WORDS: Pól Ó Conghaile
PHOTOGRAPHS: Annapurna Mellor
“Where are you going!” the young man shouts. Not for the irst time in Marrakech, I’m lost. It’s hot, it’s sweaty, and I can’t tell if this is the lane I’m looking for. It looks like it. But it also looks just like the last one. At times, the Medina makes me feel like I’m exploring an Escher print, or an exotic maze in which the next door might lead to a stunning riad or a ruin, a weaver coaxing scarves from a loom, or a hammam’s glowing furnace, with several tanjia urns slow-cooking in its ashes.