The streets of Fez smelled like oriental spices, sweat and the everywhere present donkeys. The local markets have not changed too much from the mysterious times when charming Scheherazade was telling her stories to cruel and foolish King Shahryar. This smart lady would come every night cowered in the silk robes, gold jewelry and seductive perfumes to tell her husband a story in the quiet luxury of the castle about the medina, while merchants would hassle and bargain with their potential customers and drink hot and sweet mint tea outside. Still today, the great grandsons of these bold merchants will pull you by the sleeve into their stores and sweetly trick you into buying “flying carpets and Aladdin’s lamp” if they see that you are a vulnerable tourist