Our lobby is a busy place, busy mainly with Moroccan men - drinking mint tea steeped in little silver teapots with high lids (apparently best when poured from a height), transacting business in the morning or cheering football matches in the evening. The bar does a steady business as a "dry" bar - though we're happy to have a bottle of Famous Grouse in the room for a wee dram in the evening. Usually, but by no means always, the men are in western dress. The jellaba may be worn coat-like on top of trousers or, like the man ahead of us at breakfast, simply over bare legs with slippered feet. J makes friends with a darkish-skinned Moslem lad from Stockton-on-Tees, here in Morocco for the first time on a week's holiday along with his brother, eager to enjoy the hammam and the tour to the mountains. They're a reminder that those who appear to us to be locals may well not be.
The water sellers are in evidence at the square tonight, wearing their traditional red garb and pointed hats. They're hung about with brass cups and carry the water in leather bags, slung over the shoulder. Apparently the brass cups are for Moslems only and, in the (seemingly unlikely) event that a non-Moslem wishes to have a drink it will be provided in a white cup. Actually there's no sign of anyone buying water from them. Probably they make a living these days by charging tourists for photo ops. They certainly add colour to a busy scene.
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