The rooftops of Fez
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Russell’s first view of her larger surroundings comes when she climbs to the rooftop terrace, to see:
All around lay a tight jumble of buildings, their rooftops—squared, domed, and crenellated; brick and stone and tile; crisply renovated or crudely patched or on the point of collapse—at a myriad of levels, like the world’s largest set of children’s blocks. The town covered slopes dropping into a valley; higher hills, green with winter rains, lay in the distance. Here and there, tree-tops poked up between the structures, but there was no discernable break for roads, and the buildings were so intertwined that they appeared to be resting atop one another.
In modern Fez, one has to squint and remove the satellite dishes, aerials, and plastic sheeting from view, but behind those accretions, the city is the same.
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