Moroccan Musings...

As my time in Morocco begins to wind down, I feel compelled to capture some of my thoughts while they’re still fresh. My journey has taken me from the northernmost tip of Africa to as far south as Casablanca, and yet, I feel like I’ve barely scratched the surface of this diverse and captivating country. Morocco is a land of many faces—each region, each town, has its own unique flavor, its own character. 

Looking across the Straight of Gibraltar

I started in Tangier, a Mediterranean city with an international flair that felt almost like a crossroads of cultures. The sea breezes mix with the savory scents wafting from local restaurants and bustling markets. Its labyrinthine medina, full of narrow, winding cobbled streets, became a place I happily lost myself amidst the sounds of French, Spanish, Arabic, and Moroccan dialect. Tangier hums with energy, a vibrant city where life feels like it’s constantly in motion.

Nut, date and fig stand

My guide for the day, Kareem, spent six hours showing me all over the medina (the old walled city),  the kasbah (the old fortress area) and the many souks (markets) that seemed to go on for miles. We looked at rugs, lamps, furniture, art, jewelry, dates, nuts, fruits and vegetables (he skipped the meat market for me- thank you), purses, clothing, you name it! We looked at the old graves on top of the city (now just open rectangular indentations in the rock), marveled at the King’s palace, saw Spain right across the straight, and had hot mint sweet tea to rejuvenate us. What a day!

Next, I ventured to Asilah, a small coastal town, popular with European expats, known for its artistic atmosphere and sleepy vibe. Though my time there was brief, I found myself drawn to its charming medina, which was somewhat easy to navigate, even for someone as directionally challenged as me.

The town’s colorful walls and vibrant art created a sense of calm, and the views from the city wall overlooking the ocean were stunning.

To explore more of Morocco, I hired a driver—a small splurge, but worth every dirham. It’s quite common to hire drivers here, actually, and many people make their living from driving tourists around. Public transport is efficient and accessible, but there are hidden gems that are difficult (or time consuming) to reach by bus or train.

Abdul, my driver, was kind and full of fascinating knowledge. A former law student who told me he couldn’t afford the costs of becoming a licensed lawyer, Abdul turned to guiding, using his deep understanding of Morocco’s history and politics to enrich visitors' experiences.

Our journey through the Rif Mountains, home to the Berber people, was nothing short of spectacular. I was struck by the language diversity—signs were in Arabic, Berber and French—and by the many people still wearing the traditional Moroccan djellaba, a loose, hooded garment.

Then came Chefchaouen, the famous Blue City in the mountains. The town’s vibrant blue colors are said to have been painted by the Jewish refugees who fled Spain during the 15th-century Crusades and settled here. Later, more refugees settled in the 1930s, fleeing Hitler, and continued the tradition, adding more hues. Walking through Chefchaouen felt like stepping into a dream. The streets, lined with blue-painted buildings, felt both timeless and magical. Despite its popularity as a tourist destination, there’s a certain artistic, laid-back vibe to the town—something akin to the charming mountain town of Ouray, Colorado, or the coastal pueblo of Todos Santos in Baja California.

I was fortunate enough to meet up with my friend Christa there, despite my having no idea where I was going once Abdul dropped me off. In many towns in Morocco, you cannot drive into the medina, the walled portion of the city. So you must shlep your luggage through the maze-like, steep streets, kicking yourself for bringing that face cream and extra pair of shoes. Somehow, as happened to me the whole time I was here, I was offered help by some local strangers, who happened to know the owner of the Airbnb where Christa was staying and somehow they happened to communicate with each other because when I showed up, Christa said “oh, Ahmed called Mike and said you were on your way.” Again…that magic carpet ride….

When I arrived, Christa and I decided to walk (it ended up being more of an impromtu hike in not great shoes) up to the Spanish Mosque, perched high above the town. What was supposed to be a straightforward walk turned into a muddy, meandering trek on sheep trails through an expansive cemetery, the kind of place that feels both eerie and beautiful. Along the way, we encountered a group of sheepherders, who, although amused by our lost and muddied state, patiently directed us back on track. Their kindness was a small gift that made our eventual arrival at the mosque all the more rewarding. The view was breathtaking and well worth the trek.

We spent a lot of time on the rooftop of our place, a common happening here in Morocco. The houses are all narrow but many stories with seemingly endless stairs. From the rooftop, we marveled at the stunning views and blue town. The evening air would fill with the haunting sound of the call to prayer, echoing from all corners of the city as the setting sun bathed the streets in deep purple hues. It was surreal and mesmerizing.

As Ramadan approached, there was an unmistakable excitement in the air. Children ran through the streets, beating on drums, and adults were engaged in lively conversation and last-minute food shopping as they awaited the start of the month-long fast. I smiled at their excitement, though I could hardly imagine giving up my vices for a month as eagerly as they did. Yet, I deeply admired their devotion.

We took advantage of a town filled with so many arts and crafts to do some shopping! In a place that caters to tourists, there was still that profound sense of trust. I bought a handmade wool hat—far more fitting than my Outdoor Research one—only to find that the stall was unattended. Instead, there was a sign asking customers to place their money in a mailbox slot. It was a simple but beautiful gesture of trust, one that made me feel connected to the local culture in a way that's rare in many tourist destinations.

On our way back to our place, we got a little lost (easy to do) and it was for the best because we ran across a little restaurant with live music! It was wonderful to sit and drink a post-dinner drink, the ubiquitous sweet mint tea (Moroccan whiskey, they call it) and listen to the beautiful sitar music.

From Chefchaouen, I continued my journey with friends, making a stop in Tetouan—the "Spanish city"—and I couldn’t help but be reminded of Star Wars. I am convinced that George Lucas spent some time here in Morocco while coming up with some of his content for the movies. The brown, pointy-hooded djellabas worn by many locals immediately brought to mind the Jawa desert dwellers, the tall camels of the desert have a striking resemblance to the "eopies"and the name Tetouan itself, has an uncanny resemblance to the fictional Tatooine.

We ended up walking aimlessly through the streets of the old medina (the most fun and worthwhile activity because it’s always an adventure!) and ended up running into a tannery, a craft that is still done very similarly to how it has been for centuries. (or did my friend Christa, who loves to buy leather subliminally guide us there….I’ll never know) We watched as one man scraped the sheep skin while another couple worked on the dying process. The place was filled with deep, narrow stone indentations throughout, used for dying.

Tetouan's market was a kaleidoscope of life, selling everything from fruit and lamps to baskets and random yard-sale finds. Many people would lay out a blanket and some used items to sell. It was a menagerie of randomness!

Tetouan

One stall, however, caught my attention for all the wrong reasons: it sold a collection of animal legs and hooves. Let’s just say I didn’t linger. In the chaotic marketplace, we relied more on the kindness of locals than technology, as Google Maps often failed us. People on the streets would offer directions, warning us that many streets and alleys were actually dead ends. Though we couldn’t communicate well through language, their gestures were always kind and helpful. It was a reminder that sometimes, the best maps are the ones you find in the kindness of strangers.

Travel is fun and full of adventure, but it can also be exhausting. I guess that is the big difference between a traveler (navigating narrow alleyways, staying in potentially questionable establishments, flying a bit by the seat of one’s pants) and a tourist (having it all planned out, sitting on a beach sipping margaritas). I have been both and enjoy them in very different ways.  Being in such a new and culturally distinct place, as a traveler, everything can feel just a little more difficult—sleep doesn’t come as easily, foods don’t always sit as well, and there’s a lot of walking and schlepping and figuring and managing and translating and guessing. Exhausting. 

Chateau Roslane

So, what could I do besides treat myself to a luxurious night at Château Roslane, the oldest winery in Morocco? Ok, one day of being a tourist. I’m ok with that.

It’s interesting—95% of Moroccans identify as Muslim, and alcohol is strictly muhrram (forbidden) in Islam. But when I asked how much wine these wineries actually export, I was told it was only around 15-25%. Hmm... I get the feeling that Moroccans, perhaps due to their proximity to Europe just across the Strait of Gibraltar and their years of influence from their nearby European neighbors, have a more relaxed approach than you might expect. Their open and tolerant foreign policy seems to have created a unique cultural blend, one that’s a bit less conservative than it may first appear.

Olive groves

The countryside near the wineries was stunning—rolling hills covered in acres of olive groves dotted with sheep and shepherds, a sight that could have been straight out of California or Tuscany, though culturally distinct. Some locals still use donkeys to carry water and goods, a beautiful sight of tradition in a world that’s rapidly changing. Zooming by them in a car felt like I should have been the anachronism.

Throughout my travels in this region, I was accompanied by another wonderful driver, Mohammed, whose stories about his past as a construction worker in Spain added a personal touch to the journey. He told me about his wife, a history professor at the local university. I have been pleasantly surprised to meet many women in Morocco who hold impressive roles in education, engineering, medicine, and IT. It shattered the stereotypes I’d previously held about gender roles in the region, and I left Morocco with a newfound respect for the strides that have been made in gender equality (as well as a little embarrassment for my own assumptions)! 

My final stop on this leg was Meknes, a UNESCO World Heritage site with a strong Spanish Moorish influence. Meknes has a distinct Spanish Moorish feel and reminded me a lot of southern Spain. The imposing wall surrounding the medina is formidable, and the Bab Mansour gate—the largest of nine gates into the walled town—is a true masterpiece of intricate mosaic tilework.

I arrived just as the sun was getting low in the sky and the colors were changing by the moment. Ramadan was officially beginning and I witnessed the magical moment when the evening call to prayer echoed through the streets. As the sun set and the crescent moon rose alongside Jupiter, I couldn’t help but think that this was the same moon Muslims worldwide were waiting for. 

Bab Mansour

The first night of Ramadan is special—families gather to break their fast, and there’s a palpable sense of community and celebration. Walking through the marketplace, I marveled at the excitement in the air, only to witness something striking: at precisely 6:30 p.m., the streets emptied as everyone gathered for iftar. The sudden quiet was surreal—almost as though the entire city had vanished. It was a powerful reminder of the deep trust happening here, as vendors left their stalls completely unattended!

Ramadan in Morocco is intimate, personal, and full of meaning. Huge families gather together nightly, when the sun sets, for the whole month, to celebrate with food and conversation and lots of laughter. It’s a tradition that spans the globe, but here, it felt uniquely connected to the culture and the people, an experience I will carry with me forever.