Rabat, it's different than Marrakesh.

First of all, it's the capital. Which makes a big difference. Second of all, Marrakesh is in central/southern Morocco. It could be compared to New Orleans; overzealousness, dirty south.
We socialized, and it was weird.
Our train arrived, we ate tagine, the Kristen and I ran off to meet her friends at Le Chameleon. [Much like Club Le Boom in Montreal; everything sounds super-gay in french.] The cool thing is that it was like hanging out in Kiev in 1998. Dark and velvety, men dancing with their fists and hips, techno mixed with the simplest of english phrasing, sailors sitting at tables with prostitutes.
MOSCOW SPRING BREAK OH SIX!!!!!!!

The next night, we made fish tacos. Straight up. You have not known longing until you have lived in a country without mexican food. I realize now that I have undervalued the burrito for years, never did I confess my adoration, my fixation, until now. Americans do not realize how much we truly need our neighbors to the south. To do the dishes, mow the lawn, make tortillas, farm things.
We bought five kilos of half-gutted fish and with Kristen's help I volunteered to filet. It was great! I've never even been that close to a dead fish before! I cought a baby catfish in Louisianna once but threw it back! They feel weird!
It's a mystery as to how I came to be first-officer-in-charge-of-fileting, but in retrospect that was the best job for me. I'm bossy and enjoy weilding knives.
Earlier that day, in the souk, I imagined... "if someone offends or attacks me this very moment, I will hit them with a fish then quietly place it back where I found it."
When mid-fish-gut Kristen said "I'd really like to hit someone in the face with this," I blurted "I was just wondering how that would feel!" and thus an idea was born.
She got excited. I told her I'd think about it. I'd made up my mind already though, that her having brought it up just as I was also thinking about it was an omen, and that I then must do it. But less on the superstitious end, I felt that this was the only opportunity either of us was ever going to have to hit/be hit by a fish in a watery kitchen in Morocco.
So after I'd sliced up half of fish number five I gave way to desire and Kristen let me have it. Vanessa was upset that I might get scratched with the remaining exposed bone, so much so that I waved a knife around to keep her away.

She didn't hit me hard the first time, out of fear or something, so I let her have another go. Overall, excellent past-time.
and PS, the fish taco's were godly. All the ladies involved did an awesome job.
Oh, and we listened to Africa by Toto. FINALLY.