A balmy night in a garden in Morocco. The lush greenery is a verdant curtain that masks the hustle and bustle of the city. High above, a brocade of stars sparkles in the depthless sky. As I sip a refreshing thé à la menthe, a gentle breeze sighs with the scent of jasmine and roses. It's the sirocco wind.

Snapshots of my journey through this incredible country flash through my mind - the architecture, the desert, the zillij patterns. They are memories of long lost dreams. My senses are overwhelmed by the rich colours and flavours, the experience of navigating the urban sprawl and exploring the natural surroundings. I close my eyes and listen. I hear the wind sing. Its seductive whisper tells me to let go - and I surrender.