We reached Africa by sea, an appropriate, poetic entry to such an ancient continent.
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In my mind Morocco has always been shrouded in mystery. Encompassing the fabled cities of Casablanca and Marrakech, and the setting off point for the renowned trans-Sahara route to Timbuktu, Morocco drips with the exotic; with countless oases, kasbahs, and mystics. Throw in camels, snake charmers, genies of the lamp, and flying carpets of Arabian folklore, and the kids’ intrigue peaks as well.
Pre-arrival I was filled with emotions, a mix of excitement and anxiety, as partial images constructed out of the incongruent information gathered from guide books, fellow travelers, and my unbridled imagination, floated in my head. I didn’t know what to expect and I braced myself and the rest of the family for the inevitable changes in language, culture, dress, and food. Everyone seemed to warn of the “intensity” of Morocco, yet I remained uncertain as to how it would present itself.
We had been advised by a fellow traveler back in South America that a good introduction to Morocco would be the Medieval city of Fez. In an effort to reduce one-night stops, we avoided spending time in the boarder town of Tangier, instead opting to travel from Algeciras, Spain to Fez Morocco in a single day. To my relief the high speed ferry from Tarifa, Spain to Tangier, Morocco was a breeze.
Boarding the Speed Ferry to Morocco
Upon our arrival in Morocco, no one grabbed our bags, insisted on "helping" us, or commanded that we use their taxi, or any of the things for which I had been forewarned. We said "No Shakran (no thank you) a few times but it was shockingly mellow. With a point in the right direction, we easily located an ATM to acquire the necessary local currency, Dirham, and after a little bargaining, caught a grand taxi (petit taxis only at take a max of 3 passengers) to the Tangier train station.
Wanting to be easy on ourselves for our first day in a wildly different country, we opted to purchase 4 first class tickets for the 4.5 hr train to Fez. Our travel day was lengthened by a few hours of waiting in the simple yet somehow elegant train station for our train’s scheduled departure.
Wanting to be easy on ourselves for our first day in a wildly different country, we opted to purchase 4 first class tickets for the 4.5 hr train to Fez. Our travel day was lengthened by a few hours of waiting in the simple yet somehow elegant train station for our train’s scheduled departure.
Fist taste of Moroccan food in the Tangier Train Station. Yum!
Honestly, I was astonished how smoothly all the logistics went. But still somehow, when our train pulled into our destination and the two other passenger in our compartment had departed, I firmly and unequivocally declared our World Trip over.
Like most things in life, the cause of my declaration can be attributed to the culmination of a complex combination of elements. Now with almost 3 weeks distancing me from the event, I can’t deny that the accumulation of my pre-arrival anxiety, as I led our family into the unknown, played a factor. There was also the the relatively long travel day, which tired and bored the kids. Then there was the indisputable build-up of frustration with the children’s increasing lack of interest and seemingly constant complaints of anything that Kiko and I found remotely worthy of our interest as far as daily travel. “We don’t want to." "Not another church/castle/market." "We want to just stay "home"”, were some of the lines we heard repetitively over the last few weeks. But the main culprit, the real straw that broke the camel’s back, was the repeated inability of one child to do as asked. I don't think its necessary or fair to the child to go into the specifics but simply put the necessary authoritative relationship between parents and young child was no longer functioning.
I just couldn’t do it anymore. How can a family travel around the world if one or more of the children can not be trusted to do as a parent tells them to; with blatant refusals on multiple occasions? It isn’t safe and isn't fun. The whole thing felt too much like pulling teeth.
My eyes were filled with tears and all my energy was just sucked right out of my body the instant I came to the halting conclusion and subsequent declaration. I wouldn’t talk it over; my decision was final. I was crestfallen. The walk from the train to the taxi and the subsequent taxi ride and walk through the Medina to our Dar was done as if I was a zombie. I could vaguely make out the kids trying excessively to be “nice” and do and say all the things they knew I wanted them to do for the last 5 months. But I wasn’t willing to engage.
Even the arrival at our Fez accommodations, Dar Benares , which was something so spectacular that I had chosen to keep it a secret from the kids just to see their expression upon entering, was bittersweet.
Like most things in life, the cause of my declaration can be attributed to the culmination of a complex combination of elements. Now with almost 3 weeks distancing me from the event, I can’t deny that the accumulation of my pre-arrival anxiety, as I led our family into the unknown, played a factor. There was also the the relatively long travel day, which tired and bored the kids. Then there was the indisputable build-up of frustration with the children’s increasing lack of interest and seemingly constant complaints of anything that Kiko and I found remotely worthy of our interest as far as daily travel. “We don’t want to." "Not another church/castle/market." "We want to just stay "home"”, were some of the lines we heard repetitively over the last few weeks. But the main culprit, the real straw that broke the camel’s back, was the repeated inability of one child to do as asked. I don't think its necessary or fair to the child to go into the specifics but simply put the necessary authoritative relationship between parents and young child was no longer functioning.
I just couldn’t do it anymore. How can a family travel around the world if one or more of the children can not be trusted to do as a parent tells them to; with blatant refusals on multiple occasions? It isn’t safe and isn't fun. The whole thing felt too much like pulling teeth.
My eyes were filled with tears and all my energy was just sucked right out of my body the instant I came to the halting conclusion and subsequent declaration. I wouldn’t talk it over; my decision was final. I was crestfallen. The walk from the train to the taxi and the subsequent taxi ride and walk through the Medina to our Dar was done as if I was a zombie. I could vaguely make out the kids trying excessively to be “nice” and do and say all the things they knew I wanted them to do for the last 5 months. But I wasn’t willing to engage.
Even the arrival at our Fez accommodations, Dar Benares , which was something so spectacular that I had chosen to keep it a secret from the kids just to see their expression upon entering, was bittersweet.
In the courtyard of Dar Benares, our Fez accommodations
I wanted off the roller coaster; no longer willing to continue with the seemingly endless job of attempting to keep the kids happy. I had come to the realization that if I wanted to travel it would have to be solo or with friends as Kiko and I took turns taking care of the kids. Trying to force our love of travel on to the kids was just too much effort.
Luckily I had had the foresight to realize that we wouldn’t want to go immediately out to dinner after a long travel day so I had pre-arranged for Nabella, our host’s sister, to cook our first dinner right in our Dar. That arrangement also had the added benefit of having someone else in the house upon our arrival, sparing me from having to have “the talk” for a few hours. I collapsed as the lovely aroma of dinner filled the house.
Luckily I had had the foresight to realize that we wouldn’t want to go immediately out to dinner after a long travel day so I had pre-arranged for Nabella, our host’s sister, to cook our first dinner right in our Dar. That arrangement also had the added benefit of having someone else in the house upon our arrival, sparing me from having to have “the talk” for a few hours. I collapsed as the lovely aroma of dinner filled the house.
Nabella cooking something delicious
By the time we finally had The Conversation in which I made the reasoning behind ending the trip perfectly clear, I was calm and resolved to our fate. There was a lot of tears shed, feelings aired, and promises of changes made. Although extremely skeptical that the necessary changes would actually be made, I gave the children one last chance, one week to show me they understood what I asked, simply because I felt like we needed the week in Fez for Kiko and I to come up with our plan to return to the States. (Our home is rented as a vacation rental through May.)
But to my complete and utter surprise, when faced with the early termination of our year long trip, our child, who up to that point seemed simply not to have a disposition well suited to long term international travel, changed tunes entirely. It was an “aha" moment and I am just relieved it occurred and the dynamic shifted. Honestly, and thankfully, I can say the whole thing, although earth shattering at the time, seems so distant now following so many wonderful experiences here in Morocco. As I write this we have every intention of finishing our RTW year long trip but only because this event changed the status quo.
I struggled with whether or not to include this incident in this post, but to be fair to our story and to the other traveling families or would-be nomadic families, I felt like I had to include the main gist of it. I feel like I have more than hinted in past posts as well but here it is in bold, long term travel is not all smiles and good times. You don’t run away from any of the dynamics that existed at home. If anything they just are more intensified. Travel has been a magnifying glass on our family dynamics. But the positive side to this all is that I believe we are addressing things that could have gone on years unexamined, which would have been to our possible detriment in the future. From where I stand now, I fully understand the preciousness of this family experience.
Throughout my life I have experinced a feeling of rejuvenation from travel to exotic lands.
But to my complete and utter surprise, when faced with the early termination of our year long trip, our child, who up to that point seemed simply not to have a disposition well suited to long term international travel, changed tunes entirely. It was an “aha" moment and I am just relieved it occurred and the dynamic shifted. Honestly, and thankfully, I can say the whole thing, although earth shattering at the time, seems so distant now following so many wonderful experiences here in Morocco. As I write this we have every intention of finishing our RTW year long trip but only because this event changed the status quo.
I struggled with whether or not to include this incident in this post, but to be fair to our story and to the other traveling families or would-be nomadic families, I felt like I had to include the main gist of it. I feel like I have more than hinted in past posts as well but here it is in bold, long term travel is not all smiles and good times. You don’t run away from any of the dynamics that existed at home. If anything they just are more intensified. Travel has been a magnifying glass on our family dynamics. But the positive side to this all is that I believe we are addressing things that could have gone on years unexamined, which would have been to our possible detriment in the future. From where I stand now, I fully understand the preciousness of this family experience.
Throughout my life I have experinced a feeling of rejuvenation from travel to exotic lands.
It could be argued that almost any destination can be seen as exotic to some extent. Even travel within ones own country can create the feeling of being somewhere truly different than home; with varied landscapes, food, or accent. But what I am referring to is extreme differences, felt by all the senses and in nearly every nuance of life. Upon entering Morocco virtually all aspects of life changed when we crossed that small stretch of water. I think my love of travel to unfamiliar lands may all boil down to the thrill of being a stranger in a strange land. The freedom of being an outsider, never expected to every truly fit in, combined with the exhilaration of “discovering” something totally foreign around “every bend”. This may be what helped our children in their remarkable attitude change as well. After 2 months in Europe the kids could no longer muster any excitement over another castle or another ancient city. But the complete foreignness of Morocco awakened their adventures sides.
The doors open to view the Harem at the Galaoui Palace
Shockingly, I saw the transition of my child’s attitude; slow, steady, and perceivable. Complaining wained, interest peaked, and listening increased. I also witnessed their realization that to end this much anticipated trip prematurely most probably would be quickly regretted upon our return home, and perhaps for the rest of our lives.
I embraced our time in Fez as if it may in fact be our last destination, savoring the brilliance of being able to experience literally being on the other side of the world.
On our first full day in Fez we had prearranged for the recommended tour of the Medina, the medieval labyrinth streets, in which our Dar was situated. It was a treat to be guided so as not to have to worry about finding our way back, letting all our attention fall on our new otherworldly environment. I couldn’t help think of Star Wars as I saw the men wearing the hooded jellabas.
I embraced our time in Fez as if it may in fact be our last destination, savoring the brilliance of being able to experience literally being on the other side of the world.
On our first full day in Fez we had prearranged for the recommended tour of the Medina, the medieval labyrinth streets, in which our Dar was situated. It was a treat to be guided so as not to have to worry about finding our way back, letting all our attention fall on our new otherworldly environment. I couldn’t help think of Star Wars as I saw the men wearing the hooded jellabas.
We visited the famed Fez leather tanneries, with the intense sights and smells.
Zuki loving the fresh mint provided to block out the tannery smells
The labyrinth streets were filled with beautiful examples of Arabic architecture, a variety of exquisite handicrafts, domes of colorful spices, heavily laden donkeys (the preferred method of transport within the narrow streets of the Medina), countless cats, and in general, the unexpected.
A large loom in action.
Camel meat Souk
The sensory overload combined with all the hours of walking had exhausted us and we had some down time in our Dar before thinking about dinner. By the time we had gathered ourselves together it was beginning to get dark. Almost as soon as we had locked our door behind us and began attempting to find the restaurant I had picked from our guide book, I realized that for our first independent wandering in the notorious maze-like Fez, nighttime was probably not the best idea. We had the restaurant marked on google maps from Trip Advisor on my phone but with each lane changing direction every few feet and the fact that most alleyways didn’t even appear on the map, we just couldn't seem to get there. We refused the countless offers of the young boys for help (for the customary tip of course) but as our kids anxiety increased we accepted help from a persistent teenage boy who didn’t speak much English but indicated he knew the restaurant. He walked quickly and then would wait for us to catch up.
He didn’t engage in conversation as I tried to connect, asking his age and if he went to school. At one point a couple of little boys, maybe 6 or 7 years old whispered to us “boy no good, don’t follow him mister, no good, look, scratch on his face” “Ok, now what?”, was easily and silently expressed on my face to Kiko. Anxiety increased as the little blue dot indicating our location on google map went in the opposite direction to the red pin of our desired destination. Then all of a sudden we stopped as our “boy guide” disappeared into a dark door and up some stairs. “No”, I said loudly, “We are not going into that house.” The boy popped back out. “What you don't trust me?”, with a genuine look of hurt on his face. The blue dot was still no where near the red pin of the reported location of our desired restaurant, “We repeated the name of the restaurant, “Dar Tagine” and then the boy pointed up 10’ to where a simple, unlit sign read “Dar Tagine”. Ok then, well it was described as “a very authentic Moroccan home setting” by one online reviewer. Still not totally convinced, Kiko insisted on going up first and we all followed with apprehension and a zillion and one questions from Zuki about what was going on. But the upstairs looked just like the pictures posted online. WOW, what a crazy rush of adrenaline and emotions. Zuki a sensitive child looked like a deer caught in headlights. I had to sooth her and told her “everything worked out fine; we were just not sure…but it all is ok now.” The very relaxing seating helped
Safe and sound in Dar Tagine
and the gregarious owner, Saladine, helped even more. Before we knew it he was sitting with us, telling us the history of his restaurant, how the invention of the internet had helped businesses like his, and how his mom use to cook for the King. We had a very memorable, delicious, and authentic experience in Moroccan hospitality.
Our daily adventure was simply to go out and explore. It seriously felt like we time travelled as we shut our door and wandered the labyrinth of alleys that make up the Medina, the most complete Medieval city of the Arab world which has been continually occupied since the 8th century.
Our daily adventure was simply to go out and explore. It seriously felt like we time travelled as we shut our door and wandered the labyrinth of alleys that make up the Medina, the most complete Medieval city of the Arab world which has been continually occupied since the 8th century.
One rainy day Zuki and I had our hands Hennaed, traditionally marking special occasions such as birth or marriage, at our serene home. What a beautiful and memorable experience to share.
Another day I opted to visit the local Hammam, the Traditional Turkish style steam bath, with our Host’s sister, Nabella. I was eager yet tentative about trying out this revered Moroccan tradition. There are Hammam’s for the exclusive use of tourists but traditional Hammam’s were initially built on each street in the Medina because there was no plumbing in the individual homes. I am sure the Hammam’s for tourists are a very enjoyable, spa-like, experience but I was after the cultural experience of a local Hammam. Nabella, who was raised in Fez and speaks a fair bit of English, was the perfect guide to such an escapade. She explained to me that each bath house has separate hours during the day for men and women and that she had been going with her mom since she was little. She now goes with her daughter or other female family members. After only a few minutes walk we arrived at the unmarked door of the neighborhood Hammam, which I had walked by numerous times without a clue to what it was. I had paid 150DH ($17) upfront for Nabella for her to purchase the necessary items, pay for our entry, and of course for her time & guidance. Once inside it appeared to me like all the women were heading to the beach with their buckets full of toys, but of course we were no where near a beach and the items weren’t toys The buckets are used to hold the hot water, which is piped in from outside where it is heated up over a wooden fire, a plastic bowl used for scooping the water, a stool or mat to sit on, a kiis or rough glove with which to rub your skin, and various soaps, shampoos, and sweet smelling herbs. We undressed down to our “bikini” bottoms in the outer room and then proceeded into the closed tiled area, which is separated into a series of rooms. As you get closer to the hot water source the rooms get warmer. I love the heat and opted for the room right next to the water. We settled into an area on the tile floor and placed our filled buckets around us to partition our designated spot. The heat of the room softens your skin and opens your pores and the kiis is used to scrub and loosen the dead skin. You can scrub yourself or have a friend help. Nabella pulled out a oily substance which one fellow traveler aptly described as looking like a blob of mechanical grease and rubbed it into my skin.
The traditional Olive Soap
Luckily it turned out to be a wonderfully hydrating soap made from olives. I had read that “your skin will come off in rolls” but didn’t really understand that statement until I saw it. Wow. How do we not have this at home? I couldn’t believe how much dead skin I had been carrying around or how soft my skin felt after multiple scrubs and soaps. Nabella explained to me all of the different natural beauty products she had brought with her. The shampoo looked like chocolate chunks before it was soaked in hot water for 10 minutes, creating a paste which was smoothed on to my hair. At this point we had been in the “sauna” for 1 and a half hours. So much for the recommended 15 minutes at home. I was feeling lightheaded from the heat, suddenly understanding why quite a few women had opted for the adjacent cooler room. I was told that actually some women stay in for 5 or more hours at a time! Luckily there is a cold water tank too and Nabella mixed up some cooler water in-order to reinvigorate me. As a grand finale, Nabella poured a pint sized bag of fresh herbs and flowers into the bucket of hot water. It immediately infused the water, like tea, with a beautiful aroma and we used that as our final rinse. What a great ritual.
We returned to the entry room and toweled dry and got dressed. The other women put on shirts and pants very similar to mine but when I finished they proceeded to don the customary over-dress and head scarf as well. When they were fully dressed only their hands and faces showed. How interesting that the women so accustomed to being covered from head to toe in public were so remarkably comfortable being nearly naked, or totally naked in some cases, in such close quarter together. I find the opposite true at home where it is quite normal to go nearly naked in public, clad in minuscule bikinis, but it is not necessarily typical to be comfortable being naked amongst a group of women.
We returned to the entry room and toweled dry and got dressed. The other women put on shirts and pants very similar to mine but when I finished they proceeded to don the customary over-dress and head scarf as well. When they were fully dressed only their hands and faces showed. How interesting that the women so accustomed to being covered from head to toe in public were so remarkably comfortable being nearly naked, or totally naked in some cases, in such close quarter together. I find the opposite true at home where it is quite normal to go nearly naked in public, clad in minuscule bikinis, but it is not necessarily typical to be comfortable being naked amongst a group of women.
Typical woman's dress in Fez
From the vantage point from the hillside, it is impossible to imagine the activities and sites encompassed below in magical Fez. Even though we are eager to go further afield in Morocco, it was difficult to leave such an unusual and enthralling place, which I am sure has so many more secrets.
Boy joins in the music he hears below in the street.
