المغرب بالنسبة لي - L'impression Marocain

Dust and donkeys. 
Mint tea and the sound of the muezzin. 
Mopeds and market stalls. 
 Stray cats and street traders. 
The smell of woodsmoke, cumin and cigarettes.  Snake charmers and slipper sellers. Fragrant young girls, arms linked, weaving their way through fetid alleyways.
 
Tagine and couscous on every menu. 
Ornate fretwork and fabulous mosaics. 
Carpets, kilims, ottomans and kaftan in colours as rich as the spices lining the stalls in the souk. 
Medieval streetscapes, so convoluted maps can not record their detail. 
Mud huts as dwellings - windowless - yet with satellite dishes clustered on the roof. 
Djellaba, loose fitting and cool, in fine, soft cotton, worn by everyone, perfect for the environment. 

The thick heat of the market place soothed away by the reviving shelter of the Riad. 
A suffocating coach ride then the sea air of Essaouira, taking in the serenity of a seaside city and the sense of calm order in the celebrated Medina - a far cry from the madness of Marrakech.
Sweet, sticky pastries made with pistachio and almond, sesame and caramel, eaten with strong, black coffee.
Smoking a hookah after dinner, reclining on large silk cushions, watching the world go by through ornate wrought iron screens.

Sampling Moroccan wine, unavailable in the fine restaurants on the djemaa el fna, found only by following a local guide through the contorted cobbled streets.

Morocco is perhaps the closest thing to a time machine I'll ever find, a sensory roller-coaster ride through the middle ages to the twenty-first century and back again.  A photo opportunity lurks behind every door and inside every shop, on every bus ride and down any street, the saturated colours and sinuous shapes producing evocative results.  The sounds and smells are trickier to capture, but impossible to forget.  Best of all, for me, is knowing this kingdom of contrasts is a ferry trip or quick flight away and all my memories can be refreshed in a mere hour or two. We'll be back....