The smaller of the two riads that make up Equity Point Hostel, Marrakech. That evening I paused for while on the top terrace of the Argana to drink more atay . In the orange half-light of dusk, Jemaa el-Fnaa, with the adhan for Maghrib prayer being called from the Koutoubia mosque and a wave of other smaller mosques following suit, was transformed into something almost otherworldly. Whilst locals dashed to the multitudinous mosques squirreled away down every narrow passage of the medina , and tourists lazily continued their sun-beaten wanderings, I took out my red Moleskine notebook and thought about the assortment of people I was beginning to unearth in the hostel. ❦ Arriving in my shared dorm room at Equity Point Hostel that afternoon, there was, who I assumed to be, an American couple canoodling on the bottom bunk of one the beds. Upon reflection, she sounded more American than him, and I suspect that he may be in possession of one of those Americanised accents tha
windows on the world, travel diaries and an attempt to make a little bit of sense of everything I find