A courtyard inside the Palais de Bahia, Marrakech, Morocco. During breakfast of orange cake, yoghurt, atay and the world’s sweetest apricot jam, the distant shape of a plane takes off carrying Ireland’s answer to Ali Baba back home. All around me are the chattering voices of a multitude of languages; French, mainly, but also a smattering of German, Dutch, Italian and Spanish, mostly belonging to females. Having become really accustomed to the main thoroughfares of the medina , the ways in and out, and a few landmarks, I hear stories of being lost and confused. J'ai tourné à gauche comme il l'a dit. Maar ik was op de onjuiste plaats. Sucedió tres veces más. ❦ Last evening, after dinner, I had swapped numbers with Dee. The idea was to head to the Palais de Bahia (or Bahia Palace) together after breakfast, but there was no real sign of her anywhere. At around half past ten, I received a message from Dee saying that she been up all of the night chatting to
windows on the world, travel diaries and an attempt to make a little bit of sense of everything I find