Roosters crowing and birds chirping outside our window were pleasant reminder that we were not in Khartoum. As the sun peeked above the horizon, Hannah and I ventured out for a walk and a cafe au lait. It was a brisk morning as we bundled in our sweatshirts and scarfs. Around the city, people were bustling on their way to work. Buses pulled up and throngs of people piled out, dresssed and ready to start monday morning with a bang. The only shops open at this early hour were tea houses and french patrisseres (remenants of the french influnce on Morocco) pilled high with delicious pasteries, crossants and freshly backed bread. Dividing the road is a thin tree lined park decorated with small white lights for scenic night appeal.
As Rosie and Marissa join us we enjoy fresh squeezed avocado juice and decadent french patrisses in a small local cafe I open my birthday presents. The birthday song is barely audible over the blaring TV broadcasting the arabic Koran for the neighborhood to hear.
Our local guide, Ali, a chunky moroccan man who smoked like a chimney, coughed like it was his last breath, and had little patience for meandering shoppers led us around the Fez Medina. The Medina is a self-sustaining community with shops and schools weaved within a labrinyth of small stone passageways and open market areas. Donkey's are the medina taxicab carrying anything in and out of the souk/market. With the winding stone hallways, talkative vendors and enticing goods/crafts it is very be caught up in your shopping or bargaining and forget your directions.
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