An old man grabbed our bags from the back of the taxi and walked so fast we almost lost him through the winding streets of the medina. For 10 minutes our senses were assaulted by bursts of colour and noise that jumped from the darkness.
We turned down a tight alley that twisted its way through shadows cast by high pink walls and were let into our riad by a softly spoken Frenchmen. Patrick let us settle and change and then showed us the way to Jemaa el-Fnaa.
This was the Marrakech I’d hoped for.