We went back to Rabia Qdima for breakfast that last morning in Marrakesh.

First, we were too early, so we started in a different cafe that wiped off a table for us and brought us tea.

We just loved watching the conversations, and the ongoing creation and commerce:
 
On the way out, a herborist wanted to show Jeremy a little chameleon.  Jem didn’t want to hold it, so I did.

We lingered a little longer than James liked.  He had looked at the map, so he had a clearer idea of how long the road ahead of us was going to be.

The day was overcast: lowring clouds and sudden shafts of sun made for dramatic views of the mountains and valleys,

of traditional homes built into the hillsides, of terraced fields supporting those homes.
 
At one point, we had to ford a river flowing over the road, which made us wonder if we’d be able to get back out after the rain came.  (Spoiler: no problem.)

We arrived while Brahim, who would be our guide, was out–so his mother welcomed us, and his wife fed us fresh hot bread and sweet tea.  Then Brahim arrived to lead us to the Gite Imarin, on the far side of the river.

We had to pass through a small village in the gathering dusk, and they had been busy digging up the road to lay pipe through it.  It took a welcoming committee of about ten to help us get the car over, but finally, about 10 hours after leaving Marrakesh (and after a too-close encounter with a grand taxi that took out the wing mirror on the car) we had arrived.