The first time you step into a Marrakesh souk, it feels like being fired out of a cannon into a living organism. Noise ricochets off the walls. Scooters appear where scooters should not exist.

I arrived in Marrakesh — or Marrakech, depending on who you ask and how French the sign feels — the way you’re supposed to: slightly dehydrated, mildly confused, and already questioning whether I’d accidentally wandered into the middle of a live-action video game set on expert mode.