My wife and I arrived in Imlil on a sleepy early afternoon in May. As it was still early in the hiking season not many touts were around and most taxi drivers to Marrakech weren't expecting sweaty new clientele until 5pm. With most doors being closed and fruit flies being the most active of the locals, we began hiking up the road towards our pension. A young Moroccon by the name of Hussein approached us seemingly from nowhere asking if we were looking for our hotel. As we had pre-booked the Gite Atlas Mazik we said no thanks and kept on walking.
A few weeks back, my wife and I took a little siesta from the spring rains in Morocco. We went with no expectations aside from sun and couscous. We got our fill of the sun, but the couscous? Not so much.
We read all of the Lonely Planet's and Rough Guides we could handle, watched Anthony Bourdain and Andrew Zimmerman ingest all sorts of non-edibles on youtube and thought we were well prepared for our trip. We weren't prepared for Djemaa el Fnaa.