Sitting under a camelhair blanket to stave off the mountain chill, the aromatic mint tea combining with the musty smell of the room, I looked around wide-eyed at the high piles of raw silk tapestries. Outside in the Chefchaouen medina three young girls were playing jump rope, counting out steps in a mix of Arabic and Spanish.

I struggled with the immediate feeling of comfort and ease with the reality of being a customer. He was laying out piece after beautiful piece, but not knowing his prices, I was afraid of personally offending him if I walked out empty-handed.

I began asking questions about the tapestries: who made them; what were the dyes made of; what did the patterns symbolize. Full of pride, he explained to us in French  the story of the tapestries and the people who made them. When we did not understand he switched to English, for he had self-taught fluency in seven languages. He even taught us some of his native Bedouin for good measure.

I couldn't resist leaving without a beautiful Tuareg tapestry, but I also walked away feeling more connected to the Moroccan culture. The non-Western lifestyle of the men in the shop may have been alien to me, but their drive, curiosity, and resourcefulness was easily relateable and inspiring.