My hometown

I was listening to the radio tonight and there was some contest going on asking people where they would take someone in their hometown, and why. As a third culture kid my mind scrambled for a minute, what is my home town, where would I want to take someone, and then almost as quickly my brain calmed. Home. Fes. A place I all but abandoned in my youth and will probably never be able to return to. I would take them to Fes and show them the Medina (kedima that is).

We would walk through a tannery, holding delicate fresh mint leaves over our noses to help with the stench, watching men in stained shorts dip sheep skins in to the large tubs of dye.
We would then walk on, passing all sorts of shops, each with their wares hanging on nails and hooks all around the doorways like picture frames, advertising what they sell.
We would see a leather store, selling things like poufs made out of the different colored leathers, and Blaghree every color of the rainbow and black, and white, but mostly yellow.
We would see a metal working shop selling things like serving trays and tea pots, mirror frames, and jewelry. There might even be a man sitting there hand etching something so we can see how it is done.
There would be a scarf shop filled with all sorts of colors and prints, shapes and sizes of scarves. If we're nice the owner would probably even give us a demonstration on how to style them different ways. Scarf shops have always been my favorite.
We would see a woodworking shop filled with all things wood, big and small. It would smell strongly of cedar. There would be tables, chess boards and pieces, small animals with inlaid eyes of a different color wood, chains that were hand carved out of one piece of wood. Qu'ran stands that are so beautifully carved you'll have to run your fingers along the edges.
As we continue on down we'll have to pay attention, listening for someone shouting "Ballack" as they prod a butane laden donkey down the narrow alley like roads. If you don't step out of the way you most likely face a very painful crushing between a wall and said donkey.
We'll pass hanouts selling groceries and basic everyday needed household items, there will be nut shops selling a paper cone full of freshly roasted peanuts or sunflower seeds for a Durham a piece.
We might stop at a jelloba store and try on the traditional robes, maybe even get swindled into buying one that you'll never wear again.
By this point our feet will be tired, we'll find a nice rug shop to slip our shoes off and sit down in, they'll serve us mint tea, and roll out as many beautiful, hand woven rugs as we can handle.
We'll hear a call to prayer, probably the same one from many mosques, and watch as the faithful stop to say their prayers.
We'll grab a freshly squeezed glass of orange juice from a cart, and maybe a popcorn to go with it, and if you're feeling brave, we'll get some beeboosh soup.
As the day ends, and we wander out one of the gates in search of a taxi, one of thousands of bright red petit taxis in the city, I'll stop and inhale deeply one last time, because I never want to forget the smell of home.