In ways big and small, through shouts and whispers and noisy nights that turn to quiet mornings beaming light through my window, the world continues to show me that it is a place built for love. It’s easy to get lost in the fear and violence that seem so prevalent today, but it’s crucial to find something to remind us of the simplicity of the world. For me, traveling (both solo and with others) has been a constant reminder that the world is safer, smaller and much funnier than it seems. Join me as I share memories and moments from my time traveling abroad, nationally and locally, equipping you all with travel tips, do’s and don’ts, and lessons learned from getting to know some of the world’s most beautiful places and people, and keeping journals, photographs and faith in myself through it all.
If anyone were to look at my search history for the four months before I traveled to Morocco for a journalism internship, they would come across a lot of Lonely Planet handbooks and “Traveling Alone for Dummies” articles. I’ll admit that I did extensive research on Morocco, as any good student, journalist and traveler should do before even taking a peek into the black hole that is planning a trip like this.
Airfare, housing and even my internship were all factors that played a large part in my decision to travel five hours into the future to this magical world but came second to the most important factors of them all: What in the world is in Morocco, and will I enjoy whatever it is?
To answer these questions, I dove into a few black holes of my own: the Internet, my mother’s judgment and my friends’ sometimes ignorant, yet entertaining opinions. Truthfully, the only information I knew about Morocco before I began researching it in every nook and cranny of the web, (and even after that, there’s only so much Google can help you with) came from the back of my mothers’ Moroccan Tree Oil shampoo and conditioner bottles. Most of it was in Arabic. As you can guess, it wasn’t much help.
Combined with the fun facts my friends learned in freshman year geography class and the biased information my mom believed straight out of that talking box in the kitchen, my knowledge about the country in which I would be living for the next eight weeks was far from accurate.
I knew from the moment I stepped off the plane that we were pretty much wrong about almost everything.
First things first, a lot of my friends thought that Morocco was in Spain… or Russia. The only excuse I can possibly scrape up in their defense is that Morocco sounds kind of like Madrid or Moscow. Still, we had to memorize the map of Africa at least five times in our lifetime, and we live in the era of Google, my friends. Morocco is in North Africa, borders Algeria and is actually really close to Spain.
Once people found out that Morocco was in Africa, almost all of them asked me how I would survive the heat. I think living almost 20 years in South Florida prepared me pretty well for this one. Northern Africa is very hot—although the average temperature is 73 degrees, every moment spent outside feels at least 15 degrees hotter than that. The sun hits directly on the city of Rabat, where I lived, and shines bright from sunrise to sunset. But I’m actually a fan of the heat, and I cherished finally being able to enjoy a rain-free summer, unlike the summers back home.
Catcalling was one of my mothers’ greatest worries, and we both quietly wondered how the walks alone to work each day would go. Would I get stared at and harassed verbally for looking so out of place? Luckily, I’m not bleach blonde or fair-skinned, but I was still so obviously not a local. We were wrong about that one too. It may be because I spent a lot of my time in Morocco too nervous to make eye contact on the streets or perhaps I didn’t look as out of place as I thought I would, but I didn’t experience much catcalling at all. In fact, I barely got as much as I do back home in South Florida or in Tallahassee. Moroccans were always extremely polite, and with each walk through the Medina, I felt fewer eyes on me and more and more comfortable.
“I heard there are lots of stray cats on the streets.” Yes, yes, yes. We were absolutely right about this one. During one of my walks to work, I counted thirteen kittens on one street corner eating trash out of a plastic bag. I came across at least 100 by the end of the summer, and that made me wonder how the population came to be so large. All the kitties were friendly and playful, but whenever I saw one I couldn’t help but think of all of the ones that didn’t make it to the trash bag that morning, and if there was anything being done about them. I still wonder that today.
A friend of mine once told me that the drivers in Morocco were reckless. After having my fair share of close calls with public transportation (I’m clumsy and get distracted by small objects), I can say that the Moroccan drivers are not nearly as bad as some of the ones I’ve encountered in Mexico, Colombia and even Tallahassee. Sure, don’t expect any of them to stop at a red light all the time, but also rest assured that you could cross almost any empty street without the fear of a speeding motorcyclist messing up your pedicure.
My last debunked preconceived notion about Morocco came from almost everyone, including myself: Morocco’s culture is closed-off. Strict. Uptight.
Traditional? Yes. Closed-off? Absolutely not. During my time in Morocco, I encountered diversity in terms of languages, customs, clothing, perspectives, senses of humor, levels of education—the list goes on. There is something about Moroccan culture that screams conservative, but there’s something else that screams just a little louder—timelessness. Every color on every thread of every rug seems like the first one of its kind, every sip of hot mint tea tastes like the freshest and every person I’ve met seems like the most genuine. Nothing about Morocco is closed-off—in fact, it’s quite the opposite.