“Hello, you remember me?” the
man asked, with a wide smile. “I carry your bags this morning, remember?”
Chris and I nodded blankly and smiled back at the man as we
walked out the front gate of La Mamounia in Marrakech. We weren’t, in truth,
staying at this renowned hotel. We had simply wanted to stroll its magnificent gardens,
usually reserved for guests. But we were dressed for dinner at a nearby
restaurant and thought we’d try to sneak in, striding past the uniformed doormen
just thirty minutes earlier like we owned the place.
