Morocco

Morocco is a place that stays with you long after you leave. It’s in the scent of spices that lingers in your memory, the golden glow of the desert at sunset and the warmth of a stranger’s hospitality. From the moment I arrived, I felt like I had stepped into a world where history, culture and nature weave together in the most beautiful and unexpected ways.

Marrakesh was my first stop—a city that greets you with an explosion of life. The medina was a maze of narrow alleys filled with colors, scents and sounds that wrapped around me like a spell. Market vendors called out, the air was thick with the smell of cinnamon, saffron and freshly baked bread and handcrafted lanterns flickered in tiny shopfronts. I wandered aimlessly, drawn from one vibrant corner to the next, losing myself in the intricate mosaics, the soft hum of Arabic and French conversations and the rhythm of a place that never seems to slow down.

But Morocco is more than its cities. One of my most unforgettable experiences was in the Atlas Mountains. The landscape shifted from dry, rocky valleys to peaks dusted with snow and every turn in the road revealed a new shade of beauty. I passed through small Berber villages where life seemed untouched by time—stone houses, children playing on dusty paths and farmers leading donkeys through terraced fields. A family invited me in for mint tea, the steam curling into the cool mountain air as we sat together, sharing smiles and stories in a mix of gestures and laughter.

And then, there was the desert. The Sahara is something you don’t just see—you feel it. I remember the first time I stood before its endless dunes, the silence stretching as far as the horizon. As the sun dipped lower, the sand turned from gold to deep orange then a soft, dusky pink. That night, under a sky so full of stars it felt unreal, I lay in the cool sand, listening to the distant sound of the wind shifting the dunes. It was the kind of stillness that makes you feel both small and infinite at the same time.

But Morocco also has a wilder, quieter side, where the ocean meets the cliffs and the waves carve out a rhythm of their own. In Imsouane, time seemed to slow down. This tiny fishing village, nestled between the mountains and the Atlantic, had an almost hypnotic pull. The waves rolled in long and smooth, perfect for surfing, while fishermen hauled in their daily catch, the scent of grilled sardines drifting through the salty air. I spent my days watching the ocean, walking along the rugged coastline and soaking in the laid-back energy that made it feel like the kind of place you never want to leave.

Further inland, I found a different kind of magic in Tafraout. Surrounded by pink granite mountains that glowed in the evening light, this small town felt like a secret hidden in the heart of the Anti-Atlas. The landscapes here were unlike anything I had seen—giant boulders balanced in impossible formations, narrow winding roads cutting through valleys of palm trees and endless blue skies stretching above it all. And then there was the campsite, perhaps the most beautiful one I had ever stayed at. Tucked between the rocks, with nothing but nature all around, the silence was almost surreal. At night, under a sky bursting with stars, it felt like I had the whole world to myself.

And of course, there was the food. Every meal in Morocco felt like a celebration of flavor. I still remember my first taste of tagine—slow-cooked lamb melting off the bone, mixed with sweet apricots and warm spices that filled the air with their rich aroma. The simplicity of fresh bread dipped into fragrant harira soup, the sweetness of pastilla dusted with cinnamon and the endless cups of mint tea, poured high above the glass in a perfect arc—it was a feast for the senses.

Morocco is a country that pulls you in. It’s in the rush of the souks, the quiet of the mountains, the vastness of the desert and the kindness of the people who welcome you as if you’ve always belonged. It’s a place that teaches you to embrace the unexpected, to slow down, to savor every moment. And just like the call to prayer echoing through the streets at dusk, Morocco lingers—whispering, calling you back.

If you ever go, let yourself get lost. That’s where the magic happens.