“Othman, is that a mosque?”

“No – a restaurant.”

“Not that. Over there.” I lean forward and point out of the windscreen at the tower, soft terracotta against the jagged mountain face. “Is THAT a mosque?”

“Yes, yes. Mosque. You wan stop? Take photo?”

Pix and Roo glance up at me. They clutch their cameras hopefully.

“No. No picture,” I tell our taxi driver. “Othman, I want to go inside the mosque.”


Air on the Road to Marrakech

Air is good.

Bloody good.

As long as it isn’t freshened, hot, tight or conditioned.