It was snowing in Colorado when I left. I hopped a plane to Marrakech and felt the warm winds descend and envelope me, stripping coats, shoes, and winter blues right off my body as if they dissolved into thin air. Quiet stars and flowing palms rocked me into dreaming. I am in the bosom of Jnane Tamsna, at home in the gardens and all is quiet well.
In the kitchen with Bahija we made a new tagine with chicken and pear. Some new recipes to follow. It’s quite hot. Tomorrow we’ll go into the mountains, but not before stopping at Jalil’s aromatherapy garden. He’s made a museum of Spice. The first one in any Arabic country.
I look forward to the air of Imlil; the smiling faces of Abdul and the Mohammed, the lovely Berbers who manage the Kasbah and the mystery of Toubkal.
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