With the heat of summer finally setting in, the Anglophone Moroccan bloggers are traveling in full force, judging by the number of photos posted this week. Therefore, this week we'll take a stroll through Morocco in pictures.

An interesting new phenomenon, which Braveheart-does-the-Maghreb reports on, is the introduction of the sport of curling to Morocco (but only at Rabat's enormous Mega Mall):

On this subject, the blogger says, “I still can’t quite get over this.”

Moroccan Maryam of My Marrakesh shares photos of a special little hotel whose style she endearingly refers to as haute hodgepodge:

We move from the delights of Morocco's capital, Rabat, to somewhere in the Moroccan countryside, where Peace Corps Volunteer and blogger Samuel Gunter of Life Called shares photos of a local well:

Blogger Four Continents shares photos of a sojourn to Marrakesh, one of Morocco's most famous cities – made so particularly by Djemaa al Fna, where this photo was taken:

The blogger says:

Having adopted Fes as my home base, I expected to dismiss touristy Marrakech as a Disney-fied sellout, check it off my “been there, done that” list and return to my (obviously superior) town. Thankfully, the reality was more fun than that – Marrakech has made its concessions to the visitors but it's still very Moroccan also, and I enjoyed spending two days lost in its medina – and could have stayed longer.

Our last stop on the tour is the Cascades d'Ouzoud, not too far from Marrakesh, brought to us by Rachel of Musings from Morocco, who also wrote the poem accompanying the photos.

On my way from here to there…
I stopped for a bit of fresh mountain air
Walked to a precipice and away fell the earth …
And water rushed too and with it my breath

For until your feet are standing on edge
No one can fathom what awaits you ahead
Irrigation trench streams turn into falls
Clamorous, glamorous, uproarious and tall

And the mouth of the world opens wide
Before your toes into a great paradise
And your eyes follow waterfall fall fall
As it rushes from pool to spill into pool

Little bridges and people, like an imaginary
Place stretch across rivulets and up scary
Hills where stairs meander through olive tree
Boughs covering hillside and oft a snatch of path appears

Amidst all the ruckus of splashing and tumbling
My mind drew away to a quiet still rumbling
I devoured my book and scribbled all day
Thoughts pouring through me on pages to stay

Little blue and green rafts cobbled
Together with rusted barrel and rotten
Wood, offering tours to glide through
The pools to a waterfall's frothy spew

And then I was sitting, having some lunch
When who do you think I found all hunched
And clambering up the mud walls … but barbary apes
My bread, their little paws snatched and made great escape