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The Thursday Market
If the idle visitor at Marrakesh wishes to plunge back for an evening into modern life, he has merely to go to the French suburb of Gueliz. Here a little more than a mile from the main gate of Marrakesh, he may find curious colonial types, interesting drinks, and American jazz music in an indiscreet and somewhat tawdry background.
Toward The Great Atlas
We left behind the brown, towered walls of Marrakesh, the confusion of huddled flat house-tops, the Koutoubia tower, and the turquoise-tipped minaret of the Kasba mosque. As we look back, the city is swallowed up in the great green oasis of palms bathed in painful white sunlight.
Feudal Lords And Serfs
We ride on to the gate of the battered old, mud-built kasba, the feudal stronghold of the calipha. Mats are spread for us out of doors in the shade of a square tower, for sleeping in the open will be more comfortable than inside the kasba which the sun has baked all day.
Atlas Scenery
For a large part of the way from Amizmiz, at the foot of the Atlas, to the great valley of Talat N' Yaccoub, the Goundafi stronghold in the heart of the mountains, we followed up the course of the Oued Nfis.
The Forbidden Souss
The last day of our descent down the long southern slope of the Atlas, we met with the burning breezes that blow westward from the terrible Sahara through the long African summer, drying up the rivers and streams that water the broad, rich plain, and parching the earth like the hot breath from an oven.
Prisoners At Aoulouz
I am awakened in the cool fresh morning by a cup of Si Lhassen's excellent coffee, just as the sun touches the tops of the orange and almond trees, in which dozens of birds are making a delightfully discordant rivalry.
The Damsel With The Lute
The orient adores monotony as the west does variety. It enjoys hearing the same music, the same poems, delights in the same perfumes, the same colours, the same designs. Its art consists in infinite beautiful repetitions, and its poetry in subtle variations on age-old themes.
The Return
We passed a delightful day as the guests of the Sheik Assou Ben Abderrahman, an old friend of Monsieur Lapandéry. His agadir is in the midst of an upland valley in the marvellously beautiful hillslopes of the lower Atlas.
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