It's been one day in Morocco and I am already dressed in Berber robes, sword in left hand as I write this. I awoke this morning on the train to see... nothing. Only desert, a great expanse of empty land. In the distance, a rock formation, followed by trees, an occasional road... out of nowhere come oil rigs, some kind of compound, people walking through nothingness to get there... the morning commute. Then an abstract, earth structure followed by a cluster of buildings. Is this where the workers were walking from? I lower my head, go back to my dreams.
When I awake again we are in Marrakesh. We see our Chilean friends in the parking lot of the train station, we wish each other well, and then we are in a cab headed for the main part of the city, Djemaa el Fna. The streets on the way in remind me of Mexico, Cozumel. Except for all the camels.
We arrive in the Medina and not five minutes out of the cab we are bumping into various groups from the train again, all of us scuttling around trying to find a room. We end up at the Hotel Afrique, because it has a pretty courtyard, and the man behind the desk has a crush on Lorena and offers us good rates.
We leave our bags in the room and head out to explore the square, where my rampant ophidiophobia makes me the only one in the group not to get swindled out of twenty bucks by snake charmers.
And then, we discover...
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