On arriving at the Villa des Orangers, an authentic 1938 townhouse just outside the souk, I enter through a nondescript door and into an Arabian nights dark reception area before being ushered into the courtyard.
As I sit, I hear only the falling of the fountain. A faint sense of incense wafts through the air. Are the oranges tied on up so high in the trees or are they growing in pots that beautifully? The walls with Arabic design are not sparkling with new paint but there‟s an air of authenticity here. I sense that this is going to be good.
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