I don’t get it.
Etched in to my memory of street shopping – be it in Venice, Rome or New York – is the image of tall, West African men tending makeshift tables of leather goods on sidewalks. There is a nervousness to their body language, a furtive look out of the eye. When you see the cop car round the corner and the lightening speed with which table, bags and belts magically disappear inside of huge cloth satchels, you understand the situation.
These are all illegal knockoffs.
Then how does Atika, everyone’s favorite shoe shop in Marrakech, get away with selling their staggering array of Tod’s look-alike driving shoes and Hermes sandals and handbags with such bold fanfare. For this shop, located in Gueliz’s Rue de la Liberte, is mobbed from its opening hour at 8:30 until closing time at dusk (they are closed, like all shops here, during the midday hours). This year, the year of the ballet shoe, there is an added line of softer than butter, rainbow colored ballet flats as well as Chanel inspired frayed cloth ones. All so pretty, and all very reasonable.
The Nomad, Rimbaud’s man with soles of wind; the Traveler, restless and curious, devouring the earth.
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