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An intense assault on my senses. My eyes bombarded with colours and patterns, aromas penetrate deep within my nostrils and this vibing drum beat rings through my ears and touches deep in my soul. Marrakech, Morocco...


A tri faced city that changes its complexion every 8 hours. You can't walk three feet without someone trying to grab you and make you eat their food or buy their hats.


A labrinyth of winding alleyways lined with geometric tapestry. Each alley seems deeper than the last, luring you in further and further until you lose all orientation.


The secret workers who slave all day and night in the back. Desperately trying to meet the demands of the cashed up white tourist, who only cares how cheap they can barter.


The city runs at a much different pace to that of which I am used to, And in an odd way it is somewhat charming to think that if you take a wrong step you may be run over, mugged or possibly worse.


As I board the plane I reflect, A town, a city, a country...


Marrakech, Morrocco.


Morroccan Nights Marrakech, Morrocco

By Suite2OSeven All rights reserved 2OI6

Profile for Oliver Hansen

Moroccan Nights  

A photographic essay that follows the point of view of an outsider in a foreign land. Written in a first-person perspective the artist annot...

Moroccan Nights  

A photographic essay that follows the point of view of an outsider in a foreign land. Written in a first-person perspective the artist annot...

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