He handed us what he called the “perfume of Marrakesh”, a sprig of mint. We would definitely need it at the next stop he advised. Our excursion proceeded further north and farther away from the comfort of Jemaa El-Fnaa; Hussein’s admonition from the previous day began creeping into my thoughts. But the scorching sun still loomed high above and folks (fellow visitors?) were still out and about. What harm could possibly befall us?
The stench was debilitating. A vomit-inducing combination of rotting carcasses, urine, and bird shit. Our host (what was his name again?) brought us to one of the leather tanneries in the city. It was a sight and smell to absolutely behold. The decomposing odor was logical; skins of dead animals were needed to make the fabric. What was most baffling was that (human?) urine and pigeon poop were some of the best natural ingredients to soften the hides. As if the fragrance of putrefaction needed further enhancements. Incidentally, how many months or years or even decades did it take before nose blindness kicked in for these poor craftsmen?
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