The town of Essaouria, Morocco is like a hippie haven for French people and a smattering of other Euros and Americans who swing on by. It’s where Jimi Hendrix composed “Castles in the Sand,” or so they say. Bob Marley also hung out there. So while it sounds like all people do is sit around and pay homage to marijuana, I didn’t do anything of the sort. Instead, I honored the god of shopping.
I ran around the souks screaming “charming!” “a must have!” and other estrogen-laced phrases to the delight of shop keepers. And I came away with enormous purchases totally unfitting to plane travel, like a large wooden box covered with recycled tire strips, full length mirrors made out of sardine cans, enough blankets to keep a large village warm, and then some.
All this great booty and the one thing I didn’t think about was how I was going to get it all home. Two of my best friends, Lauren and Amy, are the best bargainers in the land. They are also able to talk down the price of everything where as I absolutely stink at haggling. I have watched them get cash back from Gucci and convince gun-toting TSA employees to allow them family sized bottles of Frederick Fekkai shampoo in their carry on bags.
Luckily, I did not have to try my hand at anything with Air France after my Morocco binge. They let me take absolutely everything on the plane, even shimmying a mirror in the stewardess closet and allowing me to have the tire box on my lap after takeoff. The French, they understand my needs! Got to love ‘em.