ChrisCrossesCountries

Marrakesh was nearly over. Today I would leave with a private guide to take me down into the Southeastern parts of Morocco to a camp in the Sahara Desert for two nights, then the guide would drive me north and drop me off in the city of Fez where I would stay for one night and then I would attempt to find my way from Fez to the mountainous “Blue City” known as Chefchouen, and then the port city of Tangier at the northern tip of Morocco, where the Strait of Gibraltar was located. I’d spend either one additional night in Tangier or in Chefchaouen depending on the vibes of the city, and then fly out of Tangier to Portugal to meet my friend John for a rave in the city in Lisbon. 

So that morning after my breakfast, my tiny little 35L backpack repacked, and now a smaller, second bag with all the clothes I had bought from the previous night with Fatema I stood waiting by the front door of the Riad for my guide, anxious that I had been scammed by an online merchant. Now in order to pay for this guide I had to pay cash. A significant amount of it too which upon reflection I realize was a stupid idea to travel with, as I had booked this tour guide on the last few days I was back home in America, I had gone to my bank and taken out about $1000 USD, most of this would be used to pay for the tour guide in Morocco, and the remaining cash would be used as a “break glass incase of emergency” fund, just incase I end up with no atm card, credit card, or if I need a paperless trail to get my ass to the closest US Embassy. I figured having a couple hundred dollars on hand to pay a taxi driver to get me there no questions asked was probably a good idea. You can never be too safe, but this also meant the entire time I was carrying around $1000 in an envelope in a folder in a binder in my backpack. No security on it either, I couldn’t exactly lock it and my thought process even was if I did, then it would make the backpack a target for someone so it was probably in my best interest to be inconspicuous with it as best I could.

To add onto this, when I reflect on how much this tour was costing me I now believe I was swindled and once again shows the ignorance of a beginner backpacker. When I had originally messaged the guides I had been quoted a 5 day tour for $1185 USD which was insane. It occurs to me only now that even online chats you need to haggle, which fortunately I had done but not at the level that I could’ve. I had gotten the price down to $700. Which was still fairly high considering the cost of the Riads, food, and transportation I could have used if I had the confidence at that time to do so, but at this point I didn’t have that. 

I’d like to take a minute here and talk about my feelings on guided tours. When I first started writing about Morocco I mentioned how I felt I had done Morocco “wrong” and the big part of it was signing up for this tour. When I reflect on the challenges that I would’ve had to overcome going alone vs what I had to do immediately after the guided tour was over it was obvious I let my fear and anxiety get in my head. My excuses in the moment for signing up were based around an anxiety of not being able to find buses, navigate terminals, and find a place to stay at night, and the thing about travel is that it is literally your job every single day. As a matter of fact it is your only job. You get to a point where it becomes more mind numbing and dreading than anxiety and fear. By the time I got to South East Asia I was so over hunting down guest houses and hostels to stay in I would just book the cheapest room that came up in my searches with no care for ratings or luxury.

If I could do it over again, as much as I enjoyed being able to turn my brain off, follow my guides and do the activities that we had planned I don’t think it was worth the price given the style of travel I desired to do. With the skills and understanding of how to play the game of travel I could get through the country with ease. This being said I also don’t want to sit here and gatekeep. There’s levels to traveling, backpacking, trekking, sightseeing, and there are certain countries I’d recommend a guide of some sort. India for example, I would more than likely only do with a guide or using my friends who live in the country to help me along. For solo women travelers or those brave girls who want to travel, I cannot judge because believe it or not I am not a woman, and the interactions they have with strangers and the general public is completely different than the ones I do. I had heard horror stories of harassment across Morocco for solo traveling women or women in pairs that paled in comparison to the shouts and scam artists who followed me around, begging for money. If you are a woman who wants to travel, but are hesitant I would probably suggest a guide for at least part of your journey. The one big other advantage that comes with having a guide is that you have a professional educator with you. My standard for guides is they need to know everything about what they are showing me, and if they don’t find me someone who will. Over the 5 days I did in Morocco I learned so much about the country through just asking questions about each and every place we went to.

Now as for the events I’d be on over the next few days I was introduced to a short unassuming Berber Nomad named Mustafa, who would be my main guide and educator and behind him my driver, a man simply known as “The Dolphin”, an older gentleman, taller than Mustafa and wider as well. Mustafa explained to me that The Dolphin had been a driver for almost everyone of stature who had been to Morocco and was something of a minor celebrity in his own right, and would be taking us in his van across the country, while Mustafa would handle the interactions at each location.

So over the next five days this would be my crew. The Dolphin would drive us to our destination, and I’d stand there at each location like an idiot asking questions while Mustafa answered them, and translated for me and made sure no one bothered me. On paper it sounds wonderful and I think it was, Mustafa and The Dolphin were genuinely two of the most hospitable people I met in Morocco, if not my entire trip. But also there was a feeling of isolation everywhere we went that I couldn’t get over. Each night after we would get to our accommodation Mustafa and The Dolphin would leave to their rooms and I would be alone in these massive hotels or Riads with almost nobody but the staff to speak with. This was mostly due to the fact as I said in a previous post that it was the “Low Season” in Morocco and the World Cup was taking place so people were just not traveling. I now acknowledge that this is just the price of doing travel in the low season, as this wasn’t the first time I ended up in a country in a similar position, and I doubt it will be the last. 

Most of the places that Mustafa and The Dolphin took me were scenic overlooks, old historical castles used by the different rulers of Morocco in different wars with the Spanish, the French, and other Caliphates who tried to conquer the country. If I am being honest and transparent for the most part I do not recall many of the details, which is a reason I go back and forth on guides. A lot of the places we went I remember only a surface level interest, “Oh cool another Kasbah.” I would mumble to myself. The only one that truly stood out to me was Ait Benhaddou, which is an iconic filming location for dozens of movies and TV Shows like Gladiator, Game of Thrones, The Mummy, and Laurence of Arabia. It is a massive fortified village on the road between Marrakesh and the Sahara Desert, and was the popular spot for traders and merchants, and is the pinnacle of Moroccan architecture. 

One of the advantages of a guide, especially when you are traveling with someone as distinguished as The Dolphin in Morocco is the sense of importance that is thrust upon you. I specifically remember one stop we made on our drive down to the desert, we pulled up to a restaurant for lunch and were greeted by the manager and the entire staff, who each took the time to shake my hand and lead me to a table in the main hall. During this entire interaction the entire restaurant fell silent, there was some sort of party going on and I distinctly remember that half of the party goers stopped to watch the manager greet me and escort me inside. I felt like the President of the United States stepping off Air Force One. A big shot in a small pond. At one point several of the guests walked over and spoke to Mustafa, asking him in Arabic who I was and where I was from. Mustafa answered and they asked for a photo with me. I found the whole thing so surreal I obliged and we took a selfie together. I have no idea what happened to that photo, and afterwards asked Mustafa what he told them and he had spun some story about me being an American here from New York. The locals were so impressed because they had never met an American before and wanted a photo. This is a recurring thing you will deal with if you are caucasian in many different countries, across Vietnam, Thailand, Morocco, Nepal, even Japan. I have met locals who have never seen a white person, or physically met a white person. It almost is a rite of passage for a traveler to have a random person ask to take their photo. 

On the third day of the journey we arrived in the small town on the outskirts of the desert known as Merzouga. By this point in the trip I was feeling even more isolated. Almost every interaction I was having was through Mustafa as my translator and when we would get to our destinations trying to interact with locals was almost always a transactional experience, the photo ops with locals began to make me feel more like an exotic animal being paraded across the country as opposed to this Indiana Jones explorer I desired to be. Mustafa would handle these incidents as best as he could and keep them at bay but I remember a particularly tense moment I picked up on. We were leaving the Dades Gorge. A massive valley system in Morocco we spent the second night at. The morning of the third day as we left the area, The Dolphin stopped the van at the top of one of the peaks so I could snap some photos and practice my haggling with some of the road merchants. After I had my full of bartering and photography I started my return to where we had parked only to find Mustafa talking to two younger men, probably in their early 20s near the back of the van, they were dressed pretty normally for what I had expected of the locals, their jackets covered in the dust and dirt of the valley, holes in their pants and shoes that were worn down to the sole. I could tell from Mustafa’s body language that he was very defensive and on edge. The two boys were not exactly aggressive and I had no idea what they were saying but I could tell that there was some sort of a disagreement. A few seconds after I started approaching the van The Dolphin came out the driver’s side of the vehicle and approached the back, walking with a purpose. He shouted at the two boys in Arabic and they stared at him and Mustafa for a few more seconds before walking off.

I stood there confused and a little dumbfounded. I knew something had happened and wanted to be included. When you’re more or less alone in a foreign country and your only lifeline being the faith you have placed in your two guides to keep you safe, fed, and take you from point A to B, you have a right to know what was being said for your own safety, there’s this constant fear in the back of your head that things will always fall apart in seconds in these sort of moments. Once we got in the van and started driving I turned to Mustafa and asked him what that was about. He explained that the two boys were asking for a ride to the next town over and begging Mustafa to take them. Mustafa was not going to let them in the van and they got upset. He explained that by law the only people allowed in the van with me were him and The Dolphin and no one else.

I’m sure that Mustafa had filtered most of the story into the digestible parts I should know but it made sense, and put me back at ease. Especially now that they had demonstrated basic security in keeping me and my stuff safe. There is a part of me that would’ve gladly shared the space of the van with two locals who just needed a ride to the next town over, but that was also assuming they truly wanted to get to the next town over. There is always the possibility no matter how you spin it that this was not their actual intention, and that they were trying to get into the van to go through my backpack or see what was valuable in the van. Now let me be clear, I have no evidence of this and I do not suggest any traveler live in fear of locals or meeting new people. That being said, I also don’t suggest you be an idiot and oblige every bad feeling that comes your way. When it comes to danger, always trust your gut. If a person feels off, or a story doesn’t add up there are very few tools as powerful as an Irish Goodbye. Break off the conversation, there’s no need for formalities, just retreat to safety. For me at this moment it was The Dolphin’s van, for you it may be your hotel, your car, a public space. 

Now we were back on the road, our destination was only a few hours away. The Sahara Desert. I was beyond excited for the next two nights. This feeling of isolation and loneliness was too much to bear. I was ready to meet other travelers at the camp, share stories of what we had done in Morocco, and get advice for Fez, Chefchouen and Tangier. Mustafa had us stop off a few miles outside Merzouga at a Moroccan supermarket of all places. He told me that this would be the last stop to pick up any snacks, food or alcohol before we got to the camp, as we would have to leave the van for a truck to take us into the desert. Now a little of my history, I am not a big drinker, I don’t smoke and I don’t use drugs. They have never appealed to me, and while I’ve experimented and explored my fair share over the last 30 years of my life, I’ve never met someone who did meth for five years and said, “You know what, that’s when my life made sense, that meth really put me in a headspace to take control of my life.” You never hear any of these rockstars or Hollywood actors say, “I really miss all that crack I smoked between shows. The world made sense then.” When I look at my early 20s I will confess I see it as a time I overindulged in drinking specifically. I was working as security at a bar at the Jersey Shore, going out nearly every single night spending loads of cash on alcohol. I was overweight, out of shape, and I must’ve been drunk 5 nights a week and was flat broke. I don’t miss that time at all, and deeply wish I had spent my nights doing other things than blacking out in bars and nightclubs. It was never who I was and I was only doing it because it was what I thought you were supposed to do as a person in their early 20s, especially as someone who was working in a bar will tell you. You meet everyone worth knowing at some point, bartenders, bouncers, and managers of other bars, you get put on guest lists, you get VIP cards. You make friends with regulars and begin to greet them on a first name basis, you hang out with them when you get off your shift, you end up going to their apartment in Manhattan for Thanksgiving or sleeping at their beach houses drinking their beer and eating their food. You become friends. But that friendship is only as deep as you make it. Since I left that bar I kept in touch with very few of those people and to circle around to now, I rarely, if ever touched alcohol. I would and still do always weigh how the alcohol will affect my enjoyment of the night or activity. If I’m sitting at the bar with the boys, how will one beer improve this situation and will it make me happier? No. Will two? No. Will seven? Absolutely not. I’d rather save my money on alcohol and use it for something I would actually get value on, and this is great advice for anyone who wants to travel as well. Look at spending habits you have, and ask yourself what difference that two or three Jack and Cokes would make in your bank account, vs being able to treat yourself to dinner once a week, or after a month of not drinking be able to put that money towards a plane ticket to some place in the world.

With this out of the way I raced through the supermarket grabbing what snacks and drinks I wanted on hand for the next two nights, I must’ve had two bags full of just random stuff that looked edible, and let me also clarify this is one of my favorite things while traveling. You ask me to go food shopping or just shopping in general in America and I will find any excuse I can to get out of it or put it off. Ask me to wander a 7/11 in Thailand or a mall in Japan with you and I’ll have my shoes on before you’ve finished your question. Shopping in foreign countries is just fun. Comparing what they have versus your hometown, trying new snack foods and drinks off the shelves and the excitement of discovering new favorite foods. There’s always a small joy that erupts from me when I find a store that sells the familiar too, like Dr. Pepper, or Ben and Jerry’s ice cream, it reminds me of home in the best ways.

Once the shopping spree was over I bolted to the van and off we went once again towards the desert. I’ll never forget how awestruck I was. I was staring out the window, like a child again scanning the horizon until all of a sudden I saw these soft red hills in the distance. I eventually realized these were the sand dunes of the Sahara and they were larger than any I had ever seen on any beach in New Jersey. As we got closer The Dolphin pulled off the highway and let me take photos for a few minutes. We were in a time crunch and needed to get to the camp before sunset.

We sped off towards our rendezvous point with the camp and I was still struck by the scale. Occasionally we would be on the highway and there would be a gap between the dunes, and you could see that the desert stretched on for miles, seemingly infinite. I imagine for comparison it would be like someone who spent their whole life in a landlocked city or country having only swam in rivers and lakes suddenly going to the beach for the first time. You cannot comprehend that much water in one place. The same overwhelming feeling came over me staring at the desert.

We arrived at the rendezvous point with the camp a few hours before sunset and Mustafa and I hopped in the back of the truck that would take us to the camp. The Dolphin would say goodbye to us now, as it turns out his wife lived in one of the villages nearby, so he would spend the next two nights with her. The work schedule of Mustafa and The Dolphin was pretty insane. They would sometimes work for weeks on end driving tourists around the country nonstop. From Marrakech to Casablanca, to Chefchaouen to the Desert. If they didn’t work they didn’t get paid. There’s no such thing as “Paid Time Off” so for The Dolphin it was a perfect setup to get some time with his wife and still get paid.

We said our temporary goodbyes and the truck took off into the desert. It shouldn’t be hard to imagine my wonder and excitement as we drove over the first few dunes into the desert and saw the Saraha engulf everything around us. So it also shouldn’t be hard to imagine the disappointment that smacked me in the face as after about 3 minutes of driving we arrived at the camp. Now I understand that it doesn’t make sense to drive us to the middle of the desert and drop us off at a camp. However, it does kill the illusion that I am on some grand adventure when civilization is about a 15 minute walk away. I was hoping to go into the wild, and instead I found myself in another theme park not much different than the medinas of Marrakech, because as we approached our camp I noticed dozens of other small campsites scattered around mine. Hundreds of tents were set up on this one strip of land for tourists to see the desert. I’m not sure what I realistically expected but it wasn’t this. I guess when you consider I am a kid who grew up in the suburbs of New Jersey, and the most intense camping I had done up to this point was once my Dad set up a tent in the backyard for me to have a sleepover with my friends in the summer when I was about 8 years old, I should be grateful. I have the survivalist skills of a Dodo. I would freeze to death before I figured out how to start a fire or even set up a tent, the fact this was already set up for me should be a blessing, but it felt cheap.

We arrived at what would become my housing for the next few days, two rows of striped tents, three on each side, with a large tent in the middle which would be where guests could socialize, eat and drink there was also an additional tent off to the side where the staff would sleep and cook the food. The staff all came out to greet me and introduce themselves, and I do feel horrible as I cannot for the life of me remember any of their names. That being said, they took me to my tent and showed me around. Now the second horror became obvious as I walked around the campsite. I was the only guest scheduled for the whole stay. No one else would be arriving and I had the entire campsite to myself. I had been really craving some sort of conversation with other people outside of Mustafa, who in his defense is a wonderful person, but I was hoping to meet other travelers and adventurers, compare stories, laugh, get advice for where to go next and what to avoid, and just network. The realization that I would be alone for the next two days, just eating and sitting in the desert snapped something inside me. I went to my tent and just curled up in the blanket, angry and frustrated that my dumbass decided November of all times to come to the desert.

There are always pros and cons of traveling in the off season of any country. Things are usually cheaper, there’s less crowds, but sometimes it bites you in the ass. Less stuff will be open, locals are more desperate to sell you their wares, and in cases like this you find yourself alone when you really don’t want to be. After my mini-meltdown and mourning of any chance of socializing with others I took account of my frustration and directed it towards something creative. I unpacked my bags, grabbed my camera and went out to the desert. It was dusk and soon the sun would disappear behind the dunes. I walked out of the camp and up the dunes and began snapping pictures. This was one of my bucket list dreams, I had always wanted to see the Sahara Desert, and now I was here. I wouldn’t let the misfortune of isolation bring me down, and I ended up with some of my favorite photos I’ve ever taken, not only of the location but of myself. 

Once the sun had set I returned to camp for dinner in the main tent, once again returning to the reality that I would be eating alone and nothing to do the entire night. Shortly after I sat down Mustafa came into the tent, which was surprising as usually once we got to the accommodation he would disappear to his room for the entirety of the night. He sat down across from me at the table and apologized for the situation, and offered to sit and have dinner with me tonight. He had known how excited I was to meet with other travelers and really get into the exploration of the camp. At this point I was over it and trying to find the positive spin I could put on the whole situation. I asked Mustafa what the rules were for drinking on the campsite and he explained that as I was the only guest I had free reign of the campsite within reason. At that moment the gears started spinning in my head as I began to realize I wasn’t the only person in the camp. I had a group of locals, Berber nomads, who had lived down here for their whole lives.

Previously I had established that I was not a big drinker, and listed my reasons for it succinctly. However I also think there are times and places for alcohol in social settings. Specifically when meeting new people I think alcohol is a terrific nerve calmer and bonding agent. If you’re on a date with someone you find attractive, a beer or glass of wine is a fantastic way to ease that initial nervousness. Anthony Bourdain, who is a personal hero of mine, always said he felt like food was the best way to bring people together but I would argue that alcohol is a close second. So to ask myself a question I had before, “How would one beer improve this situation? How would two beers improve this situation? How about seven?” Fortunately I had the foresight that when I was at the supermarket earlier I had bought several bottles of Moroccan wine and a case of local Moroccan beer for this exact purpose. Alcohol is a fantastic ice breaker for getting groups together and inviting people into your group. To me it has been and always will be a tool in my utility belt of socializing. 

Once dinner was over I asked Mustafa if he would get the staff together in the main tent for me, as I wanted to thank them for an amazing dinner which in all fairness it was. Moroccan mint tea, the best lamb tagine I had eaten and freshly baked bread. Once the staff had been assembled I revealed the bottles of wine I had stashed in my bag and had Mustafa explain I wanted to give them the wine as a thank you and share a drink with me.

In a second all the young men’s eyes lit up with excitement, followed by smiles and laughter. They accepted the offer with such gratitude I was almost taken aback by the joy radiating off them. Within the hour we were all sitting around one of the pillow couches in the couch as we started playing drinking games and Moroccan shisha was brought out to smoke. Next was instruments, some drums, flutes and guitars and they all started singing songs and dancing. I made a poor attempt at trying to play the drum and the boys sat in broken English trying to get me to play properly. I had absolutely no rhythm or technique and they eventually ended up taking the drum away from me, which was clearly for the best. At some point the music calmed down and I found myself the student of a language lesson as Mustafa and everyone else attempted to teach me Berber words and phrases. I have no clue if what they were telling me was accurate or if they were just having me say nonsense and found it funny, because after every attempt I made to say the words correctly they would all laugh at me. There was one word that has stuck with me to this day, and that is the name they started to call me, which was “Bahnoosh” Pronounced “ban-oo-sh”. Which according to Mustafa meant, “The Big Man” which was fitting, given the fact I towered over every single person in the camp and likely most of Morocco.

As the night came to an end I learned a lot about the young men who worked the camp, and that much similar to Mustafa and The Dolphin, they lived on site at the camp almost 24/7, only going home to visit family on rare occasions. Most of them would only go into town to buy supplies and food. They didn’t have time for personal lives as their professional lives revolved around the camp and keeping the guests happy. Mustafa also explained that I was the first guest they ever had who had offered them the chance to sit and drink and share my food with them. It made me feel like I did the right thing, taking care of them in such a slow part of the year when there wasn’t much in the way of things to do and keeping them engaged with work. Mustafa also elaborated saying that normally they also weren’t allowed to fraternize with the guests, but because it was the low season the normal boss wasn’t around to supervise them, so it was a combination of my generosity and lucky timing. I am grateful I was able to give the crew at camp at least a night of excitement.

Day two at the campsite was largely uneventful. Mustafa took me to a Berber nomad village, we ate more tagine, and we watched the World Cup with the camp staff. Morocco won the game and we celebrated. I walked around the dunes and took in the desert for all it was worth, and that night spent it stargazing till the freezing temperatures of the desert drove me inside with the boys for more drinking, dancing and language lessons. The following morning I was packed up and back in the van reunited with The Dolphin. The next couple hours to Fez and the end of my time with Mustafa and The Dolphin in front of me, my new friends I had made fading into the background. I gave everyone a hug goodbye and hopped in the van. It was a strange feeling saying goodbye to these people I had become so friendly with as I knew I would never see them again after this. I had no intention of ever returning to Morocco. I had come to see the Sahara and it was over and done. 

The ride out of the desert was quiet. We made a stop for lunch and drove through the day and that afternoon we arrived in Fez. I found myself quite upset to be leaving Mustafa and The Dolphin. I had learned so much about their lives in Morocco over the last five days. Mustafa particularly I had gotten to know on a personal level. He had a brother in Spain he had hoped to one day see again when he could afford a passport and move in with him. He dreamed of leaving Morocco for a life in Southern Spain where he also wanted to start a family and hopefully find work as something other than a tour guide who spent 10 months a year working. It was a reminder that even though I was living this dream-like fantasy adventure just chasing the dopamine of whatever opportunity was in front of me that people’s lives still went on whether I liked it or not. I remember thinking back to my friends and family back home in New Jersey, wondering what they were up to and that I was missing parts of all their lives. It was a sacrifice that I had to come to terms with.

With the sand of the desert behind me, we arrived at my hotel just outside the Medina, once again back in Moroccan civilization and the facade of the “Old City” in front of me. I was ready to give this another try with a new Moroccan city, another chance to learn and grow but first I had to say goodbye to Mustafa and The Dolphin. They were both very sad to see me go and we ended up exchanging WhatsApp numbers promising to keep in touch. I subscribed to The Dolphin’s Youtube channel, where he shows how to make “Proper Moroccan Mint Tea” which to be honest the man does make the best mint tea I had in all of Morocco. I wish I could tell you I kept my promise and messaged them both often and we kept in constant contact. But life happens, and when you are on the move often you find yourself struggling to keep in touch with not only the people you meet, but with yourself as well. It is exhausting just trying to keep up with your own wants and needs, emails, social media, and messages you have left in your inbox for 3 weeks.

We hugged and said our goodbyes as I entered the hotel. I could see the tears in Mustafa’s eyes as he closed the door behind me and the manager took my bag and showed me to my surprise to my room on the top floor, a parting gift from The Dolphin, as he had arranged the Penthouse to be prepared for my arrival at no additional charge, and I can confirm that friends in high places do pay off. I took a shower, attempting to contemplate my experience over the last few days and ended up pushing it to the back of my mind to work on later. Tomorrow was my only day in Fez and I had to make the most of it. I wanted to see this side of Morocco again and hopefully change this feeling of the cities being nothing but tourist traps and a facade. 

I was going to try and find the real side of the cities of Morocco.