The Curiosity Compass

I didn’t quite know what I was expecting when I touched down in Morocco.

What I didn’t anticipate, however, was being welcomed by a loud bang as our driver inspected a sizable scratch.

“Welcome to Marrakesh.”

I have always had a clear dream in life: to travel and experience every corner of the world.

But was I prepared for a different side to the world?

I’ll admit, so far I had lived in this naive bubble that the world beyond my home country was an awe-inspiring, magnificent place where everyone was fundamentally good.

Don’t get me wrong, people I encountered weren’t always kind or welcoming. I had seen places that had made me feel uneasy and weren’t exactly ‘Instagrammable.’

But on the whole, I had an overall positive experience that inspired me to travel more.

And so, next on the list was Marrakesh, Morocco.

I had heard mixed opinions of the city, but I brushed them aside. I didn’t want to go into the experience with any stereotypes.

But nobody could have prepared me for what I was about to witness.

Here is my raw, honest, experience of Marrakesh as a sensitive introvert, and everything I learned from my brief encounter with the city.

With a completely open mind and excitement bubbling in my stomach, I jetted off to Morocco.

Just like when I arrive in any new country, my trip began with me gazing out the car window like a curious child going on a roadtrip for the first time.

Unfortunately, what I saw sent my childlike haze crashing down.

I held on to the seat for dear life as the car sped through narrow roads, dodging crowds of people and donkeys as it passed. 

“Welcome to Marrakesh.” 

Overwhelmed and sleep deprived, we were thrown into the deep end in the centre of the bustling medina. 

Alongside trying to navigate a huge culture shock, I also had to navigate a city without being knocked down by mopeds whizzing inches past me.

Everytime I thought I could collect myself and take a breath, another moped would come speeding inches past me or a donkey would appear from nowhere.

As I bustled through the crowds, I felt a million eyes fixated on me. Men trying to sell things to me, trying to get me to follow them, or beckon me into their shop.

Complete chaos unfolded around me; the harsh sounds of sawing and banging, sparks flying from stalls, people carrying huddles of live chickens by the head.

But it was a chaos I wasn’t used to, but rather a chaos that felt threatening and personal.

Despite all odds, I was determined to love the city; I held on to my optimistic spirit.

But I soon had to face a difficult reality, a side of a city that I hadn’t seen represented online.

In certain areas, I witnessed people on the floor in rags, with boils on their face and extreme exhaustion in their eyes.

This was my first time witnessing such visible poverty on the streets, something I hadn’t encountered on my travels previously. 

I became painfully aware of my own body, an annoying tourist wandering around with a camera. What right did I have to be there?

As an animal lover, I was excited to see that there were animals all around me. But the more I looked, the more I saw instances of animals being treated in ways I found hard to witness.

I noticed donkeys being whipped, monkeys that were held in chains, snakes being used as tourist traps, and stray animals wandered the streets.

As I watched a cat limping and bleeding whilst crying out for help, I felt a knot in my stomach as I was unable to reach out and comfort it.

At first it felt like I was stepping into a cat paradise, with too many furry felines to count. 

But unfortunately, I didn’t always see these beautiful creatures being treated respectfully. I watched in horror as a man purposefully rammed his bike over a cat’s tail and watched as it cried out in pain.

I stepped into the riad that night: a room that reeked of sewage and had no warm water.

But I didn’t care, I was just happy to be able to exhale for a second and let my guard down.

That night, I lay in bed staring at the leaky ceiling and fighting back tears. My stomach felt so off, and I felt an intense burning rising in my chest.

Something wasn’t right.

“Oh my God,” I thought to myself, “I have typhoid.”

Being the anxious overthinker that I am, I was convinced this was the end for me.

The good news was, after a few hours of pacing around and working myself up, I realised it was heartburn.

The bad news was, it wasn’t just my body that felt offside. 

Despite loud banging coming from the ceiling all night long, it was my brain that kept me awake that night.

What if I wasn’t cut out for travel? What if I wasn’t as strong as I thought?

In a day, I had seen such extremes. Not only a chaos that I wasn’t accustomed to, but poverty and animal abuse.

Was I too sensitive to handle the raw reality of the world?

How was I supposed to just jet back home to a comfortable bed and warm shower?

Perhaps, the world wasn’t as beautiful as I thought. And maybe I wasn’t prepared to deal with it. 

The next day I awoke drowsy from a lack of sleep and overwhelmed, but I persisted.

Despite finding the hustle and bustle overstimulating, I wasn’t going to give up on Marrakesh. I was going to completely throw myself in and embrace this new way of life.

At first, the chaotic energy just did not agree with me, I thought I would never be able to get used to it.

But somewhere along the way, the girl who would freeze up and get uncomfortable when approached began to say ‘la shukran’ and walk onwards.

Every time I showed authority and realised that nothing bad happened, I began to see the shop owners for what they were; just people trying to make a living.

Since this method of selling wasn’t something I was used to, it had felt threatening and I had thought that everyone was just out to get me.

But the more I interacted with the sellers, the more I realised that they meant no harm. In fact, many of them were the most witty and charming people I had met.

I learned to stop being so completely closed off, and start joking with them and matching their playful energy, and realised there was nothing to be afraid of.

As a huge people pleaser, I eventually mustered up the courage to start haggling.

After many unsuccessful attempts, I was beyond excited when I got a bargain for a stuffed monkey.

I’ll admit, it is a terrifying monkey, but one that I will treasure forever.

I learned to navigate the streets with confidence, to say no to people, and to step into the chaos rather than rejecting it.

Although by the end of the week my body had adjusted to the chaos, I concluded that it wasn’t my kind of place.

Me and Marrakesh didn’t exactly agree with each other, I just couldn’t handle the extreme life.

But amidst the suffering and chaos, there was something much stronger.

I’d become so used to having my guard up. But I realised that if I only softened my heart a bit, this city was home to some of the kindest, most inspiring individuals I had ever met.

Nestled away down a tiny backstreet was a radiant woman who ran a little shop all by herself, hand-crafting traditional Moroccan tea.

She had devoted her entire life to the art of making tea, and shared her wisdom and kindness with the many locals that came to take a seat at her stall.

Hidden away in an underground shop were two of the most hospitable and kind women I had ever met.

Despite them hardly speaking a word of English, I felt a strong connection to them.

Her shop felt like being welcomed back into a home I never knew I had, we were immediately offered tea and took a seat on a colourful, vibrant couch.

As this woman gave us the most intricate, delicate henna, we laughed and joked and managed to understand each other deeply despite the language barrier.

Every place I visited, be it a restaurant or a shop, I was greeted with this warmth and hospitality.

The people who served me food always made sure to spark a conversation and make me feel right at home.

This food never failed to exceed my expectations. Every mouthful was rich with flavour and you could tell it had been prepared freshly with such passion and dedication.

I had the pleasure of speaking to one of the chefs, who was so genuine and you could tell he put his heart and soul into the cuisine.

The city itself didn’t personally feel like a home to me, but the locals there made it into one.

I realised there had been beauty there all along. It may have looked a little different, but it was the most important kind.

Travel for me has mainly been polished and comfortable; I’ve only seen the stereotypically ‘beautiful’ places of the world.

Not everywhere is perfect, but no matter where you are in the world, you will always find the most powerful beauty of all.

It’s in the small moments of laughter shared with strangers, witnessing the kindness of locals, and the ones who pour you a fresh cup of tea.

I tried, I really did, but I’d be lying if I said I liked Marrakesh.

This trip was like no other I have been on, it was extremely uncomfortable. But maybe that was what I needed. 

Not a beach, not a tourist haven, but reality.

Earlier in the week, I had thought I was not cut out for travel; that I was weak for being scared and struggling to adjust.

But despite being overwhelmed by the city, I put one foot in front of the other and stepped out every morning.

Despite being absolutely terrified to my core, I did things I never believed were possible for me, such as quad biking in the desert.

The city showed me that strength isn’t an absence of fear, it is showing up despite the emotions.

I was vastly out of my comfort zone, but that allowed me to grow in a way that a beach resort or luxury cruise never could. 

So I will forever be grateful to Marrakesh, and always hold a piece of it in my heart.

This city has showed me that beauty isn’t always in the architecture or the cities, but the people.