The riad held its own weather. Outside, the souk performed. I took notes on both.
I chose a riad whose courtyard was a well of citrus and quiet. The medina began one door later. Navigation is a craft: you learn a bakery, a mosque, a pink wall, and then you are never quite lost.
Jemaa at the in-between
The square is unbearable at the hour of performance and perfect twenty minutes before. Juice carts, a henna woman setting out her stool, the call overlapping itself from several minarets.
Culinary hours: bread from the neighbourhood oven, a tagine I will not try to recreate, mint tea poured from a height that is also a sentence. Atlas light on the drive toward the mountains the next morning.