Carts overflowing with oranges and roasted grains, women from the Anti-Atlas coming to sell their baskets, storytellers, musicians, dancers, public scribes with their black unbrellas, fortunetellers, potion vendors, healers and apothecaries all contribute to the unreal spectacle that in Marrakesh, is commonplace.

Then, as dusk approaches, the showmen make way for the hot food stalls. One after another, acetylene flames spring into life. And then, in the starry night, the moon comes out to play the role it was designed for: to be the most magical of the thousand and one lanterns lighting up the Jemaa el Fna Square.

Marrakesh awakens. Just as it has done every morning for more than 800 years, with the same inflected intonation, the call of the muezzin going out from the 70 metre high Koutoubia, the spiritual beacon of Marrakesh. Sunrise over Marrakesh. A multicoloured crowd invades the winding streets to the medina. Groups of men jostle towards the Ben Youssef mosque, nestling against the Medersa, the vast and superb Koranic school founded by the Mérinide sultan Abou el-Hassan (1331-1349) and one of Marrakesh's most remarkable monuments.

The sun bathes Marrakesh in light. Its ray show up the pink marble of the fountains, spread across the tiled courtyards, are reflected and then bring warmth to the turquoise, greens and whites of the mosaic, to finally be lost amidst the stucco of the Bahia Palace and the Dar Si Saïd, now a museum housing the finest masterpieces of Moroccan art.

The legendary sun of Marrakesh adds a note of accentuated contrast to the imperious splendour of the Saadian tombs. It illuminates the remains of the Badii Palace where a shimmering mirage may reveal the wonder of these former glories to the dazzled visitor; the gold, the marble and the onyx which were traded for their weight in sugar by the most celebrated Saadian ruler, Ahmed el Mansour (1578-1603).

The sun sets over Marrakesh. Then, against a sky blazing with evening fire bounded by the eternal snows of the Atlas mountains, the perfect proportions of the Menara pavillion may be contemplated, mirrored in the quiet, still waters that stand before it.

Time has passed you by. In the copper souk perhaps, where the metal in worked by craftsmen following age-old traditions, their faces set in profound concentration. Or perhaps it was in the Laghzal Souk, home of the hubbub of the Zarbia souk, where carpets and caftans are sold to the highest bidder...

You are in another world. Where the smell of saffron, cumin, black pepper, ginger, verbana, cloves and orange flower enchant the nostrils. Among sacks of almonds, ground nuts and chick peas piled high like mountains, with baskets of dates, casks of olives and, on the apothecaries shelves, pots of henna, ghassoul, flasks of rose extract, jasmine, mint, khôl, pieces of amber and musk... You are in the souk of Marrakesh.