My Morocco!

It's a long day when you are constantly being courted, hustled and hollered at by merchants trying to get you in to their shop. We were having a blast but we were both weary. Rob was in a shop and I was barely standing - waiting outside.

And this tiny little shop owner - who caught my eye - because he was so quiet in the mayhem of the marketplace - offered me his stool. My feet were throbbing.

I was so exhausted I just dropped my head and just stared at the dirt for several minutes. And was so grateful that this little man didn't say a word to me, and was just comfortable with our silence.

I ended up purchasing one of his handcarved bowls, which was stunning! He was so kind and so talented, I would have bought 20 if I had enough luggage space to bring them home.



The man buried behind all these baskets was so nice to us. He fixed my broken straw basket that I had gotten in Romania within minutes - his fingers flying. He charged nothing. So we bought a basket from him in thanks.

The poverty in Morocco is intense. It just kills you that these amazingly talented and hardworking artisans have to fight so hard to live. It almost made me feel as if I don't deserve my life - I haven't earned it as they have.