After a walk on a not-extremely reassuring bridge, Moroccan-way green tea at a Berber home is in order.
The strenuous resistance to the sale of all sort of stuff could not survive the sundown walk through the Marrakesh Suq. Wonder if Lufthansa will let me onboard.
Perhaps we should just have stayed a bit longer lying in the sun on the side of the swimming pool. Life can be tough.
Gorgeous restaurant for dinner, with excellent food, dancers and trendy club à l'etage. We left the Pacha for another time.
By the way, we also ate some stuff from the stand of an old man in Jamâ el-fna. Message to my friends: was great too meet you ;)
The last day starts. Back to Europe tonight but a doubt still stays: is that the real colour of the bergamots or have we been fooled during the whole trip?
Jemâ el-Fna and its colours, perfumes, sounds and people left us dizzy and amazed - not quite like the local beer.
Got my name tattooed in Arabic on my arm, got enough Argan oil to prevent wrinkles for a few more years, got something also for my friends with back problems - you know who you are.
Also learned - from our endless source of local information - that a sure way to tell an Arab from a Berber is by their nose.
