All I can think about is...
That feeling of waking in the mid-morning in Marrakech, to the sounds of the streets where everyone is already bustling, the cool sensation of the air and the stone floors and walls; crisp, contrasting to the burning rising sun that scours the tops of buildings until it is high enough in the sky to rid the streets of their cool dark shadows. The taste of cheap marmalade on fresh round bread, steaming mint tea in tiny glasses. The smell of the air, something in it; everything in it, so strange. The feeling of being welcomed into a new day inside the walls of the medina, into this warped disneyland of culture, spurned with the nagging scent of timeless, ageless, orange trees.