Scene: Spice market, Marrakech, Morocco. Springtime. Ten o’clock on Thursday morning.

spice market
You hold up your right hand to catch the spice vendor’s attention.

The bright, Moroccan sun shines on your ring finger, where you wear a single gold ring.

Suddenly, through the sea of red, yellow, and green spices, he sees you.

You smile, order a bit of saffron (you heard that this Marrakech market was the best place to buy the world’s most expensive spice), and slip the purchase into your cloth bag along with the argon oil you bought earlier this morning.

You hand the vendor his money – with your right hand, of course. He smiles, grabs his wooden spoon, and scoops up an extra dose of saffron for you, free of charge.

As you walk back to your Vespa, you realize just how deeply in love you’ve fallen with the golden, Moroccan sun.

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