I have two choices here: one is to take the next 93 minutes of your life by having you read my ridiculously long descriptions of what I did and saw in Marrakech, but neither you nor I have the patience for such things, so you'll have to go to my Flickr page to look at pictures and imagine things for yourself. Go there if you can, it's quite a treat.

Suffice to say that Marrakech was, well, I don't want to say "a feast for the senses," because I hate that expression and it's cheesy, but I can't think of anything better to describe how much of a sensory experience it was. The smells changed around every corner: curry, oranges, cinnamon, spice, donkeys, freshly tanned leather, musk, cooked lamb and chicken, bread... I can't even name a quarter of the things my nose took in. We saw cobras in and out of baskets in the central square, we saw monkeys on shoulders, countless women selling henna and macaroons, vendor after vendor selling dried fruits and candied nuts; we saw donkeys pulling carts, men of all kinds of bicycles, dark narrow alleyways so low we had to stoop to walk through them. We heard the music of the snake charmers, dozens of languages, the orange-juice vendors yelling to get a potential customer's attention, owners of restaurants and cafes shouting everything from "Ciao, Tourist!" to quotes from the Borat movie. I could go on and on, but I won't. You get the picture.

Alrighty, well, here ends the chronicles of Spring Break.

Finito.