Much of the Souk looks like crap: dark, dirty, dreary. The noise of unmuffled mopeds and shrill barkers, the smells of rotting fish, scooter exhaust and sewage further assault the senses.

I can only take it for so long before retreating to the peaceful courtyard of my hotel and sipping a glass of mint tea.

Exploring the Souk is like sorting through crushed rock looking for gemstones. You sift through dusty rubble, tired and thirsty, and then there's a flash of color.

Caftans from the Dyers' Souk hang out in the sun.

Yarn makers' samples hang overhead.

A pile of area rugs.

There's too much to choose from.

Tanned goatskins dry...

..while another tanner goes for purple.

Amelda Marcos would love this place.

Slip-on pointy shoes are a favorite with tourists.

I thought Mexico had a corner on color. Morocco is a dusty, dun country, but Moroccans know how to do color. In fact, it probably was they who taught the Spanish, who taught the Mexicans about making intense colors work.