I ask the man in his little stall what's inside these little triangles.
He thinks I'm French and asks me what I think of Morocco and what I'm doing here. I tell him I'm only in Tanger for the day and point to the group of loud American college students and European erasmus students that make up the rest of the tour bus and he asks me what I'm doing with the Americans. To be honest, I don't really know. I think I could have done this by myself, but I would have gotten the heck out of Tanger before the sun went down.
But this little treat was tasty and warm and Christine and I walk away from the medina munching on sour candy and a cone of nuts wrapped in a piece of paper (which we discover later is the CV of a man named Mohammed who's one year older than me, lives in Tanger, speaks fluent Arabic and French, and is proficient in Microsoft Word and Powerpoint.)
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