| Travel |
A tourist’s woe: To be duped by an unassuming local. Maybe we looked too basic, in other words, R and I pretty much looked like tourists of a certain Hello Kitty descent in the land where you either go French or Arabic. Neither? Just enjoy the ride of a detour by gangly teenagers who are also freelance psychics because our visitations are too darn predictable. Subtract 40 Dirhams. Like I said, basic. Or maybe, just maybe, my pedicure gave it away.
Lavish Alice Jumpsuit, Silk Paisley Scarf from the Souks, Karen Walker Number One Sunglasses, Tie Sandals from Bali, Wire Bracelet from Nice
Shots by Ronald W.
10 minutes after circulating the souks, we were consumed into Ben Youssef Madrasa. (We could have avoided the ‘yuppie’ crowd with a petite taxi at 20 Dirhams.) Controversies aside, the college main ground was magnifique. An IMAX dimension graduating the stunning display of Moorish architecture like a fine art piece hanging on the wall. The expletives previously present on our minds 10 minutes ago evaporated by the patio. We were untold to switch on to meditation mode until futher observation that everyone was in a “Be Water” trance– like watching an invisible performance, staring into space, or whispering, “Want an olive?”, among fellow backpackers in said sacred grounds.
As a sight to behold, the zellige got my Kenzo-eyed jumpsuit rumpled. No, not even those magic carpet hustlers tempting me with an oversized luggage of furry treasure could win me over.
Although, I now present myself with a sum of queries that Google may not be able to authenticate. I should have gotten a better bang for my buck knowing that our ‘guide’ could hold a proper conversation and very fluid body language in the Dirham extortion shimmy. Being the less favoured among teachers throughout education, it’s no wonder I never did to raise my hand. I hardly ever did.
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