I stumbled upon Daphne on the rooftop of a dusky riad in Marrakech.
This six-foot Canadienne with man-sized feet was the only other guest there, and she was naked. Or mostly naked, which is startling for me at the best of times, but particularly in Morocco – a conservative north-African Muslim country.
“Oh, er, hello!”
“Hi,” she said, blowing a plume of smoke and looking up briefly from under a riotous pile of hemp-yellow hair.
She wore a straw hat and the tiniest bikini bottoms, and was bent over a fine piece of silk. Sweat glistened on her freckles and rolled between her bronzed breasts as her fingers, blackened with henna, drew delicate brush strokes across the fabric.
Malaga, Spain, is not far away. H10 Hotels are awaiting you.
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