On the rooftop, I sit. From a distant, unknown roof gnawi music fills the night. Percussive beats from the iron castanet krakebs match the claps and chants. The three-string sintir bass lute echoes off the empty walls and the roof top of the Sufi shrine next to me. I close my eyes and lean my head back against the wall, and I hear the caravan. A thousand and one nights on the road, and I am a happy sultan. Morocco is magical.