This was the day of the Hot-Air Balloon Ride. Those who wished to participate had to leave our riad at 5 AM, because the balloon site was forty-five minutes away. We opted not to go, because Nick was still coping with a cold, and I was concerned about  my motion sickness.

We awoke in time for breakfast, and we found that the choices were even more varied than they had been the day before. I was so pleased to see  poached pears, my favorite dessert, and Nick liked the beef sausages. Then  Hassan  took the rest of us to two museums, the Museum of Water Civilization and the Jardin de Majorelle. We had never been to a museum that was about water before, but water is foremost on the minds of Moroccans. We learned what the government is doing to bring water to its people.  On the other hand, Marrakesh has five golf courses that are allotted large amounts of water. Only the wealthy play golf, so  those without wealth receive no benefit from so much water being given to golf courses.

We had a relatively quick lunch at an Italian  pizzeria  called Portofino, where the choices were pasta or pizza. Nick ordered pasta carbonara, while I chose four cheese pizza. Although they weren’t quite like pizza and pasta at home, they were still tasty.

The Jardin Majorelle was begun by Jacques Majorelle in the 1920s, but it fell into disrepair through the years. 1n 1980, Yves Saint Laurent and his partner began restoring the garden. It was refreshing to be there on a day during which the temperature had risen above 90 degrees. We saw many elements of flora  including water lilies, varieties of cacti, palm trees, and flowers, and fauna, such as fish and frogs in ponds.

When the group that had taken the Hot-Air Balloon ride returned, they described their experience in glowing terms. We were surprised to learn that each balloon could hold about fifteen people.

After a rest back at the riad, we met Fatima, a Moroccan woman who told us about her quest for gender equality while being  part of a family that wanted its traditions to continue without change. Her story brought to mind my mother’s life in the 1930s. Her father was born in Italy and he expected that his children  would follow all the  customs and traditions he had grown up with, which meant that equality for women was out of the question.

Although our tour hadn’t been completed, this was the night of our farewell dinner, which was held in The Red House, the former home of a Frenchman who had decorated it beautifully. We were just a few steps from the busy street, but we  left the hubbub of Marrakesh behind us as we enjoyed our dinner and thanked Hassan for his excellent leadership.

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