A place where one could sit and write postcards, sit and drink copious amounts of peppermint tea, sit and read books, sit and chat, sit and think, sit and laugh, sit and enjoy the sun, or just sit for sittings sakes. A place where we walked so slow we literally dragged our feet. Early to bed and late to rise (except when we had those early buses/boats/trains). Time not just to tell stories but time to share stories, most important of all, time to listen. Pulpy orange juice, dates, almonds, tagines, camels, (how many camels?), markets, mountains, rugs, scarves, deserts, sea, sand. A place bustling with colour and texture, tiles, sunsets, colour, colour, so much colour. A place which exuded serenity and a great sense of calm, in amongst the haggling, the busy roads, and the hoards of people fighting their way on to public transport.
Here is Morocco. In pictures.