Vibrant streets laced with a myriad of cultured alcoves were tucked into the thick tapestry of Jemaa el-Fnaa. From market stalls to street food vendors and performers, there was certainly something to do every second of the day or night. Warm climates bathed over skin. Encouraging music flowed as freely as the lifts of ancient words from tongues. Never in his life had Ross ever felt so moved by a place as he did with Marrakesh. From the Mosque’s to the tombs, the palaces, and le Jardins he wanted to invest himself equally in the landscape, the people.
But, he had no idea where even to begin. The marketplace seemed a good springboard into the new place that the circus had come to settle. Fresh air filled his lungs with a renewed purpose.
Beneath his feet echoed the sound of old cobblestone yet that sound was easily swept up in the musical tones of nearby performers.
Stepping out of the way, Ross settled into a swath of shadow to observe. He wasn’t usually on the other side of an act unless it was within the boundaries of the black and white tents, or the string lights of the Midway. This, though, was a different experience all together and he found himself better for it.