Dar El Bacha
A palace first. A coffee room second. At least that is how it appears.
The architecture arrives before the coffee does. Carved stone. Patterned walls. Light filtered through arches built long before the room found its current purpose.
Then the coffee arrives. And the scale changes.
The interest was not in the coffee itself. It was in the ceremony surrounding it.
Every detail seemed inherited from something older. The room moved slowly, but not casually. Everything appeared exactly where it belonged.
The details first. A brass pot catching the light. Rows of tins repeated like a library catalogue. A uniform unchanged by fashion.
Then the room widens. Tables. Arches. Columns. The architecture revealing itself one section at a time.
The memory that remained was not a flavour. It was a pace.
Outside, Marrakech returned immediately. Inside, it seemed to have been operating according to a different clock altogether.
