Travel east my friends

Two weeks ago I did something I never thought I would do . . . well wait, let me back track for a moment. When I was living in Poland I never considered the idea of traveling to North Africa for any school vacation. Absolutely not. I was always focused on Central European exploration with a touch of Baltic and Balkan adventures for good measure. 

When coworkers mentioned crossing over to Morocco from Spain, I thought they were crazy. Part of this was from a lack of proper information. Whether it’s from local media or word of mouth, Africa is scrutinized wrongfully and there are so many stereotypes, preconceived notions on why it’s not safe to travel - even to Morocco which has been Washington’s longest friend. 

One would think I might have overlooked this bias long before, as my father and stepmother had made the journey years earlier. They explored the entire country and absolutely loved the experience. Still, I think as an introvert by nature the idea of crowds, especially in markets, rubbed me the wrong way. Just walking in the medina on those narrow streets and paths, not always well lit, is not that appealing at first thought. I couldn’t even fathom being approached by people. 

Granted, I should have used my Star Wars geekdom and been like - Morocco, isn’t that where they shot all the desert scenes? That would have painted a different picture. What about those food dishes Anthony Bourdain showed? 

But instead of focusing on those positive interactions, fear took over, especially in my younger years. It wasn’t until several coworkers made trips to Morocco and returned with positive experiences that my mindset began to shift. If they could make the trip, then I would be fine. The shift continued when a friend and popular traveler blogger made a similar journey with her boyfriend. From their pictures alone I knew this would be a place worth visiting. 

Fast forward to the present and I made a whirlwind trip to Tangier, Morocco. It wasn’t long, only two nights and only a day and a half of exploration, but it was enough to wet that proverbial whistle. There’s something about the area that draws you in. Even with the crowds of people wandering the markets or the narrow alleys and passageways of the old medina there was a familiarity about the place that I enjoyed. 

Perhaps it was the fragrance of spices that filled the air or the numerous cats that ruled the streets. I’m not sure exactly, but when I reached the casbah and looked out onto the Atlantic Ocean that sense of freedom and beauty was magical. Was this truly the spot where Hercules came to die? Was this where he divided the mountains so that the Atlantic Ocean and Mediterranean Sea would meet?

To say I was being pulled in and enjoyed this new energy would be an understatement. Whether it was people watching or walking by beautiful mosques, the churches, and the different shops and street side cafes, I was brought me back to the 14 year old writer who started a story about the blowing winds of Abydos. 

I couldn’t tell you today what the story was going to be about. I think there was a young boy who was going to find his way out of such a place, but I don’t remember. What I can recall is the student teacher who tore it to shreds because it was only an introduction. I spent ten pages painting the setting, the streets, the markets, everything - setting the mood on how the environment was alluring, yet a challenge to navigate. 

The writer in me didn’t return to such a setting until after I lived in Brindisi. And yet that was still a different mentality, a flavor all to its own. You can read it for yourself in The Varissian Affair. Then again, that’s a science fiction book and I made Brindisi an alien world. For me, living in that part of Italy felt like another world at times. My landlord called it North Africa because of the constant wind and sand finding its way to our southern port.

What I remember the most, was the slower pace of life. Even not knowing much of the language, I was able to observe and see the nuances of daily routines. I imagined the same in Tangier as I walked around and became more familiar with the area. Within a few minutes I could see why so many writers have found their way to this wondrous city. 

I hope to return for more new experiences. This trip to Morocco was more than I expected, in a good way. For the traveler in me, it was good to get out of my comfort zone and my preconceived notions. As an introvert I was able to navigate and grow more comfortable with each walk and conversation. 

My favorite memory of the trip wasn’t exploring the streets, markets, or venturing down to the beach. It was something rather simple. It was a late night meal where I stopped off at a side vendor who was staring at his cell phone waiting for anyone to step in to his kiosk for a snack. 

There were three stools and one countertop to the right. The other side was his prep area with a small gas stove top with two burners and a fryer. I asked for a burger and grabbed an Orangina - thinking that would be enough to quench my thirst. 

I took a sip and watched as the cook, waiter, and greeter - the “all in one” attendant began to prepare my meal. He turned on the stove top, took out the slab of meat, and went to work. Two gentlemen appeared from the shadows. They exchanged pleasantries - locals I’m sure. It was fun to watch the exchange as one wanted a croquette that was maybe twenty cents. He fumbled with his change and the cook motioned him to not bother. 

The act of generosity made me smile as I watched him put three croquettes into the fryer. 

I took another swig of my cold drink and wondered when it was the last time I ate past 8 pm and at a venue many of my family would consider a dive at best. I felt like I was in an open market Waffle House. Even in the poorly lit street, among the many partisans doing their evening shopping or grabbing a meal, it was a calming moment. 

I was at peace.

The cook and I managed to figure out what additional toppings I wanted added to his Moroccan burger. He then spread several sauces onto the toasted buns and prepared an egg that was carefully placed over the simmering meat. Unlike in the USA where we would decide what temperature I wanted the burger - I sat back and watched this man work his magic.

Fresh cut fries were added and within a few minutes I had a beautifully prepared meal waiting for me. We can talk about how it was only $3.80 or we can focus on the fact that for the first time on this trip I felt a sense of home and relished every bite. This wasn’t a sense of being back in Maine but one that comes from being in the right place at the right time. 

Between the ambiance, the smells, the taste, and watching this man do his job to perfection, while still carrying on a conversation with his cohorts; it was a great moment to be part of, one I’ll never forget.
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