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 At points, I thought that spending two weeks in Tangier was a little much, but now I understand that to do the same thing in Marrakech would be both more expensive and the epitome of distraction. This city was unbelievable!
Upon arrival in Marrakech, the pinnacle of exoticism, as I would soon realize, we checked into perhaps the most ornate of all the hotels we resided in. Not necessarily my fav, but nevertheless, you can't argue with the benefits of luxury.
Besides the typical tours, what really stood out in my mind was the town center, Jemaa el Fnaa. For my fist experience there, I decided this was a place I absolutely must return to before leaving this city. The name itself "Marrakech" explodes with emotional exoticism so I had a few expectations. These were met and exceeded ten fold, a tradition that has consistently manifested itself throughout Morocco.
 One of the outrageous sights that initially caught my eye was a snakecharmer, not 5 seconds later, I was adorned with a snake, wrapped smoothly around my neck and shoulders. I looked at Meredith, having just seen the Cobra being charmed, and asked if she believed this snake to be venomous. She dryly replied, "Colin, they would not put a venomous snake on you." She was right and exoticism was exposed.
We wandered into the medina and into an intensely organised spice/oil shop. The well-spoken Moroccan gave us a detailed lecture on the wellness each spice, oil, and aphrodisiac offered. We tasted samples, smelled, listened. They offered massages and both Meredith and I volunteered. I was expecting to be taken away to a room but we were placed directly in front of our group. I was told to remove my shirt thus shirtless in front of a large crowd, being oiled and massaged, so not quite the most relaxing environment.
 A henna artist came along and she was a bit overwhelmed by our enthusiasm to have our skin painted. I asked her to write my name in Arabic a la my arm.
While exiting out of the medina back toward Jemaa el Fnaa, I was walking calmly, minding my business, when I suddenly heard someone exclaim, "Colin!" I chalked it up to imagination and continued walking.
Then two minutes later, "Colin!" A friend and I observed that they were reading my arm...we kept walking leaving behind fading echoes of, "Colin! Colin!"
Once into Jemaa el Fnaa, which abounds with food stands, merchants, and restauranteurs. The smells of smoke, escargot, and spices filled the air and then it happened...like a volcano erupting... "Colin! Colin! Colin! Colin! Colin!" A total cacophonous slew of all screaming my name! It's as if I was walking the red carpet.
 Not two weeks earlier in Tangier, while walking to the Cyber Cafe, I was surrounded by a pack of teenage Moroccan girls yelling, "Backstreet Boy! Backstreet Boy!" My blonde hair certainly didn't alleviate the situation, given I stick out like a sore thumb in this dark-haired country, nevertheless, it was unbelievably surreal.
To be in a foreign country, where English is not commonly spoken and to hear people scream your name is a sensation I will never forget.
We made our way to a crowd formation, where this ridiculous shirtless, chubby white man with a flowing beard and hair - resembling an intoxicated David Crosby - was yelling at the crowd, apparently taking bets. He then proceeded to lift this bucket of boiling water and allowed it to move languidly into his mouth... drinking boiling water!
Exoticism comes in many ways. I absolutely HAD to come back to this place.
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