The world is a strange place. The more I thought I was close of knowing what I wanted to know, the more it branched out far than to what I have known.
The grueling transit from Riyadh to Casablanca to Marrakech was something hard to believe (in addition to lost baggage) and me trying hard not to grab the arms of the man next to me when I was scared--an understatement--during the landing point due to bad weather in Marrakech. Needless to say, it was all worth it.
I was consumed of the thought that I really not have known Morocco that much despite of my focused research of where-to, the weather, the must-see places, and the warning advisory why it's not meant for solo traveler, more specifically, for women. But you see, I'm rebellious in nature. The dangerous asset I possessed, yet, the most rewarding one.
I have this beautiful conversation with someone I met along the travel. I said that when you travel, there's something about yourself that seemed to have known the place, a place where you can see a piece of yourself, a place where you understand why this place is a reflection of yourself.
Mystery.
I'm always attracted to mystery.
At first glance, you'll be reluctant to describe Morocco. The fusion of medieval influence and the modern taste made me fell inlove with Morocco the first day. You can never tell what lies beyond the walls and doors. Is it a spa? A home? A restaurant? Or my funny thought of it where Aladdin and his magic lamp is ready to offer Jasmine's a whole new world?
It's hard to judge a beauty that has many edges and perspectives, lots of adjectives to describe it and the impression that just when you think you got what you see, you really don't. There's actually more beyond what you've seen! It's embarrassing that I blatantly miscalculated this aspect of Morocco.
I stayed in Marrakech for a week. Immersing myself to the streets of this big city, I wasn't ready and my faith in humanity. Be prepare for your senses as it will be flooded with colorful stimuli from the hanging textiles, the smell of street foods, the peculiar souvenir items from silverware you have to haggle your way past the merchants' rants pushing their goods on you. Be strong for the catcalls, the "this way", "that way", "that's forbidden". Along your travel, the labyrinth becomes familiar each day it was one of my big achievements to conquer the mind-boggling Jemaa al-Fna, or famously known as The Square, the center of all the local goods and foods and men and wine and alcohol without the use of GPS. Only my guts. And the strong desire to communicate with humans.
After days of indulgence to smoky tagines (meat and veggies cooked without the use of oil in a special plate and charcoal) and the ruthless 45 degrees temperature, I went off to the subtle part of Morocco 2 hours by bus from Marrakech.
The beautiful laid back little town of Essaouira.
I crave for slow life. That's how ambitious I am. I crave for simplicity. A walk-in-the-park day. To clutch to my blanket a little longer with coffee on my mind.
When I said that when I travel, there's a piece of yourself that you recognized a close integral part of the place. I have that feeling in Essaouira. A new sense of connection lost that was found. It was like a home. It was like I'm home.
.Surrounded by the sea and the breeze of air brushing against your sun-kissed skin while licking the 1 euro cost of ice cream, I was overly passionate of the time unhurried.Without pressure. Digesting the beauty of my own pace and rhythm. Simply to put it collectively, it really is the simple things in life.
I spent three days moving around the place amazed with the Atlantic Coast ocean view, the lined colorful boats against the glaze of the setting sun, the smell of the simple life when people are contented to keep the traditional atmosphere, yet at the same time, open enough for the changes that are inevitable. I admire how life goes well that way.
On my last day, I went back to the Skala to see the last view of Essaouira. I ran so as not to missed the bus back to Marrakech. I ran with some stops, hesitant if I should forego the thought of the last look over the missed chance of last bus schedule. I ran like it was a test of faith. A test of how far I am willing to risks the chances life is giving me. I actually ran with tears in my eyes. As if the run was the race of my life.
Should I stop because I was fearful? Should I stop because what I want is so ordinary? Should I just go back instead and live with "what if's"? My choices are reflections of my hopes. Not of my fears.
I ran.
I never stopped.
I never looked back.
Head's up! Thumbs up!
Still with the last thought of my marathon on the streets of Essaouira, with aching legs from the scandalous race of my life, I unpacked and packed my things again. This time, to the lesser road traveled in Morrocco: the Sahara desert.
I joined a group of travelers coming from different parts of Europe and US. It's my first to have my itinerary trusted to an agency but the thought of going to Sahara on tailored trip seemed not a good idea considering my mom will have a heart attack of my whereabout's. Not to mention an OVERNIGHT STAY IN THE DESERT.
I was thinking that Morocco is all pinkish and dry and dusty and hot. On the way, the view of Atlas Mountain was a relief.
It wasn't a mistake that I actually joined a group of travelers.
We passed by the Ait Ben HAddou, one of the touristy and not-so-touristy frequented places in Morocco. Our guide, who helped us with our head cover like we were Arab merchants, is linguistic and very informative. I can't count how many times I mentioned "Ohhhhh", "I seeee", and "Wowwwww" the Filipina way,haha
I can't tell you exactly how it feels riding on a camel while the sun is settling down on the horizons. We were on a caravan. I imagined countless times of the book I was reading during the entire journey, The Alchemist, of how Santiago, the shepherd boy left everything he had on the pursuit of his dream: to travel. So, this must how he felt.
Transcending the cultural differences and languages, we gathered around the fire set on the middle of the desert while all of us sat on the large mats holding our glass of mint-tea while Omar proposed for a cheerful joke that it was a wine welcoming us all. How often does it happen that we are disconnected from all the gadgets of this new world? And yet, on that moment of disconnection, you recognized the very thing that was taken away by technology? A true human connection.
While the drum starts beating to the tune of a peculiar yet vibrant upbeats, I felt the very purpose why I was there. Simply, to be there. To savor the nothingness of the desert. To recognize how wide the universe is when we all laid down the mat and the fire was extinguished so that it's only the light from the stars we can see. It's one of my OHHEEEMMMGEEEE moments I want time to stand still. I felt the Levanter wind blew as described by Santiago in one of his nights in the desert.
I was at one point of my life fighting a battle I can't share to anyone. Was this God's way of getting my attention undivided? Perhaps. With my arms below my head, I closed my eyes and prayed. For courage to finally close a chapter of my life that bruised me the deepest. It was a turning point of letting go and surrendering everything to the desert. With fervent hopes that I will go back from where I've been. Strengthened. Healed. Whole. Better.
Out of nothingness, that night, while the Levanter wind is blewing the hardest, I found my OASIS.
Desert day and night isn't that bad at all. It's one of the best things that ever happened to me. A life's keep!
Finally, my last stop, the Blue City. Chefchaouen.
The 10-hour train ride with two transfers plus 2-hour bus travel traversing from southern Morocco to Northern Morocco was the toughest ride of my life! But there's a grain of truth in what they say that difficult roads often lead to beautiful destinations!
Seeing Chefchaouen is falling inlove at first sight.
The blue color signifies "purity of intention"
Big word.
Intention.
The very thing I'm looking for at this age of 32.
Sidetrip from Chefchaouen is another serendipitous story of miracle. Was it really serendipity? If it was, then it was serendipity personified!
Finding a Catholic Church in a muslim-filled city of Tetouan capped my last few days in Morocco. Having tainted faith in Church after the storm that hit hard and blurred my view of piety, stepping on the insides of the holy ground is for sure more than worth a story of serendipity. For the longest time, I said my Confession.
I always pray for clarity whenever I leave for travel. I believe in Divine intervention, it's the best compass of all time. No matter how well-arrange your plans are, it will be blown away in a snap if it is not in accordance to His will. And what is His will for me?
I always go back to the deepest want of my heart. To where I can find inner peace, hope despite the possibilities of failure, of honing the gifts I was bless with and the fulfillment in living out my passion.
I hope you will find that in our journey through life, there will be instances wherein you will be in a crossroad. How will you know which one to choose?
The one in which there will be no regrets. The one in which there will be no what if's. Yes, you will get lost most of the time, and the question of Did I choose the right way? Was it the best not only for you but for the Greater Good?
Take this handful of advice from been-there, done-that: when you decide to go on a journey, give it your all. Give without hesitations. Without hold backs. Without hang-ups. Give as if you will never pass that road again.
And when you do, there will be no what if's.
Only lesson learned.=)
I hope you like your choices!
