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No one knows for sure why the walls of the inner city are all shades of blue; some theories are that it keeps the city cool, or keeps mosquitoes away. Others theorize that blue is a spiritual colour, evoking heaven. It was our first day in Morocco. We asked the cab driver to take us to heart of the city, and he dropped us near a large opening in the tall blue walls of the medina. He tells us the market is small enough that we cannot get lost, which will prove to be untrue, as many streets look the same. We have just arrived that day to Chefechenuan, Morocco, by crossing the Strait of Gibraltar on a ferry from Andalucia, Spain, before driving three hours inland to the ‘blue city’. The cab was the last car we would see while inside the medina, a medieval market. The city was founded in the 15 century and the streets were designed for people, not for cars. One of the safest cities in Morocco, it is perfect for wandering around aimlessly, without a map or a plan, stumbling on rug shoppes, or small cafes with rooftop terraces. Small stores are built recessed into the walls of the medina; stores are accessed through large keyhole shaped doors with colourful displays pouring out along the streets. Clothing and crafts are nailed or hanging from the blue walls of the lane. We linger looking at postcards of the city itself, foreshadowing the pretty sites we will later stumble on as we wander through the interconnected streets. The shopkeeper sees us staring at the postcards nailed to the blue wall, and beckons us in through a door, telling us there is no harm in looking. Inside the small windowless room, I enjoy looking at the rainbow wall of scarfs, especially an indigo blue one. “What a beautiful colour, like the walls of the city”, I offer. The store keeper replies with equal enthusiasm, “It is like the one I am wearing- a ‘Berber blue’ scarf.” Being a rookie, I ask a little too excitedly “How much?”, and he quotes a price far higher than I expect. Sensing he is getting nowhere, he tries to persuade my male companion, assuming we are married “Happy wife, happy life” he coaxes. Later in the trip I will find the exact same scarf for a tenth of the price he quoted me; however, right now, on my first day in Morocco, I politely tell him thank-you for showing me the scarf, and that I will think about his offer, as I start walking towards the door. His angry voice catches me off guard as he abruptly yells, “You have bad energy, get out my store”. My friend and I are caught off guard, and the Canadian in me mumbles “Thanks again” under my breath as we awkwardly make an exit. I try to make sense of what just happened. Did he take my enthusiasm to mean I would pay a high price? I ponder how consent may be implied in an Medina bargaining situation. Reflecting later, I decide that I need to be less eager when interested in an item- it turns out playing hard to get is a good bargaining strategy, cool disinterest becomes my default mode in a market. We spend the afternoon wandering around, exploring various lanes and side streets until we no longer get lost. All of our dealings with store keepers go much smoother then the first one, perhaps we just caught the first storekeeper on a bad day. As we walk far away from the store we take refuge in a juice shop, and find our zen again, over a fresh pressed orange juice. Feeling relaxed, we climb up to the roof top terrace to watch the sunset, casting a warm orange glow over the cool blue maze around us. The call of prayer starts up, and prayers reverberate throughout the small city, as multiple mosques join in, in almost perfect unison. We have found a little piece of heaven on earth, for the moment.