Kitties everywhere. Generally, Islamic people are not pet people, so it was not surprising to see stray cats here, there and everywhere. Still, we did note chicken heads along the neighborhood lanes, and small bowls of scraps left as payment to the mangy mousers.
Sir Isaac Newton’s little known Fourth Law is Marrakesh: Where Equal and Opposite Forces are at Peace while in Motion.
Over steaming Beghrir, hot coffee, and honeydew melon sweet enough to render a honeybee diabetic the following morning, Jack and I rehearsed our well-researched strategy for bringing home a magic carpet. After all, I did not travel to Africa in 40º weather to bring home just any old rug.
Refreshed, not only by the mint tea, but by the full-blast air-conditioning in our room, and changed into breezy linen clothes, we attempted to head out for a little exploration when the owner waved us over to his desk. Was there a problem? Not at all. In addition to sharing the (mentally) delightful news that the temperature had cooled to 39ºC we were given what is probably the standard lecture on where to go, where NOT to go, and basically, how not to be swindled by a Berber.
With Jack home for two months, and the clock ticking on his time as a carefree coed, we thought one last Mom-Son adventure was in order. Plans were grand at the beginning; we were going to hit the ‘Stans for a couple of weeks, but transit connections and visa fees nixed our nomadic notions. Walking about Wales rose to the top of our list, too; that is, until we looked at Welsh weather history. Then, one morning over breakfast…tickets to Marrakesh were purchased.