Casablanca
After landing in a country I had dreamed of visiting for a decade, I was ready to start this adventure. A giddy sense of excitement kept me awake despite my red-eye flight.
I set off to my airport shuttle, and we made our way into the city. I met Vanessa there, and it was another surreal moment for me. She was my co-op placement in high school, and she hosted this leg of my travels. After two years of planning it, seeing her was my body’s confirmation to make it all feel real.
I had breakfast after putting my things in my room, and we set off to explore the city.
Teaming up with a few people from our group, we went to the Mosque. Hassan II. It’s the world’s second-largest mosque on reclaimed land, the only mosque where non-muslims are allowed inside.
With a total capacity of 80,000 people, the construction is estimated to cost 400-700 million dollars. The wealth disparity we witnessed walking through the streets of the city was shocking. We found quite a few run-down areas and mistakenly took a road we’ve dubbed “rue de la toilette” for all the feces and urine smells.
Casablanca was blisteringly hot – the humidity was overwhelming. It exemplified the unpleasant smells. We were sweating very quickly and it did not stop all day long.
We took taxis to the Medina, where you could buy anything from shoes to leather goods, food and spices. The alleys were small, and the people were loud but friendly. It was my first taste of the country that felt authentic, and I quickly became addicted.
We had lunch at Rick’s Cafe – a delicious and authentic Moroccan restaurant. I had a salmon fillet with lemon spices, and it was mouth-watering. The restaurant was “rich,” and yet it only cost about 200 for the whole group of 10. I struggled to stay awake here, my eyes closing between conversations. Sitting down had been a mistake; my lack of sleep and lack of movement made it hard to fight.
We split up again, but here’s a story about bad decisions.
After lunch, some of us took a taxi out to the lighthouse – a place where very few tourists go. The ground was riddled with garbage, and the air smelled of week-old sun-baked sludge. But the ocean view was unbeatable. Rough dark rocks against azure ocean waves breaking on the coast were striking. Locals swam and sunbathed by the rocks lower down – where it looked like there was once a road or bridge.
We passed by a small concrete home, one that appeared abandoned. I stopped to take photos of it – half was painted blue, and the door framed a hanging rug. A woman poked her head out and told us to come inside. We followed her cautiously. The view from indoors proved worth the risk. The narrow door looks out onto the ocean, crashing against the dark rocks. Her brother came out after a few moments and offered us tea. He spoke French, so we were able to communicate well enough. He was kind but a little too eager. Neither of them had many teeth. After we gave them some money for welcoming us into their home, he hugged me and gave me kisses on each cheek a little too enthusiastically. He tried to grab my hand and pull me closer, asking me to stay for tea, but we told him we had to meet up with our friends and ran away quickly.
Not everything about travelling is glamorous – I felt I had to wash my face ASAP after that—a relatively safe lesson in making bad decisions.
Since we were in an area that didn’t have many tourists, we struggled to find a taxi. We asked a local man on the construction crew building a new restaurant to call us one. His friend pulled up in a small car, so we piled four in the back and one in front. The driver asked us to keep the windows closed in case the police saw them because he had already had two tickets. He also couldn’t get close to our hotel or he would get a ticket, so he dropped us off a few locks down and we walked back. We thankfully arrived without issue, another safe lesson in bad decisions.
Dinner was at a delicious restaurant where the chef was extraordinarily patient and passionate. We gave him freedom of reign over our dinner – we ended up sharing all the dishes, each more mouthwatering than the last. My favourite was the chicken pastilla. Desert was some form of wafer covered in a sweet sauce as well as frozen nougat, chocolate and coffee. I cannot describe the taste beyond being sweet without heaviness.
Overall, I was ready to crash when we returned to the hotel. I showered quickly, pulled out my PJs from my packed suitcase and slept soundly. I don’t remember crawling into bed.
The wealth disparity between even us tourists and the locals was staggering – it made me realize the scope of privilege I have and come from. Not only to be able to live my life but to visit such beautiful countries that depend on our business to survive. It’s incredibly humbling, and I will forever be grateful for this life.
Tangier
The northernmost coastal city is immaculate and welcoming, where the Atlantic and Mediterranean meet. One flows under the other, creating a rough current. 15 km across the water, you can see the edge of Spain, where many Moroccans try to illegally migrate to by swimming the channel. Yet another reminder of my incredibly privileged life.
We took a walking tour through the twisting streets. They were filled with beautiful alleys harbouring plants and flowers. Is it a city many artists fell in love with its unique charm. It’s easy to see why. The whole city was reminiscent of Mediterranean-style architecture. From Matisse to the rolling stones, Tangier has a rich and gritty art history. Matisse famously painted its small streets, taking up residence in the Grand Hotel Villa, his favourite room# 35. Brian Jones was a regular visitor, coming to the city to record the trance rhythms of traditional Moroccan music.
Even classical mythology sets it as the home for the Pillars of Hercules that marked the end of the known world, beyond which lay the sunken city of Atlantis.
We had our first real taste of twisting alleyways and buttery lights in this city. The heat was almost oppressive, but occasionally a cool breeze would come from the ocean to try and wipe the sweat off of our brows.
It was worth learning about the history and seeing the view Tangier had to offer us. It was quire the contrast to my experience in Casablanca. With a rich history in art and culture, I couldn’t help but feel a pull to its charm.
Chefchaouen
With streets dating back to the 11th century, it is a VERY old city. The medina is full of people selling their wares. From fresh pressed juices, to carpets and leather goods,, from trinkets and artwork, you could purchase just about anything. But nothing compares to the blue streets. The story of them is notoriously mysterious. There are so many theories about the blue pearl and its meaning. Some say it’s to keep the mosquitos away. Some say it’s to honour the Jewish People after the holocaust. Maybe the most magical story, the one I am personally inclined to believe, is that it represents the many shades of water from the Mediterranean and the waterfall that supplies the locals. They say the blue walls are meant to capture the beauty and varied faces of water.
We followed our guide through the medina for a late dinner. He knew the safe restaurants for our sensitive North American bellies but also the taste ones. He took us up to an open-air terrace where we could see a portion of the city. A musician played the guitar and sang beautifully while we dined on food. I had (cheese puffs things – google) dipped in some sort of sweet sauce that melted on the tongue. We spent about an hour walking around the narrow streets and avoiding the poor stray cats. Although the locals seem to regard the animals in a semi-high regard. They stop traffic for them, occasionally give them table scraps and on very rare occasions, take them in.
After a late night, struggling to fall asleep to loud drums and street celebrations, we struggled to wake up at 6 am. (Swipe to the end for a video of what we listened to until 2 am)
Our morning started with an early hike up the mountain. We then made our way to the Spanish mosque, a sacred spot for sunset prayer with a stunning view.
After about two hours of uphill walking through rocky terrain, we fell upon countless fig trees and helped ourself to the delicious fruits. Grapes, pomegranates and fig trees surrounded us and they provided some well needed shade. With frequent breaks and reminders from our guides to keep drinking water, we made it to the halfway mark.
We stopped at a cafe for some mint tea. Morocco is famous for its mint tea, which is prepared and served in front of guests. Mint tea is served hot and, if you’re lucky, with a cube of sugar. They say the higher the pour, the more respect the server gives you. Bubbles are a sign of hospitality. The cafe’s owner hung out with us and welcomed our group with freshly pressed orange juice. Our cameras fascinated his sweet three-year-old boy and doled-out smiles in spades.
As the sun rose, so did the temperature.
We continued our hike for three more hours, taking breaks along the road for more water and shade. The steep path made me question my sanity. I’ve never sweated so much in my life. Our local guide was full of stories and spoke French fluently. He told us about the mountains, one having an Amazeigh name, the other Arabic, and the valley representing a middle ground between them.
We finally crested the top of our hike and slowly made our way down to a small town for a locally supplied lunch. The fields were full of… Moroccan chocolate plants 👀🍃 the stalks went well above our heads, and the heady scent was hard to miss.
Our lunch was served with more mint tea, some goat cheese, olives and bread that was to die for and finally, tajin chicken. We made our way back to the hotel in what I can only describe as a mix of a 4×4 and a truck on VERY bumpy roads on the cliffside.
Our afternoon was spent lazing about and exploring the blue streets the city is so known for. It is definitely a unique experience to turn down new alleys and find hidden pockets of beauty. A black cat sunning herself, a woman cleaning her steps in a bright outfit, children playing with dice giggling loudly. A juice shop offering fresh pressed juices (which were 10MAD – 1$) and the hung oranges provided a stunning contrast to the blue walls.
I could have spent my whole life exploring the blue alleys and looking at the wares locals were selling. The market was filled with art and food. And SO many cats. They lazed about the grounds, not bothering a soul and seemingly content to soak up the sunshine. Between the women in brightly coloured outfits cleaning their home entrances to the children soaking in whispers and giggling, it was an experience I will never forget.
My legs felt like jelly but it was worth every step and struggle through the humid air.
My afternoon was exploring the blue streets the city is so known for. It is definitely a unique experience to turn down the countless alleys and find hidden pockets of beauty. A black cat sunning, a woman cleaning her steps in a bright outfit, children playing with dice giggling loudly. A shop offering fresh pressed juices, endless art galleries and tapestries strung between homes.
I could have spent my whole life strolling through the blue alleys and looking at the wares from locals. The market was filled with art and food. And SO many cats. They lazed about the grounds, not bothering a soul and seemingly content to soak up the sunshine. Between the smiling locals and tourists trying to get the perfect photo, it was an enchanting city to explore.
Getting lost in Chefchaouen is somehow the easiest and hardest thing I’ve ever done. By walking through the streets, I was awed and stopped every few feet to photograph a new angle, a family of cats, or just the beautiful blue tones of the city. And yet, I never actually got lost. It was a city I struggled to leave. I wanted to stay.
I finished off with a beautiful dinner overlooking the city as the sun went down. Sipping on mint lemonade and gorging myself on chicken pastilla, I did my best to soak it all in.
Chefchaouen will have my heart. Always.
Itzer
Our commute to the Sahara desert took about 9 hours on the bus but was made entertaining by the many stops we made. We first stopped in “The Switzerland of Morocco” dubbed so for its mountains and education. With s small lion statue reminiscent of the saddest lion in the world in Lucerne, we took some time to stretch our legs and we were off again.
Accompanied by stunning views of the mid-Atlas mountains, we stumbled across a herd of wild macaques who were friendly enough to take peanuts right from our hands without getting aggressive. We were warned to see our sunglasses and phones close since they’re known to snatch them but there were no casualties.
We were fortunate enough to be welcomed into a nomadic home to an Amazigh family.
While the more common term for the native population of northern Africa is “Berber”, it’s not used in polite company. The word “Berber” comes from the Greek origin “barbaras“, meaning barbarian. Amazigh on the other hand translates to “free man.”
This family was previously part of a nomadic tribe that roamed the mountains. They had recently settled into a more permanent home made of a steel frame covered in many layers of tapestries, blankets and hides. The floor was layered in more colourful handmade tapestries and furs. A small television was stationed in the corner, where the family could gather and watch soccer – the only sport followed by all Moroccans, I am told.
The house’s matron – the Amazigh community is one of matriarchy – greeted us with mint tea and plenty of smiles. Our tour guide was an apt translator as we sat down and chatted with her.
Muna has the traditional Amazigh tattoos on her face, done with thin needles and ink made of kohl. Symbols that represent her family lineage and status as a married woman. Women are revered in the community, carrying the tribe’s rich traditions onto the next generation. Amazigh women are the storytellers, artists and keepers of culture.
These women share powerful stories and traditions through tapestry weaving, textiles, and tattoos. They teach the next generation to keep their stories and culture alive. It is said that a woman who makes 40 carpets in her lifetime is guaranteed passage into heaven after she dies.
It was an incredible privilege to be welcomed into Muna’s home.
The Sahara
The closer we got to the desert, the dryer the air seemed to get, our humidity drying up on our skin. but the wind was picking up and we stopped by a small shop to buy long fabric so we could protect our heads and faces from the sand and sun. The shop owner helped us try different colours and lengths, showing us traditional Amazigh wrapping techniques.
I finally got to the Sahara.
Pulling into our hotel felt like a fever dream. The golden dunes in the background, the structure reminiscent of a sand castle and the warm breeze made me feel like I’d stepped into another world. After finding my room, the first thing I did was jump into the bubbling pool full of crystal-clear water. It was the most refreshing swim I had ever taken. It was a relief like I could never describe. The central plaza was sun-soaked and filled with just enough leafy trees to provide comfortable shade. The air was blisteringly dry and hot.
The red dunes might be one of my favourite highlights of this trip. I took a 4×4 car up through them, drifting over the sands and visited another nomadic family. Another Muna, greeted us with mint tea, but also Amazigh pizza that was delicious. Her son, Omar stole the show and slowly warmed up to us, taking water from our bottles and wanting to open and close our bags – he was a very curious 2-year-old.
The family showed us each part of their home – one structure for every use. One for sleeping/lounging, another for the kitchen, and another for keeping the baby goats together. They also had a traditional Checoua, used to make lben. It’s a goatskin pouch that dangles; the rough winds serve as enough agitation to ferment and beat milk to a yogurt-like consistency.
We also made our way to an old coal mine, taken over by the government and military and then abandoned. The dark rock was a wild contrast to the golden dunes, and it made for a striking contrast. We finished off the tour by joining a jam session with local Amazigh men. They played music for us as we sipped on mint tea and danced around the room.
Once we got back to the hotel, we enjoyed some time poolside. I brought my laptop out and did some work in a world that felt unreal. I had dreamt of visiting this country for so long, and I had a moment of pure bliss as I realized how every decision led to this adventure. I had finally reached a goal I set out for myself as a teenager – a dream I never allowed myself to believe would come true. That my career would lead me to a life of travel and exploration.
Let me tell you a story:
As a child, I didn’t have many friends, but the ones I did have were fiercely loyal. I don’t have any memories of meeting her, but Nada was my very best friend for a long time. She lived just a few blocks from me, and I have strong memories of going on walks with her, sharing delicious food and hearing stories from her parents about their home. Morocco.
I was infatuated with the country that was home to my best friend. Her parents used to tell me about the rich culture, the beautiful water, the endless desert, the kind people, the bustling Medinas and the many languages. They showed me their cuisine and welcomed me into their home with open arms. The pride they had for their home country was clear.
They gifted me a traditional Moroccan dress and blue slippers I cherished for years. I still have them. I was so infatuated that I even did a school project on Morocco in later years. I had promised her that one day, I would visit her country.
I don’t remember why we stopped speaking, we likely ended up going to different schools, or maybe she moved? Either way, I had dreamed of visiting Morocco because of Nada and her family since I was a little girl.
There were many moments while I visited this country that left me feeling overwhelmed. But riding on the back of camels at sundown in the Sahara almost broke me.
In the waning light of the evening, we hopped on camels. We rode the gentle, sure-footed animals through the dunes as the sun began to set, and I don’t have the words to describe the feeling. Bliss. Contentment. Child-like fantasies turned reality.
While we let our trusty steeds rest and climbed a high peak, I took some time to think about Nada, and how she inspired a deep sense of adventure in me. I couldn’t help but wonder if she’d be proud of me for finally visiting her home and learning even more about her culture.
Nada, wherever you are, thank you. You were the catalyst for my wanderlust, all those years ago. Your home country welcomed me with open arms, just as your family did and I am forever grateful for that. I fulfilled my promise to you, and it was so much better than I ever could’ve imagined.
Our guide offered to help some of us down the giant dunes by using the Amazigh elevator. Hamid wrapped my feet in the head wrap I had been wearing and told me to lay back and relax. He pulled me all the way down the dune at a shocking speed. I laughed the entire time.
We sat down for dinner afterwards and ate delicious food – meatball tajin made with eggs – spiced to perfection. Dinner was short, but the pool beckoned. So I dipped my feet in, and it felt so damn good that I couldn’t resist jumping in fully clothed – something it seems I tend to do often at home when presented with the opportunity.
We took our tripod out for some astrophotography, but the moon was very high, so our milky way got washed out with light.
Arfoud
The land of fossils.
I visited a fossil factory/excavation plant. It was surreal to see a significant portion of my childhood be a part of this trip – my geologist father would have LOVED seeing it all. As it was, I was so busy taking images of all the equipment and specimens that I didn’t keep up with the tour guide well.
It was a sight to behold, from the giant sculptures made of orthoceras to the oldest trilobites and countless ammonites cast in crystal. These preserved animals were captured by nature, encapsulated by crystals and rock for over 300 million years.
Slabs standing over 7 feet tall can be shipped worldwide with these stunning specimens. They even have some of the oldest life forms ever recorded entombed in the rocks – starfish – called brittlestars – dated at over 500 million years old.
Since the Sahara was once a great ocean, it’s no surprise that we’ve found so many treasures buried in its sands, but it’s still an experience to see and touch them so many years later – loving a piece of our world’s history and relics.
I immediately sent all the videos and images to my father, who nerded over them for weeks.
Toudgha El Oulia
The hotel was nestled between two enormous red rock faces. Stepping out into the terrace, the double pool looked out onto the most prominent rock face – giving the whole space an ethereal feel with a covered patio teeming with fresh grapes, friendly staff handing out towels, setting up each of our meals, and overall being helpful.
It was like being in a hotel plucked from the clouds.
It was the first day in Morocco that I opted out of a group excursion. I needed to wind down. So, I did my best to do just that, guilt-free.
I spent my afternoon reading poolside, soaking in the beauty and revelling in this stage of my life. I sipped mint tea and dipped into the refreshing water. I checked in with friends, called my parents to show them my view, answered some work emails, and enjoyed some alone time.
While travelling, it’s so easy to get caught up in the sense of wanting to do everything and see everything that I forget I’m only human. My bodies and mind require rest. It’s okay to take time and do nothing of consequence.
My afternoon was lovely and I soaked it all in before a delicious dinner under the terrace.
The next morning was spent on a walk through a gorge between sheer cliffs. It was so easy to get lost in the feeling of how vast the world is. With the sun just peaking up, the moon still visible, clear blue skies made for a stark contrast against the cliffs.
There was even a hotel in the area, aptly named “Kasbah de la Roche”. Beautiful red rock faces framed this small road, and it felt like something out of a movie. The air was light, and local vendors were just starting to put their wares out. The area was well down, so I was glad we were passing through in the morning and avoiding crowds as well at the oppressive heat.
The gorge was one of those surprising, quick moments that took my break away. It was unexpected, but I loved every minute.
Aït Benhaddou
Before climbing the famous Kazbah, I visited a Carpet weaving Women’s Co-op.
Greeted warmly with smiles, we learned about the tedious process. It starts off with keeping and shearing sheep, processing the wool and spinning into yarn. From there, they use natural materials (like madder root for red, pomegranate skins for black, saffron and almond leaves for yellow, as well as henna and various indigenous plants for earthy tones) to dye the fibres. Finally, the weaving process can begin. On a large loom, the women painstakingly turn the wool into stunning textiles with intricate patterns.
There are so many patterns and wool textures to choose from. Each has their own unique story and symbols woven in delicately. The thickest wools are used by the Amazigh nomads who stay in the mountains. The cushiony texture keep them warm in the cold winters. Alternatively, the desert nomad families use lighter, thinner wool and patterns to replicate the dunes that surround them.
As a matriarcal society, the symbols in these works of art are reflective of femininity. They can tell the story of a woman’s life from birth to marriage. Fertility, good fortune, strength and security are often referenced.
They’re passed down for generations from mother to daughter; since they are so durable, a rug might outlive its maker for generations, immortalizing her stories.
With their own very specific language, it’s no wonder these textiles take so long to complete. Ranging anywhere from 3 to 12 months, depending on the complexities.
The pride put into their work is unmistakable. Since I had my camera out, one of the younger women took me around the whole building, proudly showing me each room with hundreds of rugs made by Amazigh women while I snapped away.
The amount of hours and talent that went into them was breathtaking.
We finally reached the city proper where Air Ben Haddou is nestled. It’s the famous filming location for productions like Game of Thrones, Gladiators The Mummy and many more. An UNESCO world heritage sight since 1987, it’s a popular spot for tourism.
The village is an old Kasbah, with only four families remaining as residents. Built of rammed earth, clay bricks and wood, it blends into the red mountain rock. Rough stairs lead the way to the top, but it’s worth the climb to the windy peak.
I found a few shops that were selling art on our way down. Popping into one workshop, the artists showed us a technique of using paper, lemon juice and fire. Ultimately, I decided to purchase two paintings made with red mud depicting the desert.
Imlil, High Atlas Mountains
I slowly made my way to the High Atlas Mountains through winding roads with sheer drops.
Stepping foot into the small town of Imlil, I followed the guide on an uphill hike through the mountains. On the way, there were plenty of specialty backpacking shops, carpet artisans and ceramics. We even passed a Kasbah named one of the most unique lodges in the world by National Geographic.
Donkeys regularly passed, bogged down with luggage and passengers. Locals appeared unbothered by the steep climb as I made frequent stops to catch my breath and drink water.
The views were unparalleled. The fog made the whole experience eerie and beautiful, giving the mountains an ethereal feel.
Hamid (our guide) kept reassuring the group that our Gîte was just around the corner and that it was “mostly flat”. He lied, but it became a running joke. I huffed my way to our end destination.
Tired and chilled, we made it to our stay for the night. My body immediately went into temperature shock when I removed my camera bag – my back had been covered in sweat. I did my best to stay warm, attempting a steaming shower; but there was no hot water, so I just ended up shivering harder.
Bundling myself in my warmest clothes, I wrapped up in two large blankets and gorged on the hot soup that was served.
I slept soundly in my cocoon, still shivering by the time my brain shut off for the night.
We set out on a different trail the morning after. We made out way down a slowly winding road on the other side of the valley – the sun peached through the dense fog and provided us with a fantastic view of blue clouds and warm-coloured fog from the sunrise.
We even saw the steep path we’d taken the day before – if you zoom in on the third image, you can see the tiny donkeys making their trek down.
I had no words for the experience of spending time in the mountains.
But, let’s get honest about travelling as a woman. The reality is that at some point, you will be menstruating, and I learned the hard way that you need to be prepared for anything.
I was on my last tampon – I had only packed a few anticipating I could buy more supplies on my trip.
I was wrong. Getting sanitary products was more difficult than I thought.
Morocco keeps their menstrual products behind the counter at pharmacies. I asked the guide if we could stop at one on our way to the next destination. Until we could stop, I ended up using Kleenex I had in my bag as makeshift pads.
Once arrived at the pharmacy, I needed more help translating what I needed. Seems they only carry sanitary napkins so I had to make do with that.
I’ve spent over half my life menstruating, so the embarrassment of it has worn off. But, when you’re travelling, don’t assume products are easy to access or even available and affordable.
Best to come prepared.
Essaouria (Argan oil co-op)
Before getting to the coastal city, I stopped by an Argan oil women’s coop.
Making Argan oil isn’t easy. The process is quite lengthy and requires a lot of elbow grease. It all starts with harvesting from the Argan tree which only produces the nuts every two years or more AND only grows in southwestern Morocco.
The nuts get shelled by using two rocks. The shells get used to feed animals as well as make black soap for exfoliation that’s traditionally used in hammam spas. The nuts then get mulled by hand to create a thick paste. Once the paste has been collected, they add a small amount of water and knead the mixture until a ball forms and the oil is extracted. The kneading process takes about two hours. After that, you’re left with an oil that can be used in all kinds of cosmetics, food, or in its pure form, skincare.
The women were thrilled to see us though and broke out into big smiles when we asked them questions about the process and took out our cameras. They even wanted to give us a fun experience and sang traditional Amazigh songs.
Most of the Argan Oil you find in North America is not produced sustainably and often has preservatives and additives that render the effectiveness of the final product almost non-existent.
When shopping for Argan Oil products, ensure the ONLY ingredient listed is Argan Oil and that it’s been produced in Morocco.
Essaouira
The coastal city has such a relaxed feeling to it that it feels like coming home.
The locals are happy; the markets are bustling without feeling too busy, and the food was on another level. With fresh seafood and coffee to die for and solid cocktails, I wanted to consume it all.
I had dinner overlooking a fortress wall and the ocean as I watched the sunset. I was able to get a delicious margarita and enjoy some freshly fried sea bass caught earlier that same day. With live entertainment and good music, I was in my happy place.
My morning was spent exploring the city streets while documenting its charm. The docks were a cacophony of chaos with fishermen getting ready to go out, seagulls circling the area incessantly, and cats running around, waiting for scraps. The residents all went out of their way to have small bowls of fresh water for the animals as well as making small piles of their scraps for them. The cats there were much more well-fed than in any other area.
For lunch, Hamid took us to the bustling fish market. The fisherman picked out an assortment of delicious fish and seafood for us to try. He even gave us freshly caught shrimp sprinkled with lime juice on the spot! It was delicious. Our fish was grilled right there as we made our way to a private rooftop to eat it all as we overlooked the Medina. The food was expertly cooked and seasoned, and it was one of the best lunches I have ever had.
I visited a true Hammam Spa.
The experience was like nothing I had ever had before. Starting with a thorough massage with some organ oil scented with eucalyptus, I left the room feeling like jelly.
(I did have a memorable experience because our host asked the spa owner to take good care of me. Apparently, that means that the massage portion was performed by three oiled-up, very attractive men who took outstanding care of my whole body. It was borderline pornographic, but I felt terrific )
Stepping into the hammam baths, they ask you to take your clothes off and lie down on a warm slab of rock. The female attendant rinsed and washed my body gently before using the black soap made from argan shells to exfoliate my skin thoroughly. Between each step, I was rinsed with warm water. They asked me to sit up while they washed my hair with argon soap, exfoliating my scalp. The last step is a final rinse in cold water.
I left feeling rejuvenated. It was an experience I would repeat again in a heartbeat. There was something cathartic and healing about having women cleanse you and treat you gently while caring for you.
My afternoon was spent strolling the streets and markets with friends. A stop at a local coffee shop gave us some much-needed caffeine. A few of us met with our guide to grab some street food for dinner. We got crepes with chocolate spread and local nuts with dried fruits. It was oddly filling without being too heavy. We went to the fortress wall and were treated to a spectacular sunset.
Then we followed him to a bar to watch the soccer game over drinks.
All in all, Essaouria is one city I would revisit time and time.
Marrakesh
The last stop for my trip to Morocco, and it did not disappoint.
Marrakesh is a bustling city with the famous Jemaa El Fan Square, the Jardin Majorelle from YSL and some of the most luxurious hotels in the world.
The Jemaa El Fan is a large media in the old city centre and was declared an Unesco World Heritage Site in 2001. It’s home to countless restaurants, leather and jewelry artisans, textile shops, and so much more.
Between the tea vendors pouring from arms’ reach, the bikes zipping through the small streets, and the countless shops, the square has a unique charm that I have yet to experience anywhere else.
Stopping by the El Badi and the Bahia Palaces, it was fascinating to see the architecture and detailed walls carved in inscription patterns and arabesques.
Tuktuks might be my favourite form of transportation. They’re efficient, cheap and safe. That was one bucket list item I highly recommend for anyone in Marrakech.
Marrakesh Continued
If you ever get the chance to get in a hot air balloon, do it.
I woke up before dawn for an excursion that took my breath away.
Driving about an hour out of the city, we huddled in large tents, feasting on breakfast food and caffeine as the balloons were unfurled, set up and inflated. Seeing them slowly fill and lift reminded me of childhood fairytales with dragons slowly waking to protect their hoard.
The basket fit 16 people and was much sturdier than I had expected, as was the actual flight. We slowly reached our peak at four thousand feet. Sand glided through the morning mists.
It was a surprisingly peaceful experience. With an experienced pilot, we landed smoothly about an hour later.
An unreal and unforgettable experience that I will not forget anytime soon.
Recap
This tour was my dream trip. It was 15 days of adventures with amazing people. Our tour guide, Hamid, was a delight and ensured we were all cared for everywhere we went. He had connections all over the country to make our trip extra special. The local guides in every city had exceptional knowledge and answered all our questions. The pride in their heritage and culture was abundantly clear.
I should mention that Vanessa organized this tour with a focus on photography. So, I could stop for as many photos as I liked, and we often went on photo walks as a group to explore the cities. As travellers, we focused on storytelling and capturing moments respectfully, which many tourists overlook.
It was ideal as my first “solo” adventure into travel. It kept me feeling safe overall while being able to explore on my own when I had the courage. I was exposed to some fantastic people with breathtaking stories, I learned so much about the country I had dreamed of visiting for decades, and I got to experience the cities from a local perspective.
Morocco is a country that I recommend everyone visit. This tour is one I wholeheartedly endorse as a solo traveller. Between the stunning views, good food and proud people, I would go back time and time again.
Check the link in my bio for more details on how you can book your own Morocco tour!