Morocco
I first travelled to Morocco in September 2005 with a friend from University: at the time we figured it was the most ‘exotic’ place we could get to on a low budget airline, and somewhere our student loans would stretch further than in Europe. We travelled for three weeks. We got lost in the maze-like ancient city of Fes, took a long bus ride to the Sahara desert, trekked on camels and camped in the dunes under the stars, crossed the Atlas Mountains with six people (plus driver) crammed in an old Mercedes Benz taxi, shopped till we dropped in Marrakech, and finally kicked back in the sea air in Essaouira. By the time we made it back to Heathrow airport with tagines tucked under our arms, I felt I had ‘done’ Morocco. Unusually for me, I thought it was one country that I didn’t need to return to. Yet only a few months later I found myself missing the noisy chaos of the souks, and longing to go back. Morocco doesn’t have a list of ‘sights’ to see. It’s all about soaking up the atmosphere, haggling in the souks and having your breath taken away by the amazing and ever-changing landscapes.
I returned to Morocco in July 2006 as a last holiday with my parents before moving to Australia. This time around we swapped camping for Kasbahs and hostels for boutique Riads (the perks of travelling with your folks), but still got lost in the lanes, haggled for jewellery in the souks, and even came home with a carpet. If I end up back in Europe, I think I’d go back to Morocco again.