Morrocan Sunshine

I met a guy at the Oasis Hostel in Lisbon a few weeks ago who had just come from Morrocco. He spent about three weeks there, traveled up and down the country, was invited into a Berber mudhut, bought two rugs when he hadn't even planned on buying one, and all in all had a great time. So much happens in Morrocco, he told me, that you almost lose track of it all. "The entire time I was in Spain, and I was in Spain for a long time," he told me, "I filled twelve pages of my notebook up with stories. In Morrocco I wrote forty pages."
The most recent story I have? My face is probably sunburnt. It's going to hurt tomorrow, maybe even tonight while I try to sleep in my seven dollar room in the Ville Nouvelle. I was burnt when I walked about a half a kilometer from the Bab Bou Jeloud, one of the main entrances to the Fes El-Bali Medina to the Merenid tombs. The tombs are old and crumbling, like the dead dry snail shells I saw stuck to a lampost by the highway on the outskirts of Montpellier. You touched these shells and they cracked into dust. The tombs didn't fall apart when I touched them. Brick is stronger than snail shells. The sun is stronger than all of them, though. It lasts forever in the sky, longer than the smell of the tanneries, longer than the call to prayer I hear five times a day here in Morrocco. And it'll last on my face for a few days now, all the way to Marrakesh.

I uploaded a few more photographs. I included one photo of my new outfit. Oh and if anyone wants to spring for a flickr pro account for me, that'd be awesome of you! I reached my 200 photo limit. I can still add more photos, but old photos, mostly froù Santa fe, will be hidden from view. I don't want to apply for a pro account while I'm away, so some photos might go missing until I can get a pro account.