As I step out of our dusty car, the hot sun beats upon my back. I look up to see a beautiful mineret next to a domed mosque, reflecting the turquoise color of the sea beside it. I slam the car door shut and hear "Ah ah ah," a man's voice trilling the Muslim call to prayer. I am instantly paralyzed with awe and respect for this beautiful musical prayer.
I encourage my family to head towards the sounds of the prayer but as we walk, I am hit with a strong mixture of smells: my nose and these scents are like two sides of a magnet colliding. Without a map to guide us, my nose leads my way much like an animal's natural instinct leads to the smells of food. We enter this narrow alley filled with sights, sounds and smells all new to me.
Walking through the winding passageways, I witness a crowd of shoppers gathering around one shop in particular. I snake my way through the sea of people and see a plump, old Arab lady in a head scarf and silk shawl sitting in front of a domed oven with a stove-topped roof. She takes dough balls the size of oranges and stretches them neatly on a cushion one at a time, into the size of an extra large pizza. Then, in the blink of an eye, it was on the stove. Bubbles appeared as the bread browned and crackled. Without skipping a beat to her cooking rhythm, she pulled the fresh hot bread off the stove and began a new one.
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