Me in the skala, or military section, of the Essaouira medina.
I’ve spent the last few days masquerading as a tourist, visiting cities in Southern Morocco with my YES Abroad group. The trip has been refreshing, sometimes harrowing, and although I have so little time in each place I’ve been able to form wonderful memories: Jemaa el-Fnaa, the main square in Marrakesh, lit up at night, with spinning purple lights thrown up in the sky and a thick crowd of people; a lovely dinner spent chatting with friends at Cafe Clock; a solitary walk along the beach in Essaouira and time to read my book while sitting on the warm sand; pictures in the skala (military section) of the Essaouira medina; a warm couscous dinner with a contented cat sleeping on my chest while I ate; a picturesque lunch in a world-famous surfing town we stumbled upon;a carriage ride around Taroudant at sunset; and an evening spent wandering the medina complete with slightly funny harassment (the best one: “you look like the brother of Harry Potter.” I’m still trying to figure out that one. Did I have something on my forehead? Do I look like a boy? Was it my glasses? Do you know that Harry Potter doesn’t have a brother?)
Jemaa el-Fnaa, the main square in Marrakech, near sunset. It’s smoky from all of the grilled meat stands set up in the square.
Jemaa el-Fnaa at night. Pictures don’t do this justice.
The main mosque in Marrakesh.
Tombs in Marrakesh.
At the jardins majorelle, the gardens once owned by Yves Saint Laurent in Marrakesh.
Ganawa concert at Cafe Clock in Marrakesh.
Trips are often an intensified version of all the feelings I experience on exchange: homesickness, a panic that I won’t see everything I want to, that I’m not doing enough to be “cultural,” harassment that I can’t get out of my head, mistakes that haunt me, but also positive feelings: awe at the beauty I walk through, pride that I’ve discovered so much, the realization that I actually have learned a bit of Darija and that it’s helpful, and the knowledge that I’ve come a long way since September. I’m no longer easily scared or stressed; I can carry myself with confidence in new places and situations.
In Essaouira.
Dinner in Essaouira, with a cat.
Sunset in Essaouira.
Walking around the Essaouira medina.
We took a very early morning beach walk in Essaouira.
The home I’ve been away from is Rabat, and I actually do miss things about my city. I miss blending in, I miss not seeing tourists or hearing English on a daily basis, I miss the hanut around the corner from my apartment, I miss the dark blue taxis that I can always trust. I miss my host family, and the comfortable evenings spent in their salon. On this trip I’ve realized that home has become Rabat, even if not quite in the way I imagined at the beginning of the year.
Lunch at an English cafe in Taghazout, a surfing town.
The view from the cafe in Taghazout.
Katherine and I at our riad in Taroudant.
Carriage ride in Taroudant.
Sunset in Taroudant during our carriage ride.
I do not walk through the hard days of exchange to gaze upon the beautiful architecture of the Essaouira medina or the incredible gardens of Yves Saint-Laurent. These moments are special, yes, but it is the hard-fought comfort of life in Morocco that is most precious to me. It’s a slow, a quiet, and a steady thing, and I’m often surprised when I find that I do everyday things like running to the hanut or going to the hammam so unconsciously now. So I’m happy to back home in Rabat, with my memories in tow. The everyday is what I celebrate best.