Earlier today Tarifa was the most beautiful, most photographable place I’d been so far, but tonight already the Tangier medina has surpassed it. I know it’s wrong to not take one zillion pictures of spices in sacks, but what will I do with them?
I observe a micro culture of tissue sales here, the evidently comparatively impoverished peddling little pocket packs in the flowing urban foot traffic.
My Visa isn’t working at either of the automated teller machines I tried, neither the one recommended by our hotelier, around the corner, nor at a sketchier exchange bureau that was going to charge me a ten percent commission.
On our walk back from dinner in the kasbah I saw a tourist ask one of the tissue-sellers, cross-legged on the street, for directions and wished a little too late I’d given the latter a five dirham coin for her troubles and to model better visitor eco-behavior for the former, but I had neither the thought nor the currency.