The smelliest place in Morocco. The tannery at Fes. They give you sprigs of mint. The preferred method is to take your mint cluster, snap it in half, and shove each piece up a nostril. This will sort of help.
Morocco smelled. It wasn’t always bad, although more often than not, yes, it was bad, it was awful, pungent, pervasive, and penetrating. It was even more than that. It was an assault on my airways, a barrage on my beak, a shelling of the schnoz, a snipe at my sniffer, a nuke in my nose, a hammering of the honker. Morocco was so smelly that Mitch and I sat down one day and listed all of the special ways that Morocco reeked. The watered down PG version is below:
Morocco smells like…a traffic toe jam…snail stew…fish market donkey droppings…wet crap garbage…Mitch’s vinegar socks…used car sweat…rotten fromage…seagulls nesting in my dirty underwear…a wet dog swimming in the tannery…petal powered scooter waste…moldy musty unwashed hostel sheets...and many many more that will have to wait for the book...buyer beware!
