the street, bawling and bleeding. It’s the only scene of violence I’ve seen in 14 days. I’m guessing the young guy violated some local street norms, which was the neighborhood’s way of bringing him back into alignment. Nobody, except the young guy, seemed phased by any of it. Another day of street life in the Kesh.
Museums
Marrakesh has some of the best Moroccan architecture museums we’ve seen. The former palaces turned into museums appeal to the sense of balance, proportion, and symmetry. It’s hard to believe that fortunate and prominent people lived in these stunning surroundings. They were designed to impress the visitor, and this they do overwhelmingly. At the same time, they are over stimulating to the senses, and one can only walk through one, or perhaps two, a day. The detailed, intricate patterns of carvings and colors, subtle and sparkling, are the work of sophisticated study and practice. Splendor, majesty, magnificent, and glorious are just some of the adjectives that come to mind when viewing them. They are all worth the visit, but just a few a day.
One oddity among them was the YSL Museum. If you know the acronym, you know the quality. We visited the Majorelle Garden and Yves Saint Laurent Museum; they don’t have enough guards. There were only 5 in one 40 by 20 room of clothing, at least one on every corner of the garden, another about every 20 feet throughout both. They were nice and friendly, but quite a bit of overkill. Is this the YSL Foundation’s social efforts contributing to Marrakesh’s employment challenges? As we arrived early, there were more guards than tourists; it was disorienting. The ones in the YSL shop were decked out in the most avant-garde fashion; they would have looked admirable walking down any catwalk. Having said that, the Museum, particularly the Morocco history portion, was fascinating. Worth the visit.
Photos
There is entirely too much to capture. It can quickly become overwhelming when visiting one of the former palaces turned Museum. When looking through the phone’s screen of the street scenes, one is tempted to take every picture in black and white, reminiscent of those lost treasures of photos and movie sets from forgone days. Besides a few 
electrical wires and modern signs, much has stayed the same in the Medina. The shapes, colors, forms, and vibrancy of everything temps one to photo everything. But, by our last day, I took only a dozen or so, nothing compared to the hundreds the first few days. One quickly realizes that it’s best to try to capture the scenery in one’s mind’s eye, as the photos never seem to do justice to the reality surrounding us. But, the allure was wearing off, perhaps it was time to finish our Nomading in Southern France story.
We rounded out our visit with an excursion to a desert tent, rode a camel (Ursula did), and watched the sunset with a table full of tagine and bread. Delightful. But it’s time to leave and face our upcoming flight home adventure.
This ends our Nomading in Morocco Adventure. We hope you enjoyed it as much as we did. If so, link into our Nomading Southern France Blog below and catch up as we travel through Provence while avoiding Alaska’s snow and dark. Cheers
Check out our Marrakech Video featuring the sight around the Medina. Click the either the image (door) or link below.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VEL04nqAXKk
To rejoin our Nomading in Southern France Adventure link below.
Photo Journal – Nomading Morocco
Such great articles. I really like your writing style ! Keep doing it !