I have finally got round to sorting my photos into some sort of order, these are some fibre and craft goodies. We visited the Dyers Souk and took some colourful pictures. I did attempt to buy some dyed wool in a small quantity(it smelt very unusual) but the young man was determined to sell me a large quantity for lots of money. As I walked away he shouted "you very bad tourist" and moved onto the next curious passer by. It somehow wasn't intimidating though as bartering appears to be one big game in their daily life.
he gave various little impromptu demonstrations of his magic dye that changed colour on contact. His hands were a very interesting shade.
These were just some of the many felt hats we saw. These in particular were well made and attractively coloured. A lot we saw in the Souks was a little less so.
The feltmakers at the Artisan Centre were all men and they sat crouched all day on stools at low tables in barefeet, rubbing with soap bars on the wool. I asked about the wool and was told it came from the mountains, it was fairly coarse and even when well felted there was a hairy finish to the surface. After a short chat in my poor french and mixed english, he handed me his business card.
Driving to the Atlas Mountains for a short trek we stopped at a pottery and tred carefully between the biggest collection I have ever seen.The footpath was broken pottery shards.
These were large urns, some with cut work others with lids.
This was their kiln ready and waiting to fire. There were 2 kilns, a traditional and a gas kiln. Apparently they supplied a lot of the market stalls in the Souks, the pots were not for sale to us, sadly.
I asked to take all photos of people we met, not everyone agreed, some were happy to. We respected that, so on the occasion we did a couple was all we felt we could take. These 3 men were warping a loom , the warping threads were extremly taught and yet most of their euipment was very homemade. There was a cycle wheel spinning wheel next to the loom.
In the mountains we came across men carving alabaster sat cross legged on the floor outdoors, but under a canopy, it was scorching hot. My son bought a camel, after a long , long, barter. I bought a bangle which was quite clearly yellow resin, very pretty, and I was very happy with it, but he insisted I had bought a beautiful Amber bracelet...
My next group of pictures is the beautiful architecture and interiors. It will probably take me another month to get round to it. Even though photos are digital and instant, organising takes me as long as it used to take me to stick photos in a holiday album! (truth be told, some old photos are still waiting to go in an album.)
The overall colour memory is pinkish, flaky weathered plaster walls. 
Warm red rust decor contrasting with brasses and metals. Studded elaborate doors.
Surprising interiors to simple exteriors. Cafe Arabe, a favourite place to eat on the rooftop with welcome cooling water sprays overhead.
The Square where we could co ordinate our routes to and from. Pink and low rise.
The city walls weathered with time, the holes which I thought were battlescars are in fact drilled for scafolding to repair when required.
The Mosque towering above the City. Planning rules do exist, nothing is to be higher than the tower of the Mosque.
Beautiful balconies hang from the buildings.
Cafe Arabes welcoming lanterns.
The palace corridor. White and pure, simple tiled flooring.
Everyday shopping for food deep in he Souk.
Jardin Marjorelles, an Oasis midst the hustle and bustle of the city.
