We finally got out of Fes at a little before lunch (that's about how we tell time in the Middle East). Upon consulting Google Maps prior to our departure, I was presented with the following choices as to our route south. As you can see, the recommended route was to head back West to Rabat and go down through Casablanca before heading back South and inland. Knowing we would be eventually covering that route as we headed North out of Essaouira, I studied the other two routes suggested, both looked indirect at best. But looking closer I saw an un-recommended route (what does google know anyway?!) By my eye, the N8 ran almost directly between the two cities, consulting my trusty lonely planet guide, I did a quick search of the small towns along the way and found out that the route would be mountainous, forested, and would even pass through the town of Irfan, famed for its Scandinavian style architecture, ski resorts, and serene beauty. Sounded good to me, decision made, we headed south.
The decision turned out to be a good one. Although the road was long, and poorly maintained, and busy with slow trucks, and did I mention long? Knowing what lay ahead of us in Marrakech, we insisted that Anne take an afternoon nap, so Mary and I got to enjoy a long ride together across the middle atlas mountains of Morocco. The town of Irfan was as picturesque as we could have imagined, with tall trees, beautiful buildings and a quiet relaxed atmosphere. There is an Islamic University here built with money donated by the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia which attracts wealthy Muslim students from around the world. Irfan is also home to some of the only Alpine skiing in morocco, it is said that while Europeans vacation in Marrakech, Moroccans vacation in Irfan. I could see why. 
After about 7 hours of driving we finally pulled into Marrakech, all we knew of where we were staying was a dot on a map. Something we have learned along the way was that just because a road has a name in Morocco, especially in the old medinas, doesn't mean you can drive down it. We decided to press our luck and see how close we could get. What started off as a surprisingly easy route, quickly became difficult as the road narrowed to less than 18" on each side of our vehicle, and those 3 feet were crowded with people, bicycles, and scooters. Luckily, as is often the case in Morocco, just when you look hopelessly lost a smiling young boy comes out of nowhere to rescue you. This young lad just happened to know exactly where our Riad Nashira was, and was even so kind as to guide us down the narrow street. Eventually we came to an archway, which honestly I didn't think we could fit through. There was a sign hung on it with the name of our Riad, so Mary jumped out and walked with him, and I stayed in with our vehicle, and the just waking Anne. After about 10 minutes, Mary returned with the Porter, who confirmed, that yes we did need to maneuver our vehicle through that archway, and no, he wasn't sure it would fit. After an 8 point turn, (Mr Kistler would have been proud) and tucking in the rear-view mirrors, we managed to squeeze through the archway, wind-our way down a few more narrow alleys, and just as it was getting dark, arrive to and overgrown junk lot which would serve as our parking accommodations for the remainder of our stay. The 'attendant' or rough looking guy hanging out there, asked for my keys, and handed me a dirty slip of paper with a number scrawled on it, in Arabic, using the imperative tense of the verb 'protect', he told me to protect the slip of paper, likewise, using my most commanding imperative I told him in Arabic to protect my key. After retracing our route back to the riad, settling up with our impromptu guide and entering a beautiful door on an otherwise nondescript wall, we entered an oasis of calm and monochromatic-ism. After a full day on the road, and the chaos of our arrival, walking into the Riad was like a breath of fresh air.
After enjoying complimentary mint tea and cookies, we were shown our room, which to Anne's delight was only steps away from the pool. We changed into our swim attire and took a quick dip in the refreshing water, changed our clothes, and prepared to head out for our nights adventure.
Our evening plans were simple, walk to Djemaa el-Fna, eat dinner and soak up the atmosphere. Djemaa el-Fna is one of those magical places that has been in existence for hundreds if not thousands of years. As the sun goes down, the call to prayer sounds on the nearby Khoutoubia Mosque, and the action begins. Hundreds of food carts begin cooking fresh meats, vegetables, fish, you name it.
Juice makers squeeze fresh juice, bands of berber musicians began their songs, dancers spin around you, the crown mixes with no one really caring where they wind up, just letting the flow of the crowd, the sounds and the smells move them . .
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