A Moroccan Journey

Morocco, I can say…has been a journey.  Arriving, I remembered how wonderfully different it is.  It also didn’t take long to remember how much your pockets can be drained to the tactical locals.  My backpack is busting at the seams with beautiful trinkets, mostly that I paid too much for and somehow I even accumulated a rug!  Along the way I learnt many lessons.  In France I explored and seen beautiful places, in Morocco, I felt I was seen.  This is my story…

Leaving the maze of Fes; which in the end I’m proud to say I found my own way out of the medina, which is a reward in itself, I stared out the bus window on my way to Chefchaouen.  It hit me.  As the gentle tears seeped down my cheeks I couldn’t help but remember a past life, a tinge of pain, and feel the loneliness seep in.   I subtly dried my eyes not to draw attention and thought of something else.  I did wish for a solo journey, and was enjoying time for myself.  I had been avoiding the main tourist routes, but arriving into Chefchaouen I had the hope I might meet other travellers.  It had been over three weeks with not much more than a passing conversation.  I roamed the peaceful blue streets and alleys, where light reflected cool tones.  It seemed every corned had a cat that purred with content as it brushed up against the cool concrete.  People moved slowly in a stoned daze.  It was beautiful.  A small blue village set in the side of a mountain, but it was just me.  The next morning I woke unable to lift my head.  Just when I felt my lowest, food poisoning decided now to settle in.  I couldn’t help but wonder what the heck I was doing.  I had no one at my side, no one to even call as it would’ve been the middle of the night in Australia.  It was all me.  A good friend once told me a saying that seems to help, ‘this too shall pass’.  So I remembered this and closed my eyes.  The stomach cramps came in waves but all I could think was, ‘carry on shall I’.  The next day I woke with a splitting headache from dehydration but the nausea was gone.   In the realization that it was just me, I grabbed my day pack and took off for the mountains despite being told you need a group to go.  It was a hassel on my own but I done it.  As I looked around at the scenery that was before my eyes, calmness washed over me and in that moment I knew I was exactly where I was supposed to be. 

I am a believer that if something seems hard, there will be a bigger reward to come.  From that day on I met the most beautiful Moroccans.  Firstly, two girls, which Moroccan girls are rare to meet.   I’m not sure why exactly but mostly they are with the children, stay at home, or a cultural difference, while the men crowd the streets, do business, and sit at coffee shops.  These girls were genuine and welcomed me into their world.  They took me out for dinner and showed me good food, we shopped at the local markets, cooked Moroccan style, they helped me understand their culture, and were just lovely company.  I also met many genuinely nice men.  It can be hard to determine which ones are genuine and which not so.  I felt as though I did figure it out though and how to handle the ones that weren’t so nice.  In my short time in Morocco I felt I offered respect and was respected in return.  I had heard horror stories of girls travelling alone in Morocco.  I didn’t find this at all.  I was welcomed into homes, I was invited to have tea, they showed me the best views of the cities, offered me contacts to explore their country, many went out of their way to help.  I’m not saying it was easy.  I did have to use my best F**k off face occasionally.  I got much better at firmly saying no with a smile, and learnt how to barter like a Berber woman.  I don’t think I would ever be accepted as one of them, but I felt like they would be happy to have me come along for the ride. 

Without sounding vain, one day I received a compliment that may sound small but I will always remember.  When I asked one of these genuinely nice men if something was safe, he said something alone the lines of “for you, even know you are a beautiful young girl, the way you act and carry yourself, you will be fine”.  It wasn’t the only compliment either.  As they stared at me with their big African brown eyes I heard comments like, I can tell you have a good soul, and how genuine my smile is.  To hear this in a country that is so culturally different to anything I know, where I am so obviously vulnerable but for my strength to be seen, it gave me a delighted reassurance that I will be fine in this wonderful huge world.

When travelling on a bus from one side a country to the other I had time to think. I thought about how when girls are together the conversation always turns to love and men.  We are all searching for that pure love and romance.  This bought me to think about women in my life.  My grandmothers of the amazing strength they have shown.  My mother who found her fairytale, a love I will aspire to.  My beautiful friends and their journey of love or hopefulness.  In a country where men dominate, where there are so many rules around social interaction and where the women seem hidden, I thought about the men in my life.  My father with a heart the size of the ocean; my brother a soul that shines who is gentle and caring; and all my guy friends of how their women are their light and how caring they are.  They do not attempt to own the ones they love.  I believe you can never own another’s soul.  No matter how much you love something or someone, a soul you must keep free.  As the bus wound down the Atlas mountains, mostly I thought of the one who set me free.  Not once did he ask me to stay, he was sincerely happy for me, he understood without explanation, he showed absolute selflessness to want something that was best for me.  Perhaps, this is more than what any other guy has done for me.   In that moment, I felt a serge of happiness.  There are no regrets, just lessons.  It is with all my heart that I can now look at the past with a smile and send nothing but well wishes.  We are all lucky in our own way, on our own path.  Its funny to think, the one that sets you free, that’s the one worth keeping. 

I dragged my bed out from the Berber tent in the Sahara to sleep under the stars.  As I woke in the middle of the night with the sand swirling around me, I pulled the camel knit blanket up to cover all by my eyes.  To my left was the silhouette of a towering sand dune, the highest in the Sahara.  Earlier I had climbed to the top off to view the entire dessert and see Algeria in the distance.  In the darkness of the night, I gazed up at the clear sky above.  Shooting stars shot across the sky and in the peacefulness of that wonderful nights sky I couldn’t help but make a wish and to realize that already a wish has come true.  

So like I said, Morocco has been a journey.  It’s a country of total contrast, which you can love and detest at the same time.  Men rule but the women are strong.  The landscape can be totally flat then rise to towering mountains.  The ocean is always cold but the land harsh and hot.  There is dessert and snow.  You can spend so much money or next to nothing.  There is wealth where people live in beautiful tiled riads or poverty in mud built villages.  It is a place of extreme bustle and ciaos, or a life so simple.  It is dirty with dust everywhere, but the hammams wash you so clean.  I found I was torn between buying all the beautiful things in the souks, or getting rid of all my belongings to get lost where nothing is needed.  I found out that a donkey cost about forty euro, and had offers to follow the mountain nomads.  If it wasn’t for a plan to meet a good friend, I was very tempted to stay and get lost.  A famous author that wrote about Morocco once said, “Behind the sheltering sky is a vast dark universe, and we’re just so small”.  Morocco is a place that can challenge you, to shunt you to realize that only the present is worth thinking about.  It is a place to be lost, but completely found at the same time.  They say it takes a month to kick a habit.  It’s been over one month now on the road, and I think I’m just settling in.  In Arabic, shae means tea… Sounds like the perfect place for me, perhaps one day I’ll be back with fourth euro.