At one point I walked slightly ahead of Pete and we got separated. Within seconds, a small man with a wayward ball cap atop his head stepped in front of me, his eyes roamed my body from the feet up. “Very nice,” he creepily drawled. Becoming begrudgingly accustomed to this sort of unwelcome attention in Morocco, I casually stepped around him and into another crowd of people. Pete finally made his way back to my side.

We neared the market and the alternating aromas hit full force. We passed spice shops that temporarily distracted from the heavy diesel fumes of the speeding motorbikes, and it wasn’t long before we caught the scent of grilled meat which meant we were near the center square.

I began to get very nervous.

Snakes.

I hate snakes.

Earlier in the day, a lady staying at our riad told a tale of her teenage son being surprised by a man who draped a snake around his neck without warning. After much imploring to have it removed, the man then demanded payment for the experience. Such men and their snakes are speckled throughout the markets, and I had been keeping a careful eye out to avoid them. They are most commonly found near the food stalls.

“Do you want me to get bitten, poisoned and die?” I dramatically asked Pete as he mocked my fear.

Through a crowd of people I spotted a man holding three small snakes as he scanned for obvious tourists. We were just two of those many tourists, but I wasn’t taking any chances. When we were within twenty feet of him, I positioned myself on the farthest side of Pete and clung to his torso.

We passed unharmed, and I relaxed somewhat. But I was always tense and on the lookout.

The assault of the obnoxious dinner slingers soon began from the stalls of fresh food and grills lined up under white tents. Each had one man responsible for coaxing patrons to their tables. “But you look like you are starving,” one said as we pushed past him. We were searching for the highly recommended stall number 100.

We found it and immediately sat down, garnering small applause from all who worked there. Their charm was fictitious and obviously made for the crowds of foreigners. But it worked, and more people took seats around us.

While we ate we enjoyed music from unrecognizable instruments just beyond. Several men pushing very large white carts walked past and tried to sell us a variety of desserts just as we were tucking into our grilled meat. More applause as more people sat down. The whole area was an electric whir of sounds, smells and activity.

We left quite full and I commented that I wished we carried a sign that said “We-just-ate-don’t-bother-us!” because we immediately were being guided to various stalls as we walked past. “Demain,” most of them insisted when we refused, “Come back tomorrow!” A couple of more aggressive men put their arms around Pete: “Mon frere, mon frere, remember me tomorrow!” Another saw the Canadian flag on our backpack and yelled out “Jim Carrey!” as we walked past.

We made our way across the medina, ever mindful of snakes, to have a drink at a restaurant balcony high above, exclusively for the better view.

From above we could see, and still smell, the clouds of grilled meat. The buzz of activity was mesmerizing to watch and capture.