Stories Collected While Living in France
These are good. I have some more:
Do hire a guide. I went to Morocco several times as a (younger than now) single woman, and every human with an XY chromosome wanted to be my guide, sell me something or marry me. It was exhausting. One day, I left my riad to wade through the usual sea of prospectors and I impulsively pointed to the youngest boy there and said, “You! I want you to be my guide.” I explained to him that we would go where I wanted to go, that I would walk around myself, and he could pipe up if I was lost. We had a wonderful day. He did steer me past his house, and called to his mother to show off that he was working. He was charming company and the other guides/salespeople/green-card seekers respected him and left me completely in peace. I did visit his uncle’s carpet shop at the end of the day, which actually is a wonderful thing to do–two guys unfurl one carpet after another as you sip tea; it’s like having a private art show. I regret not buying a carpet. I was renting and didn’t want to spend money on something I might not want/be able to keep, but that was a mistake. It would have been a treasure.
Another do: take a taxi to a hammam in the suburbs. Cleaner than the touristy ones, and really fun. Little kids were running around naked as their mothers chattered and tried to slather them with soap. Everybody doing everybody’s hair. It was a big party. I came out with skin as soft as a baby’s.
So charming. Sigh.
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