All of the olives
After the chain replacement, we went to souk habbous, a street market in Casablanca. The sights, sounds and smells assault the senses, as do the touts, shop owners and beggars. But then we found it – a small, short alley in the market that sold olives. The original olive garden? Not likely, but there were many varieties of olives, and even the stuff on the ground baking in the sun smelled good.
We rounded a corner down a different street, and came upon a group of 50 or more men who were conducting their noon prayers together. In the market. Surrounded by vendors, stalls and shoppers. Bold as you please, they were lined up with their prayer rugs, shoes off, doing their thing. I have to say, I admire their confident and unwavering commitment to practicing their faith; many others could learn from their example.
There was a section in the souk where the bread was fresh and the opportunity to sit and eat presented itself. We chickened out, and went to a more westernized restaurant on the edge of the market due in large part to the assurance of an actual toilet vs just a hole in the ground. Yeah, yeah, we’re getting there.
Had the tagine. It was okay.
