spicy
After a few days of walking down riads and roads on my first assignment in Marrakech, seeing living postcards of plastic bags holding spices, one could easily tell themselves, ‘If I’ve seen one bright hued spice sack, I’ve seem them all.’But I’m not ready to get used to the everyday of Marrakech life being, well, everyday. So, on my commute, I stopped, stood still and saw the glory of spice: a living exhibition, a pile always changing, a form thats the result of interaction with human and nature : a symbolic nudge that spice is also, the spice of life. My eyes are aesthetically spoiled for how the Moroccan people make even the act of buying this, an artistic endeavor. Now where’s the cinnamon, it’s time for a chai.