Type B, Boarding Group Z

Morocco is a country that continues to surprise me. I will admit I was hesitant to go at first due to some of the reputations (overly touristy and heavy on the harassment towards solo women), but when you see a $20 round-trip flight from London to Morocco… well, you take it. So off I went, and I completely fell in love with this incredible country and will continue to return. Let’s get into it!

Marrakech

Let’s just cut to the chase: Marrakech is a lot. There is no doubt about it, it is a very touristy and overwhelming city. However, I found there was a way to see this city that feels much more authentic than the typical tourist visit. Of course you should explore the Medina, visit the palaces and gardens, and drink tea on a rooftop. All worthwhile and lovely experiences, but there is more, and the “more” is the people. Obviously bad people exist in every place, but I do not understand why Moroccans get such a bad reputation because I have honestly never encountered more kindness anywhere in the world than I have in this country. That is not to discredit anyones’ experience, but personally I have always felt very safe being alone in Marrakech. When I was starting out as a solo traveler, in new places I used to assume that every stare, every word, every touch was one of aggression. But really the vast majority of the time in Marrakech it is curiosity and welcome. So stop and talk to the people selling in the Medina. Don’t just assume they see you as a walking wallet. When someone asks where you’re from, take the opportunity to start a conversation and learn more about the place you’re in. I think a lot of people view Marrakech as just the Medina, just a place to shop, take pictures, and use to tell other people they visited Africa. Remember that this place is someone’s home and you are visiting. So stop, talk, and learn. 

My experience in Marrakech was the result of two things: being alone and trying to make friends with every Moroccan I met. I’ve done the hostel experience for a year, met the backpackers, and made some incredible connections that turned into what will be lifelong friendships. Now, I am at the point in my time as a solo traveler that I travel not to meet other people with similar backgrounds and experiences to me, but rather to challenge my assumptions, learn new cultures and languages, and see all these places in the most authentic way I can. Marrakech is a great example of this, because this mindset gave me a way to have an incredibly local experience in an incredibly touristic city. My first time in Marrakech, I stayed in the Dream Belko hostel a little outside of the central medina. That is a great hostel if you are looking for somewhere slightly outside the chaos of the Medina but still somewhere within the old city. Outside the hostel one night, I met a group of local boys who lived in the building next door. They immediately invited me to join them for homemade tagine, which we all ate together in the narrow alley outside of the hostel. Better than any restaurant, and I stayed in touch with these boys and was able to see them again during my second visit. Then I met a wonderful guy who at the time worked at the hostel. He and I became friends during my short stay there, and also stayed in touch.

When I returned to Morocco recently, he invited me to stay with his family, so I moved into their living room for a week. I really cannot say enough amazing things about this family and this experience. They live in a small apartment outside the city center of Marrakech, and although they had never met me, they welcomed me into their home with open arms. From the second I showed up with my friend to the second I left for the airport, I was treated like a member of the family. The kids were on a break from school, so I got to experience the slow living that the hustle culture of the US prevents. We woke up at 11am most days, ate breakfast in the living room in our pajamas all together, and spent lots of time getting to know each others’ lives. We ate the Moroccan way, sitting all together and sharing a big plate in the middle of the table, using fresh bread as a vessel for the meal. The mom did not speak English, so my friend and his sister translated conversations using a mix of English, Arabic, and Tamazight, a Berber language that is indigenous to North Africa. My friend’s sister, now my friend as well, is roughly my age. She studies economics at a university in Marrakech and, like her brother, speaks 4 languages; Arabic, Tamazight, French, and English. She and her brother both taught themselves English, making me realize I need to step up my game. 

Breakfast with my new family. UNREAL.

One of my days with the family, they took me to their hometown of Amizmiz, a small Moroccan city in the foothills of the Atlas Mountains. You can get there easily, just get a taxi from the station right outside the walled city in Marrakech. As a taxi pulls up, follow the crowd that will run to fight their way in and say “Amizmiz” to the probably very overwhelmed and annoyed driver. Once you successfully get in a car, it’s about an hour drive up to the city with beautiful views the whole way of the Agafay desert and the Atlas mountain range. Once we arrived at the city, the signs of the earthquake were clear. The earthquake struck in 2023, affecting areas from Marrakech to Safi and killing upwards of 2000 people. Amizmiz was hit hard, and many buildings were demolished, including hundreds of homes and an ancient mosque. Still, the town maintained a charm that you just can’t find in a big, bustling city like Marrakech, and the community efforts to rebuild post-earthquake were nothing if not inspiring. I did not see any other tourists during my stay in the town, with the exception of a group of bikers but they only passed through, not lingering at all. My adopted sister and mother took me to their family home, which had withstood the tremors shockingly well, with damage only inflicted to the roof. The houses next to theirs, however, had not fared so well. A whole family was killed when the house next door had collapsed. 

A street in Amizmiz

Amizmiz is the type of small town where everyone knows each other. As we walked through the dirt road towards the family home, people came from every direction to greet us. Everyone was an old friend of my new family, and they greeted me as if I was an old friend too, with a warm smile and a kiss on both cheeks. The house was lovely, and I felt right at home as I always do when I’m in the mountains. After a snack of what was basically a doughnut but better, Moroccan mint tea, and a sweet mix of ground almonds, peanuts, and fennel seeds, we went for a hike into the beautiful hills that are their backyard. The sound of the frogs, birds and crickets combined with the gorgeous sunset and the fresh mountain air put me completely at peace. We walked for a few hours, sometimes just the three of us alone in the pristine mountain meadows, sometimes walking past groups of local women collecting wheat with their children, sometimes waving hello to boys having picnic dinners watching the sun dip below the horizon. It was dark when we arrived back at the house, so we put on pajamas, and my new sister whipped up the best shakshuka I have ever had. I fell asleep that night completely content; under a pile of blankets on the floor, belly full of delicious food, feeling so grateful that I have two new incredible women in my life.

Amizmiz at sunset from the forested foothills of the Atlas Mountains