Arriving in the Atlas Mountains we were greeted by the stunning beauty of snow-capped peaks rising up from Berber villages. Everything quickly went to shit from there.
It was one of those travel rough patches that most unfortunately landed right on top of Hazel’s birthday. There was barf, soul-shaking wind, incessant rattling, a sleepless night, lost appetites and mounds of anxiety. The glorious sun disappeared for days. The moody clouds matched our feelings. We had to abandon our ship and find a new hotel in town. I’m writing from our new abode. Cozy. Grateful the storm is over. Grateful for the serenity of knowing this-too-shall-pass. Wishing for deep long sleeps for everyone. A birthday that will not be forgotten.
One afternoon the sun streamed through parting clouds. It felt like a sign we were turning the corner. Nature is my soul food, my healer, my joy. I dragged the deservedly slothy kids up to the roof deck to soak it in. I love the Leonard Cohen quote about everything having a crack and that’s how the light gets in.
After the storm we had long sleeps and lazy mornings. Days began with wonderful Moroccan breakfast served in the hotel. We love this ritual. There is always a mix of local breads and spreads, local tea, sometimes juice, often fried eggs, and cheese. One morning I accidentally mixed black tea and coffee and hot milk. Honestly it tasted amazing. Hazel loved it too. She called it Boba Coffee.
Our hotel is very quiet. I can imagine Imlil (the town) being absolutely nuts with tourists, but it’s not. It’s mostly full of Berber people going about their lives. I confirmed we’re here in the offseason.
I think the kids were quickly ready to pull the plug on Imlil and head to the beach, but we stayed. We’re having good conversations about embracing-the-suck and the ramp back to happiness. Humans aren’t teflon, hard things don’t roll off us. I’m easing them into post-sloth life, though as I write this at 3pm they are both lounging in bed, buried in screens. In their defense, so am I.
I went for some wonderful trail runs while in Imlil. I wore long-sleeves and hiking pants and Will’s running vest to be modest with my flesh and bouncy bits :) I got some words of encouragement. Nobody stared. People have been really friendly. I feel very safe. I think deep in my soul I have some ancient travel-PTSD from my early days in India. I was traveling with my best friend from college/undergrad. We had arrived from Thailand which felt like an adventurous country to visit at the time. India felt 100x more adventurous bordering on scary. I’m not sure if scary is the right word but everything felt overwhelming at the beginning. Eventually, and very slowly, I got comfortable. India became utterly fascinating to me. But I think that ancient fear lives on somewhere and traveling to a new-to-me-and-not-first-world continent knocks loose some of those old calcified feelings. Will it be safe? Will I be scared? So, at times, I’m on alert (consciously and otherwise) to answer those questions. Then I find myself a bit surprised and delighted when I feel safe and I’m not scared. Scenes from a run:
Scenes below from an afternoon walk up the river from town. We’ve seen several groups of school children in this region. The girls (only) wear white lab coats as part of the public school uniform. It’s a way to keep their street clothes clean and the patriarchy in control. They are meant to signify purity and have been criticized for being gendered and discriminatory. According to Moroccan World News there is a “heated debate regarding the country’s school uniforms and dress code policy [that many say] are biased and only target female students”. Though ironically it looks like the boy in my photo is wearing one too!!?
On our last day we had a car take us up to the Tamatert Pass. From there we hiked up to a summit with views of the highest peak in northern Africa, Toubkal. Kids were troopers on steep, loose trails. As a mountain lover, I love to see other ranges and how they are inhabited. We could see tiny towns clinging to precarious places, agricultural terraces, and vast roads with switchbacks to connect everything. When we returned to the pass there was (another) car waiting for us. The stone cafe I assumed was closed was in fact open. There were a few Berber men hanging out in their full body hoodies. We had water and coke. We soaked in the views and the reality of being in this place together. Sometimes I find it all so staggering: where we’ve been, where we are, where we’re going. Usually I get gob-smacked by the where-we-are, especially when I feel awe as I did today. As a healthy companion to my safety and fear radar, I have a deep comfort with being on the road. Some days my comfort surprises me. I suppose I’m a traveler at heart that put traveling on the backburner for a long time. I think this trip was both long overdue and perfectly timed.
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