Bread rolls and croissants with preserves and café-au-lait and orange juice pursued us throughout the rest of Morocco. Rolling through the countryside was a delight to me. Jean and I usually sat together on the bus, and she didn’t want the window seat. For long periods of time, I looked out the window at the not-quite-desert landscape. I could see “forever” across a barely undulating landscape of a dull cinnamon colour, touched by scrub bushes. Sometimes indifferent goats wandered across my view. Occasionally, in the distance, I saw a large Bedouin tent encampment. Their long, dark tents blended into the landscape, as if they were a natural feature. As we drove through villages and towns, I was intrigued by the variety of women’s dress. Some wore traditional dress and some wore Western styles, even amongst professionals
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