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Grazalema, one of Spain’s smaller white hill towns, is situated within Sierra de Grazalema National Park. On our way we stopped at an overlook for pictures of the town.

For lunch we had tapas. Pictured is, perhaps, the silliest tapa ever. We ordered a potato omelet and the potatoes were simply french fries. We ate two of them.

Meat, anyone?

Climbing the hills within the white hill towns revealed some beautiful countryside views.

A church by Plaza de Andalucia—navigating these small towns was quite easy because they’re (1) small and (2) centered around a main plaza.

I’m so anxious to combine all our pictures—Aimee, especially, took some beautiful ones.

Perhaps one of the most frustrating things about traveling in Spain is the afternoon siesta. Perhaps in the larger towns it’s different, but where we traveled, everything shut down from 1pm to 4pm. However this did force us to just wander (and, as you can see here, take lots of pictures).

We ended our afternoon in Grazalema at a little shop that sold these amazing (and inexpensive) dresses. There was no dressing room so we had to try them on over our clothes (which we did, laughing the entire time, much to the store clerk’s amusement, for nearly an hour). I guess you never get too old for dress-up. We decided to each buy a new dress and change in the car for an evening out in Ronda.

“I dislike feeling at home when I am abroad.” —George Bernard Shaw

Meet Nabila. While trying to figure out how many dirhams we needed for our last day in Fes, I noticed a woman sitting by the ATM watching us, smiling. She followed us—and eventually talked to us—helping us when Aimee was trying to buy tea for her mom. None of us being fluent in Arabic or French, we were having a terrible time trying to explain to the store clerk what we wanted. But Nabila spoke Arabic and French and English. And she was so happy to have an opportunity to try her English out. Aimee bought her tea and Nabila then invited us to her home for hot tea. We were thrilled.

The next thing I remember is being linked arm in arm with Nabila, walking and listening while she chatted away, asking so many questions, her mother (we think) following behind. We weren’t quite sure what we were getting ourselves into but I remembered reading in my Lonely Planet Morocco book to consider yourself lucky if you’re invited into someone’s home. We learned, once in her home, that she lived with only her sisters—and right or wrong, knowing that, we felt safe.

We were served more of that delicious hot mint tea and cookies. She and her sisters took so many pictures of us and we of all of them (on Shruti’s camera, not mine). We taught her a few English phrases (although she knew so much) and she taught us Arabic (by the way, “sahabat” means “friends”). We exchanged addresses. And as we left Nabila’s apartment she and her sisters watched us walk down the darkened street, waving, waving. Lucky, indeed.

“A journey is best measured in friends, rather than miles.” —Tim Cahill

One of my favorite memories of our trip was climbing these steps at our riad, which led to a rooftop terrace.

We drank the most delicious hot mint tea, nibbled on roasted nuts, listened to a distant prayer call, and talked and talked and talked, enjoying the warm breeze after a hot and most memorable day.

Our view: The full moon grew only more beautiful as the evening wore on.

“A traveler without observation is a bird without wings.” —Moslih Eddin Saadi

We spent a fair amount of time in a tiny little shop in the medina that sold original oil and watercolor paintings. Here is the artist’s son (a musician, not a painter) who was very patient with us, bringing down many pieces of art for us to consider buying.

He then invited us upstairs (steep, steep stairs) to see his father’s studio.

The next day we went back and met the painter himself. We each bought several paintings, which he carefully took off their wooden frames and rolled for our long journey home.

“There was always more in the world than men could see, walked they ever so slowly; they will see it no better for going fast. The really precious things are thought and sight, not pace.” —John Ruskin

For two days we wandered around the medina (Fes el-Bali).

Walking around the old, walled city was like stepping back in time.

It was loud, hot, crowded—beautiful.

We constantly waved “no” to people trying so hard to sell us their wares—shopping was a sport. We bargained. (I always gave in so early in the game.)

It was exhausting and exhilarating.

We bought paintings—and met the painter (more on that later).

While attempting to buy tea a Moroccan woman helped us with the language and then invited us into her own home for hot tea (more on that later).

We got lost (but only once!).

I was a little shocked to discover that a toilet in a restaurant was merely a hole in the ground—but I hiked up my skirt and peed.

We bought earrings and shawls and teapots and clothes.

We watched mules walk by carrying impossibly high loads with cardboard blinders on secured with twine.

The experience was so worth the trouble it took to get there and it’s one I will never, ever forget.

“There are no foreign lands. It is the traveler only who is foreign.” —Robert Louis Stevenson

While in Fes we stayed at the beautiful Riad Tizwa in Batha. Above are some images of the courtyard, terrace and our room.

“The World is a book, and those who do not travel read only a page.” —St. Augustine

“To be overcome by the fragrance of flowers is a delectable form of defeat.” —Beverly Nichols

“Today I have grown taller from walking with the trees.” —Karle Wilson Baker