Seven Days in Marrakech
I planned a week and stayed three. The medina had no interest in my schedule.
I arrived expecting chaos and found, instead, a city with an extremely deliberate pace. The chaos was real — the souks, the motorbikes, the calls to prayer layering over each other at dusk — but underneath it was something calm.
I had a list. I abandoned it by day two.
The thing about Marrakech is that it rewards aimlessness. The more you try to navigate it with intention, the more it resists. But if you walk without destination, it reveals itself. A courtyard behind an unmarked door. A woman selling one perfect type of orange in one perfect basket. A rooftop with mint tea and a view that makes you understand why people stay.
I stayed.
Not forever — only three weeks total, not one as planned. But long enough to stop taking photographs and start just looking. Long enough to feel, briefly, like I belonged to the specific corner of a specific souk at a specific time of day.
