Marrakech, Morocco

It was night when I arrived in Marrakech and as I was led through the narrow alleyways to the riad where I was about to stay, I wanted to feel the walls of the city with my hands. I wanted to walk around the city with my eyes closed, getting used to the rough texture alone. The buildings were ochre-coloured and looked as if they were made from sand and I thought that perhaps they were sandcastles, slightly crumbling, the sights of the city eroding due to the night.

I watched the tree trunks pass by from the taxi window, palm trees mainly, I suspected, spaced evenly along the side of the road. The humidity and the smell of the air unexpectedly stormed my senses as I walked through the city for the first time.

It appeared to me as if the signs adorning Marrakech were simply covered in swirls and ornate squiggles. I wished I had learnt more Arabic than just the letter 'b' (when it is at the beginning of a word), so that I could have read them.