Saturday wasn’t very eventful.

We went downtown.


We went to the medina…

where we bought some new shoes for Ilsa (much needed)

and I bought strawberries

and olives.

The black ones have spicy harissa; the tri-coloured ones are lemon; the red ones are garlic.

In the late afternoon when the light was rich gold, we went with our visiting friends to the Chellah. Really I love the Chellah and am always happy for an excuse to go there and take more pictures of that minaret.

And the walls.

Abel feels the same way. He’s taking Latin this year, and copied inscriptions for his teacher to translate.

This time, for some reason, I noticed doors a bit more. It started when I couldn’t see where Donn had gone, until I saw a clue:

And then Ilsa had fun peering out of a very narrow door, that leads to very narrow, very dark, very crumbly stairs going up up up a narrow tower:

And then I just kept noticing more.

While I must admit that I notice Moroccan doors, I usually don’t photograph them.

Because everybody else does, and I am sick of seeing posters of doors and postcards of doors and picture upon picture of doors.

But I still like to look at the actual doors.

Ilsa, on the other hand…

(to be continued)

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