We spent most of our time in London underground on the Underground, taking the train to Buckingham Palace (where there was a mysterious parade and mob scene, easily more than 40,000 people strong, and complete with police cordons and children on shoulders, straining to see what the commotion was about), or making our transfer via what was supposed to be an express train to Gatwick. Said "express" ended up a local, and we ended up chatting with Rose and her son Shane about their arduous journey to Brighton that was supposed to take a few hours, and which ended up having take all day (so far - they may be on the train still).
But upon arrival in Marrakech, after the scrum of customs, we exit the airport to the dry desert air. A full moon hangs in a huge blue velvet sky, a sky full of the tang of dust, the sweetness of orange blossoms, bitter exhaust and wood fires, burning somewhere close by.
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