Moroccans are so busy! Here in the narrow lanes of the Marrakesh medina they’re on donkeys, motorbikes and bicycles. They’re in a hurry and they’re mischievous. A girl on a motorbike pretends to aim her bike right at my 14-year-old , then grins and quickly pivots the bike; my 14-year-old loves it.

The air is full of the sounds of horns, motorbikes revving, the occasional rooster, the click of a donkey’s hoofs and the rattle of the wheels of the cart it’s pulling, song birds and human chatter, lots and lots of chatter, in all the languages of Morocco and the people visiting it. Tunes–Arabic, Berber (to be more precise, Amazigh), Toureg, you name it, it’s there.

As we walk to through medina, we go through the residential section–stall after stall filled with fruits, vegetables, poultry (live chickens clucking behind rows of slaughtered ones to show their freshness), meat. I really dig the industrial section, where artisans are making shoes, jewelry, there’s even a welder! And then the more touristy alleys, with stores exploding with colorful leather goods, shoes, purses, jackets, tea glasses, teapots, silver goods, clothing. The smell of spices fills the air.

We watch a weaver at his loom, cognizant of our interest, he speeds up to show off; we buy some of his scarves.

I could buy everything.