Morocco is difficult for me to write about as a traveller, because part of it never feels like travel. Tangier can be sea, medina, noise and colour, but it is also familiarity: voices from another room, tea on an ordinary afternoon and streets that do not need to introduce themselves.
Marrakech and Chefchaouen hold different memories — one louder and constantly moving, the other shaped by blue walls and changing light. Yet the photographs I value most are often the quieter ones around them.
This chapter is therefore not a guide. It is an attempt to keep the difference between visiting a place and belonging to some part of it.
