99 Red Balloons in Marrakesh

Whoever said that Marrakesh gets quieter at night, clearly needs to get their ears checked. And their eyes. And basically all their senses. Right around sunset, when the restauranteurs do their nightly dance of stall and food assembly, the population explodes. The crowds from the day are nothing compared to the bustle at night.

Sitting at a cafe at the edge of medina, sipping the incongruously hot, sweet, mint tea, we watch as the intense, piercing light of day slowly gives way to a smoky dusk, and food vendors materialize out of nowhere, dragging makeshift stands with them. In no time at all, the entire medina is filled with the smells of roasting meat, and the hum of people seeking to be fed.

The souks, vibrantly beautiful in the daytime, are absolutely electric at night. Lanterns glow, casting patterned shadows on crumbling walls, and naked bulbs hang like Christmas ornaments in stark contrast to the centuries-old architecture--the shops are tranformed from beautiful to stunning. Entertainers are out in force, with enormous rings of people surrounding them, as though they haven't witnessed the same act night after night.

With smells, sounds, noises and sights begging for my attention in every direction, I was loathe to give up my comfortable spot at the cafe, watching the action from the sidelines. But my growling stomach and traveling companion's increasingly surly temperament made it clear that food was needed.

Rising from rickety chairs, we wove our way around headscarf-ed mothers leading gaggles of children clutching red balloons, all expertly side-stepping the hawkers, stray dogs, and bumbling tourists. I spotted fellow travelers hunkered down at stand #1, eating what looked like yet another serving of the generic tagines foisted on so many hapless non-natives. Walking quickly by, so as to not be snared by laziness and the familiar, I wandered deeper into the thicket of scents and smoke.

There, on my right, I spot it. A whole head of a goat? Lamb? Some herbivore, staring back at me with its empty eyes. Almost every seat was occupied by, well, not a tourist. I sit down confidently, smiling back at the curious stares of my fellow diners. I point at the head, indicating that I wanted to try a piece of it. Picking it up by my fingers--no utensils here--I put the soft mound of meat into mouth. Juicy, slightly gamy, well spiced, it was delicious, and worth wandering a little further into the unknown, rather than staying on the sidelines.