As Megan mentioned, the tanneries in the medina?
Can be a bit rank.
And that’s putting it nicely.
Thankfully, the day we visited Fes, the winds seemed to be in our favor, and the stench of dyeing leather was kept to a minimum.
Though I’m guessing not for this guy.
But Turner and I, we stood high above the tubs that held the dyes, watched as men swirled the sheets of leather back and forth and back and forth, around and around, saturating each piece with color.
Before we headed up to the overlook (which also doubled as a showroom for all the leathery wares), we were invited to take a sprig of mint.
To mask the odors of the pigeon poop, you see.
But as I mentioned, the winds were in our favor.
And truth be told, the mint—for whatever reason—smelled worse than the tanneries, like the sprigs had been sitting in a vase of stale, wet bread mixed with globules of meat grease.
I politely held my sprig at my side, far away from my nose, as I took in the scene below, watching the workers and their process. Every once in awhile, though, I’d smell the sprig again, just to make sure it hadn’t suddenly started smelling like its natural, fresh, minty self.
And yet there I’d go: Sniff? Blech.
You’d think I’d learn.
Maybe I’ll just blame it on the pigeon poop.