What I learned from 10 Days in Morocco
Morocco had been calling to me long before I ever stepped foot on its soil. I almost booked a flight once—right before the earthquake struck. It wasn’t the right time then, but the seed was planted. Over the years, fellow travelers spoke of their adoration for the country with a kind of reverence that stuck with me. I wanted to meet Morocco with my own eyes and heart, not through someone else’s lens.
A friend passed along the name of a trusted guide, and a year later, the classic Morocco itinerary was born. Two adventurous women—strangers before this trip—joined me on an EVOLV retreat, and my daughter, who lives in Europe, came along too. Our guide, Ilyass, took the lead and quickly became the heartbeat of our journey.
My first impression: Morocco is old—but in the most beautiful, soul-stirring way. Ancient medinas with thousands of winding alleys feel suspended in time. Donkeys and cats weave through the streets as the call to prayer echoes across muted, sun-drenched walls adorned with bursts of intricate, colorful art. There’s an ease to life here. Men greet one another with kisses on the cheek. People smile easily. I rarely saw frustration. There’s a deep pride in their culture, heritage, and faith—a quiet calm anchored in centuries of tradition.
As a woman, I never once felt unwelcome. My guide held a master’s degree and had studied feminism. I witnessed reverence in how people paused their day to pray, in the meticulous detail of their architecture, in the way art and faith coexisted effortlessly.
I was captivated by the simple gestures: the way cats are cared for by everyone, the endless maze of artisan stalls, the pride in their soccer stadiums built for the Africa Cup, and the way cafés felt like gathering spaces rather than just places to sit. There were the hammams—where women scrub your skin clean and pour hot water over you until you feel reborn. There were the hidden riads, quiet sanctuaries behind unassuming walls.
The drive through the Atlas Mountains led us to cheeky monkeys and winding roads, eventually unfolding into the vast orange glow of the Sahara Desert. The sand, the sky, and the silence there hold a kind of sacredness that words barely touch. Our guide had us lie on the desert floor beneath an endless sky—no noise, no distractions, just breath and stars. At sunrise, we climbed a dune to greet the day in stillness.
In the end, what moved me most wasn’t just the architecture, the food, or the beauty of the land. It was the shared humanity. Even halfway across the world, people want the same things: love, connection, adventure, belonging, and peace.
Common humanity is a lovely thing. We are, truly, just one.
Christine
