Fartal

Friday, February 1

Mark was still sleeping when I woke up so I ventured out alone. I was invited into a lot of shops and talked to the salesmen, who were generally friendly and almost always had a brother or friend currently living in the states, usually in Boston. I bought some bread and continued walking and exchanging greetings with the Moroccan guys in the street. One guy asked me for bread. I told him no, on the basis that he was wearing an ipod and a ralph lauren sweater. He told me that what I thought was an ipod was actually just his mobile phone, but I still didn´t give him any bread. We chatted for a bit, he showed me the tiny shop where he sold amateur paintings of Moroccan cities on canvas and goat leather, and then invited Mark and I to come back for tea. His name was Fartal.

I kept walking, and the shopkeepers kept inviting me into their stores, ''just to have a look, only for look...'' I did have a look at one store that contained four large mounds of spices in the center and hundreds of mystery jars lining the walls. The eager salesman gouged spoonfuls of spices out of the mounds for me to smell; he rubbed blocks of perfume, ''musk,'' and green lipstick that turned pink onto my hand; he revealed to me the contents of the mystery jars -- more spices, herbs, remedies for snoring, asthma, herpes, acne, bad circulation and also some female viagra. I told him that it was the beginning of my trip and I didn't want to buy anything yet so that I wouldn't run out of money, but that I might be back a week later to buy saffron if I had money leftover. He told me ''no problem, have a good day,'' but his face said ''I've heard that before you heartless wretch thanks for nothing.''

tbc...