Like the coming together of two competing tectonic plates Marrakech somehow manages to maintain its equilibrium. Holding together the old and the new. The haves and the have-nots. The young and the old. The past and the future. The religious and the secular. It epitomises current day Morocco.
Omar our taxi driver drops us right into the heart of the medina. It’s been an interesting conversation getting in. We exchange family situations, world views on peace and sharing, and although Ramadan is still a week away he’s already putting in training. Prayer beads hang down from his reversing mirror with a copy of the Quran close at hand. He’s been daytime fasting for the last three days, he tells us. Impressive.
The famous Jemaa el-Fnaa square is just starting to wake up as we enter. The early morning cloud coverage dissipates and the snake charmers warm their money making mis-fits. Drums, pipes, cymbals add to the growing cacophony. It’s time to take the tourist to town.
We follow the workings of this youngster with the blue bag. We call him “the thief”. A trader selling scarves, accidentally drops three. In a flash “the thief” has grabbed them and is off. Running hell for leather. The trader drops his remaining load and gives chase. Shouting. Arms waving. “the thief” panics, drops the scarves and carries on weaving away to safety. The trader picks up his scarves and saunters back to his pitch. “the thief” puts his-self about mingling with his cronies. Acting as if nothing has happened.
Like moths drawn to a flame we venture into the souk. As long as we’ve got some bread crumbs with us we can’t get lost. We practise our smiles and nods. Definitely not our “bonjours”. We’ve only ever seen small scooters or docker mopeds filter through and around the walkers. This guy seems determined to use the souk as a short cut. Even if it means creating a bit of a scene as he bounces over some groundwork planks. It seems all strangely normal. 
We decide on a cross town walk to visit Jardin Majorelle. Famously bought by Yves St Laurent. An hour later we arrive to find a queue four deep and stretching back. It’s going to be at least a 30-40 minute wait in the heat. Why does every tourist at the ticket office seems to have more to say than “two please”. We save our dirhams, buy an ice cream and dawdle back. We retake the same route and cross through the “free and fab” Cyber Park gardens. Maroc Telecom sponsored WIFI service points set up throughout. Young and old find shady spots and exercise their thumbs. 
Outside the old city wall the other more modern side to Marrakech could have saved our legs. It looks as though not many others fancy their chances either.
