Snake charmers, Tajine, and Tea

Like an entranced child entering Disney World for the first time, I was captivated. The alluring scents of various meats sizzling over carefully tended charcoal filled my nostrils from every direction. To my right, a man in a food stall skillfully stacked freshly steamed lamb heads like a precarious house of cards. On my left, a snake charmer played his pipe, while curious tourists observed with fascination. People from all walks of lives flocked from every direction to revel in music bands, witness boxing matches, adorn themselves with henna tattoos, and indulge in delectable food. As I ventured deeper into Jemaa el Fna square, a UNESCO World Heritage site nestled in the heart of Marrakesh, a mix of excitement and apprehension overwhelmed me.

Morocco, the gem of North Africa, a country inhabited by 37 million people, embraced by the Atlantic Ocean to the West, the Mediterranean Sea to the North, and the Sahara Desert to the South. Morocco achieved its independence from France relatively recently, in 1956. While Arabic is the official language, French is widely spoken. As a native Arabic speaker, I found comprehending the Moroccan dialect, a blend of Arabic, Berber, and a hint of French, nearly impossible. Fortunately, everyone spoke formal Arabic.

We arrived in Marrakesh on a scorching summer day in mid-July, having embarked on a round trip flight from Madrid via Ryan Air, at a mere cost of $45 per person, excluding baggage fees. Our first priority was lunch. We set out with our noses as our guide and eyes as our compass. Ascending a narrow staircase leading to a rooftop transformed into a cozy family restaurant, my growling stomach fixated on one thing—Tajine. A renowned North African dish, derived its name from the ceramic pot it is cooked in. Originating from the Berber culture, this dish has stood the test of time for centuries. Ingredients such as vegetables, a choice of meat, and a medley of spices are combined in the tajine, simmered over an open fire or baked in an oven. My wife opted for couscous, another staple of North African cuisine. When the feeble rotation of the fan failed to provide relief from the heat, two glasses of refreshing date milkshakes did the trick.

With contented stomachs, we embarked on our next endeavor—a leisurely stroll through the bustling souqs, or marketplaces. I must warn you, souqs are a perilous temptation when accompanied by your wife and can cause serious harm to your wallet. Picture this: a mesmerizing labyrinth of hundreds, if not thousands, of vendors sprawled across meticulously preserved medieval alleyways, offering an array of goods that cater to every desire. Turn in any direction, and you will encounter gold, textiles, spices, homeware, crafts, leather goods, lanterns—anything your little heart desires. It felt as though I had traveled back to the year 1191 and assumed the role of Aladdin. My Jasmine unleashed her shopping prowess, and we eventually made our way back to our Riad, a charming Andalusian-style hotel, just in time for my hands to regain sensation after bearing the weight of numerous shopping bags.

A visit to Morocco would be incomplete without indulging in a hammam, a traditional Arabic bath. After we dropped off an extra luggage worth of purchases, we ventured towards a 500-year-old traditional hammam. Descending a flight of stairs into what felt like a clandestine abyss, we entered a hallway leading to an underground sauna room. There, I was greeted by an older gentleman, a seasoned practitioner of the hammam for the past 40 years. One need not possess extraordinary courage to embark on this experience, but a certain fortitude is required. With his strong yet delicate hands, the gentleman, dubbed "the magician," skillfully scrubbed me from head to toe using natural hot water, organic olive oil soap, and an exfoliating loofah. Within ten minutes, I succumbed to his magic. Lying there, I felt five pounds lighter, seven years younger, and utterly invigorated.

As the sun's rays bid farewell to the horizon, we ventured into what would perhaps be the pinnacle of our trip—Jemaa el Fna. For dinner, we traversed the square, hopping from one stall to another, determined to savor as many dishes as possible. Harrira soup, Chermoula, and Mechoui were all extraordinary. To culminate our evening, we opted for drinks and a show, although not what you might envision—something far better. We discovered a rooftop terrace overlooking the square, where we indulged in traditional mint tea. As I gazed upon the chaotic yet thrilling spectacle unfolding below, a glimpse of everyday life unfolded before me. An elderly man savored a piping hot bowl of Harira while casting a contemplative gaze over the square from the food stall counter. A young girl brimmed with delight as her father handed her a cone of cotton candy. A couple sat at the square's edge, enraptured in each other's company, sharing a bag of sunflower seeds. Lives being lived, momentarily captured, then gone. Two hours later, we remained seated at our small corner table, holding hands, sipping mint tea, and dreading the day we would bid farewell to Morocco.