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Afternoon Tea in Marrakech

In a small square in Marrakech, where the crotchety veiled ladies sell crocheted hats, the sun beats down on caged chameleons, good luck garden turtles and henna sifters. It’s midday, 30 degrees celcius and the Marakchi (the people of Marrakech) are at home in their skin.

It’s a bizarre bazaar. Talismans, gourds, furs and long amber necklaces hang down from the spice shops like a string of plump Turkish figs. Walking into any one of these shops will suck you into a vortex that one is likely never to escape empty handed or sober. You leave at least drunk on smelling the various heady perfume blocks of amber and jasmine or the overwhelming swoon of ras-al-hanout, a house blend of at least 11-35 spices.

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