The whispering breeze of Medina

Walking the narrow streets of the Medina, I feel like Ulysses negotiating his way between Scylla and Charybdis, as the chaotic traffic keeps me on my toes. The air in the city feels like a hot blanket wrapped around me, and the crowd is enhancing this feeling tenfold. My goal is to find a small, hidden riad with a roof terrace—a quiet, regular place untouched by heavy tourism. I find it: a welcoming corner house, small and quiet. It seems like the kind of place that only hosts tourists by accident, a suspicion the owner later confirms. He lets me in with the promise of mint tea. The entry is empty, with no one in sight, so I head straight to the roof up a run-down flight of stairs.

There is a silent breeze here, above the incessant, torrid and inescapable mayhem of the Medina labyrinth below. It is past noon, a time when the connoisseurs, locals and tourists alike choose to spend indoors or near water fountains or gardens, of which Marrakech has plenty. The Koutoubia calls the believers to pray, the melody of the prayers is chanting in a tranquil, relaxing way. I am dozing, with the breeze on my face and a hot mint tea in front of me. All is good in the world right now.

Hard to break this spell, but I will have to, eventually. After an almost hypnotical relaxation, I have a look around the place. The view is excellent, as the Medina does not have any tall buildings. I can see how far the old city spreads, its limits lined by the old mud brick walls, with the Koutoubia mosque acting as the pillar of the city;  Medina, seen from above, reveals a completely different picture as opposed from what I have seen below, on the streets. Taking all in from above, it bears an uncanny resemblance with the Middle East. Visually, from this vantage point, all is almost similar, all is completely different.

With a wave of regret, I take my leave. I realize I missed an opportunity to speak with the owner, who watches me step down with a mix of curiosity and knowing insight. He understood why I sought out this oasis of silence—or at least, I hope he did. I wish I had stayed to chat, to understand his life and hear his perspectives on the today and tomorrow of the Medina. Perhaps next time.

I descend the stairs and immerse myself once more into the hot, crowded narrow passages of the city. The blanket of hot air wraps around me again, but I carry the memory of a silent, cool refuge where the breeze whispers that all is well. Now, I am ready to face the day ahead.