The Jardin Majorelle is in the new city (built up around the old walled medina) so we took a cab out this morning. He dropped us on the side of a busy street and pointed to the sign — on the other side of the street — indicating the way to the garden’s entrance. Interesting, we thought, that the cabbie would leave us to cross a street that he, himself, was unwilling to brave as a lef-hand turn. After a few daunted minutes, we gathered our lives in our hands and dashed across, dodging motorcycles and cars. We didn’t die.
After visiting the garden, we strolled through more of the new city in search of a place to eat.
|A lot of fast food signs advertise
|Motorcycle parking lot outside a bank|
After a while I had to stop and buy a watch. My last timepiece — an el cheapo from Target, which I’d gotten before my Peru trip last summer — stopped working a few days before leaving for Madrid, and I’d been feeling naked ever since.
Back to the Medina
With newfound confidence in my ability to make and keep appointments, we continued on our way. We found our restaurant (which was closed), had a bad lunch in the neighboring cafe, and then returned to the medina, which is much more colorful and
chaotic charming than the new city.
|Can’t see the sand in the air? Well, it was there. And in my eyes.|
Amanda followed the example of the local women and covered her entire face with her scarf. I, on the other hand, walked with my eyes closed, tried not to breathe, and prayed that I wouldn’t wander into the middle of the street (where all the moped drivers had also closed their eyes — without bothering to stop their mopeds).
|Possibly an alien|
The moral of this story is that I need to be careful about how I comfort Amanda in this heat, lest I call down further calamities upon us. I mean, I could have said, “At least we haven’t been stranded on a mountainside in the Andes!” or “At least we haven’t had a frothy pink drink of doom!”