The Rose City―Dreams of Location Independence, Part 1

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Marrakesh was always one of my choice places. The freedom I felt there, to be my true self―the trust I had in that identity―was more than a guise. It’s also the freedom we give so openly to one another. For us, it’s about shared experiences and I want that exposure to authenticity for you, too, here in Marrakesh.

It’s springtime now, and we’re staying in a riad and sipping mint tea in the airy confines of our bougainvillea-filled courtyard haven. I want to take you everywhere all at once, but your calm and even-tempered smiles quiet me down. In the morning, well, the start of our day, will give us a chance to wander amid the sizzle and smoke of the marketplace of Dejemâa el Fina. Ça c’est suffit pour nous. That’s enough for us.

We breakfast on khobz Moroccan bread and Moroccan mortadella, and coffee. Lots of coffee. Our new host, Madame Masinissa told you about Cafe Clock and maybe we’ll make it there for lunch today, maybe tomorrow. It’s an eclectic mix of Western style food with a Moroccan twist and sounded like a fun place to go. But we’re drawn to the medina, Marrakesh’s miracle—a lively clash of old and new, matching the rhythm of our happiness. It’s beguiling like you and perplexing to us, but not in a way that we find disconcerting―in a way that urges us through the maze of people and vendors, sights and sounds.

Marrakesh’s solid, salmon-pink ramparts encircle us and seem to protect us and this labyrinth of a medina. With its hiding palaces and bazaars, we make our way along the tiny cobbled lanes among an endless run of mopeds, donkey carts, and wheelbarrows. People offer us their goods, dealing in everything from sticky sweets to saucepans. But we take our time, moving almost counterintuitively through the chaos, taking it all in, floating like two mint leaves in the pewter teapot that the Rose City has become for us.

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