Around Paris

The Air Moroccan, or "There are times when I don't want to be the center of attention, like when I'm pooping and when I'm finding the riad."

Two nights in Marrakech. Beautiful, chaotic, senseless, delicious, hospitable, dirty, sweaty, sad--anyone who knows me shouldn't be surprised I loved it. As usual, I should probably let the photos do the talking. (And, yes, I did wear the same shirt for three days.)

The Air Moroccan

Everything still smells vaguely of donkey and turmeric. Pretty surreal to have the drop-your-bags, collapse-into-bed, familiar-shower-head feeling of home and be in Paris.

Love,
HD