After I get back from the Kasbah, I’m due for a nap: because of the big meal and the fact that it’s really hot and I’m wearing jeans. No sooner do I change into shorts than my phone rings. It’s Imad asking if I want to meet him for a tea. Of course I do. So I jump back in my jeans and he and a friend come pick me up in a car and we head out of the city. An unexpected 20 minute drive later and we pull into a parking lot. We find a space right next to the Camel Valet (for tourists Im guessing), buy some nuts to snack on and climb the stairs chiselled into the stone face to a café (sorry for the accent there, not trying to be a tool, this French computer keeps on automatically changing it). The view is surreal, with the sun setting over the Atlantic.
I now want to rant about two things:
1) I’m tired of outrageously hot beverages I currently have blisters on three different fingers from trying to pick up coffees or teas that are too hot; either invest in some glasses with handles or bring down the temperature 30°.
2) It seems that every time I’m in a café, I am the only person not smoking either cigarettes or pot (or both). I’m not trying to say that people don’t smoke in the States, but I’m not going to miss the constant nauseating fog of every café. I understand and am sympathetic towards the fact that it’s a cultural difference, but it’s gross: cut it out.
I blow on my tea and take some photos trying to act oblivious to every table around us rolling and smoking cigarettes and other things. We stay for hours, nursing our teas, talking about Morocco and the US, differences, life, music, and anything else we can think of. Around 10 we scarf down a bowl of snails from a vendor in the parking lot and head back home.
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