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Only fools and donkeys (I didn’t expect to find) “I love your bag” says some lady. What bag do I have today? Oh yes, my bag I bought on holiday. What a great holiday that was, nostalgia over my travels floods my mind and I am transported back to my outings in the country. My friends say I’m somewhat of a romantic fantasist so for me it was a perfect place to visit. A fitting destination for make-believe. I remember imagining the camel riding being of a poetic nature, reminiscent of Laurence of Arabia in the desert, complete with visions of silk scarves flowing in the breeze. However, the camel riding excursion was not quite the romantic outing I had hoped for. Nobody said the camel would incessantly pause to relieve itself every two seconds of its solid food waste. Yep, so basically you are riding a poo machine. This leads to you being accompanied on your journey by a posse of belligerent flies, who given their small stature, are in fact quite mighty and refuse to budge for the duration. Recollections of my visit to the souk return. Arriving to a man charming a cobra from a woven wicker basket and the hypnotic look in his eyes, an actual snake charmer like in the movies. Passing an elderly gentleman, dressed in white robes, with his donkey and cart. The air filled with the scent of spices such as paprika, cumin, cayenne, turmeric and pepper. The colours, rich earthy tones of sunset orange, saffron yellow, auburn, olive greens and muted browns. Metallic speckles reflecting in the light of the sun as they bounced of bronze, silver and gold glazed stoneware. Mystery, excitement and wonder as I casually perused narrow, winding, dusty alleys covered by tents that led to who knows where and what. Even the billowing clouds that were created as we trod along the sandy soil had an element of mystical magic about them. What lay beyond? This was a real-life Aladdin’s cave filled with all sorts of treasures. Just as I was expecting the market was full of indigenous local traders and merchants selling almost everything from local cuisine and hand-carved trinkets to precious metals and traditionally crafted rugs. I found myself totally immersed in the simple experience of being at a marketplace. This is what travelling is all about, the feel of a place, living as the people do, culture, tradition. Like a symphony for my senses I was preoccupied by the uniqueness of everything… the smells of the spices, the sights from a distant era, the touch of the spun silk fabrics on display, the taste of the tea, the melody of the native music. I remember thinking, I am so not in London, no concrete jungle, no chaos, the pace is a change and one I like. Something tells me this is what the world was like in ancient times, way, way back when. This was epic, almost biblical, some might say. Spiritually nurtured I continued through the intertwining paths. “I love your bag” she says again. “It’s so nice and the colour too, where did you get it from?” “I bought it on holiday” is my reply, secretly I wonder if she knows. Should I tell her or just keep it to myself. I remember it well, as I turned a corner at the souk and happened upon Ali, the Del-boy of the market. The monstrosity of it all (or so it felt), the moment my marvellous Moroccan mirage was destroyed, shattered, the taste of bitter disappointment as I was confronted with an enormous array of counterfeit designer clothes and accessories. Chanel, Gucci, Michael Kors, Adidas, Nike, you name it, it was there. Suddenly it felt as though I was back home in a non-descript market in London. Fantasy ruined and feeling slightly deflated, I snapped out of my fairytale daydream and abruptly crashed back to earth with a large thud and a rather impressive Navy-Blue leather Michael Kors bag.