At the end of the street stands the pâtisserie. It has tall wooden doors painted a soft pastel blue. Hanging on either side, two large windows are filled to the brim with flaky croissants, colorful macarons, and fruit tarts displayed like an edible work of art.
The sun is beating down. I’m in the middle of the Souk Semmarine, a maze-like market in the city of Marrakech, Morocco. I feel a tap on my shoulder, but there’s nothing behind me except a rolled up carpet.
Moving as close as I can toward the fountain’s edge, I toss the coin in. I wish this fountain could come to life. I close my eyes tightly, but when I reopen them, the fountain remains a cold, stone structure.
I couldn’t take my eyes off the shiny gold box lying unsuspectingly next to a necklace on display. I was in a room full of Ancient Egyptian artifacts…
Weaving our way through Old Bagan, we left our hotel early that morning, even before the sun was awake. It was just Mommy and me.
Their breathing is faint, muddled by the sound of my sled ploughing through the freshly fallen snow. I can see them working hard, using every ounce of energy they have to keep us moving forward.
By: Jessica Grace Triolo / The music pulls me in, and I surrender. Dancing to the beat of the drums, disappearing over the bridges, amid the fountains, and into the second line at Congo Square, I forget about the old man…