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|From Morocco with love|
|Written by Cindy-Lou Dale|
|Friday, 19 October 2007 08:28|
“Come,” Farid, an elderly Marrakech shop-keeper implored, “I make beautiful Berber.” Never one to stand in the way of progress on went a rich cocoa coloured dress edged with tiny silver bells, and to cover my hair a sapphire blue silk veil trimmed with the finest wisps of silver thread. Farid brought it together below my chin and twirled it up around my head, draping it rather seductively across my face, revealing only my eyes; I was further garnished with traditional Berber jewellery.
Time dissipated between dress changes and Farid's tales of his childhood caravan treks across the Sahara. His oyster eyes were enlivened and his leathery face beamed at his recollections; his hand regularly found mine when I understood his jokes.
The only dangers travellers face in Morocco's souks are irresistible sales pitches and charming sales techniques. If you remain disinterested you stand to pick up a bargain, particularly in the specialist markets deep inside the larger souks - the only place to go for a truly Moroccan shopping experience. If you don’t haggle they’ll think you’re rich and crazy which tends to spoil it for the rest of us who are poor and crazy.