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On my first morning in Marrakech I got lost in the souks on purpose, and within the hour a scarf seller had wound my head in three different Moroccan styles, walked me past the dye vats behind his shop and handed me over to his father, who sold me argan oil and face cream for more than I should have paid. That afternoon I ran into the son again. “Did my father give you a good price?” he asked, and when I said I didn’t think so, he checked my bag, grinned and told…
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