Traversing the markets of Marrakesh

A female solo traveller in the bowels of the markets of Marrakech is an interesting thing to be. Walking the colourful gauntlet, spices rising, smoke drifting, temple bells chiming in the distance and produce offered from every direction to your darting eye line.

I was on the hunt for an ancient, community cinema on the recommendation of a trusted fellow adventurer. Fully immersed in the maze of organised chaos, I weaved through a series of tunnels and paths, thrilled by the vibrancy at every turn. Every time I thought I’d managed to form a mental map, a new discovery greeted me like an old friend.

The cinema, like an unreachable spring in the desert, served as a tantalising mystery on the horizon. Pulling me into its proximity before coquettishly dashing off and distracting me with stalls of intoxicating leather and tea.

The frenetic pace slowed momentarily and the current of people and chatter guided me to a quiet square. In the shelter of the Moroccan sun rays, an elderly woman was singing exquisitely to a collection of local children. They gazed up to her, mesmerised by the beauty of her verse. I relaxed into this perfect and accidental moment, before rejoining the throng. To the cinema.