The markets, known as souks, endlessly boarder the streets. Throughout you’ll find great variations of the same sort of things; elaborate mirrors, metallic lanterns, shaggy rugs, millions of painted ceramics and useless yet beautiful metal trinkets, and enough silver jewelry to sink the city—and best of all, cats. Hundred and hundreds of cats, one of which (pictured below) I discretely and very seriously plotted how to sneak on EasyJet.
The main square, Jemaa el-Finaa, is an acidic cluster of outdoor food and culture vendors, fresh-pressed orange and lemon juice carts, snake charmers and chained-monkeys hanging from pushy handlers, over-priced restaurants—overpriced everything, to which a good haggler is privy—and aggressive women who take no shame in grabbing your arm and beginning rushed henna designs, only to blindside you with an undeserving demand for payment—and of course, an ocean of tourists, who relish as fools for it all. It really is a fascinating, happening place, but exhausting, especially in the day’s heat. We waited until dusk to return again, as the sun began to set, and watched the square absorb a whole new feel—just as wild and overwhelming, but somehow, much more electric.