Clumsily I crawled through the insignificant ancient oak doorway and came out onto a Buzzing narrow market street. I closed my eyes to take in all my senses. Moroccan spices overwhelmed my sense of smell, also making my mouth water at the thought of indulgent dishes, still beloved after centuries of use. I hear the sound of enthusiastic shop owners and customers alike, trying to barter a good deal in an alluring language I am not familiar with.I open my eyes and see the sun shining through the holes in the aged timber roof, the breeze flowing through, following the sun. People scuttling all over the lane, trying to get to one of the compact stalls.I hear some shiney silver necklaces blowing against each other in a dainty breeze at a nearby stall, they sound like a wind chime swaying in the wind. The men who own the shops were standing out the front, trying to entice people into their stores to buy something. All of the clothes hung up are beautifully made, hand stitched with little intricate pictures stitched on. I feel the fabric, very soft and really well made. A man runs up to me, holding a carved wooden plate with what looks to be an exquisite lamb dish. The scent wafted to my nostrils, tingling my taste buds, he hands me a fork and I take the first bite...
