The Colonial Zone is the most magical part of Santo Domingo. Last weekend I had 3 wishes, so I asked the area to grant them:
#1 Take me back to Europe.
#2 Give me rest.
#3 Help me remember again why I moved to the DR.
Like a genie, it did.
A huge perk of living two years in Morocco was taking advantage of cheap flights to Europe. Oh how I miss the $60-80 roundtrip tickets to Neighbor Spain. But last weekend I went there again via a staycation in Santo Domingo’s Zona Colonial.
Never underestimate seeing your city as a tourist. While home last summer, I felt again the excitement found under the Batman building along the banks of the Cumberland River while staying in the center of Nashvegas.
Likewise, last weekend I needed escape. A new perspective. Peace. Weeks go by working in my Piantini neighborhood—a maze of mega malls and stifling traffic– when I never see a wave, monument, or sunset. But then I remembered. Just an Uber ride away from my apartment where car horns and jackhammers deafen and high-rise apartments smother is the Colonial Zone with its wide open spaces- -grand plazas surrounded by cathedrals, museums, and waterfront views.
Oldest church in North and South America and the Caribbean
Controversial Columbus
The old town of the first permanent European settlement in the New World offers a feel of two countries I love—Spain and Italy—perched above what drew me to the Dominican Republic—the Caribbean Sea.
I opted for my first stay in the Colonial Zone to be at a UNESCO World Heritage Site, Hostal Nicolas de Ovando, built in 1502 as the home of Santo Domingo’s founder, Governor Nicolas de Ovando.
The hotel is located on the Port of Santo Domingo and the first paved street in the Americas, first called the Street of Fortress or Strength.
Although the name has been changed several times since 1502, it is now called Las Damas, Street of the Ladies, named so because when Viceroy Diego Columbus and his wife doña María de Toledo, the great niece of the King of Spain King Ferdinand, came they brought with them Spanish ladies-in-waiting. Here these women of high society lived and swished through the streets in gorgeous ballgowns.
When traveling alone I prefer to be as near as possible to the action.
Exiting the hotel to the right, I was 150 meters from Plaza de España and Alcázar de Colón Viceregal Palace—the most visited museum in the Domincan Republic and former home of Ovando’s successor/Christopher Columbus’s oldest son, Don Diego Colón, who became Governor of Hispaniola (now Haiti and Domincan Republic) in 1509.
Under my window was the National Pantheon of the Dominican Republic, built 1714-1746 as a Jesuit church. In 1956 under order of then dictator Rafael Trujillo, it was remodelled as a national mausoleum. Trujillo planned to rest here but today his assassins and other heroes of the the country are interred.
A highlight of my stay was when Las Damas began filling with beautiful young ladies like days of old. On the steps of the memorial proud parents photographed daughters for a Quinceañera, 15th birthday celebration. I fell in love with this rite of passage at a friend’s niece’s party in Nashville. While weddings are known for being the “bride’s day,” since not all women marry, I love that every girl is celebrated on her special day when she is recognized as becoming a woman. The dress, the cake, the coming together of friends and family–most of all, the speech of respect and affirmation given by the girl’s father and godfather–makes each girl feel cherished.
Changing directions…Out the front door to the left, past the hotel’s restaurant 70 meters away
is the plaza of Basilica Cathedral of Santa María la Menor, the oldest church built in the New World. This area is a social hub so close to the hotel it feels safe for solo travellers to venture there at night.
As for the hotel, the romantic in me loved viewing the Ozama River from behind fortress walls as I used to look out from my balcony above the battlement of Essaouira. Perhaps walking in the footsteps of ghosts from Genoa and living isolated much of the time on this island made me feel like The Count of Monte as he looked across the sea wondering about, wishing for life at home.
Peering down on Andalusian arches and fountains and roaming mammoth hallways with iron chandeliers and candelabras reminded me of palaces and patios I loved in Marrakesh and Seville.
I enjoyed the hospitality and modern 5-star amenities of the property—swimming pool, gym, restaurant, lounge, and live music–and thought of how I’d love to fill the pool with friends and family. I took a dip at dusk and another later in the dark–something I haven’t done in years.
Sunday I awoke in the way I’ve always dreamt of doing when in Italy. I opened the shutters to only the sounds of church bells, birds’ songs, flapping pigeons’ wings, and horse hooves on cobblestone.
A local sat on a bench reading a newspaper and I sipped coffee in bed and read this:
He gives strength to the weary and increases the power of the weak…Those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They’ll soar on wings like eagles.
Below someone called to a friend in Spanish, breaking the silence, and I remembered I was in Santo Domingo. Downstairs I found breakfast by following the sound of a guitarist and ate in the courtyard.
I wrote by the pool awhile and took a last walk before calling Uber.
Again I thought of roots and wings. Seeing families together made me long for my children and a new nest near them. Still, I am so grateful for each day and what it teaches, where it takes us all, and I know wherever I am– uprooted in a hot city of concrete or refreshed by a night swim under a big moon–and wherever they are in Knoxville and Nashville, we three are seen, strengthened, and protected under His wings.
Long before Pinterest prodded us to create virtual vision boards, Instagram insisted we share in-the-moment bliss, and Facebook fostered travel posts of happy places far, far away, I cut out and saved a magazine photo of a couple walking in the surf of the Caribbean Sea. I was single again, sad, but looked forward to a day I’d be that girl, her cocktail dress blowing in the breeze, as she laughed and leaned into her guy’s shoulder, one arm wrapped around his, the other hand holding a champagne flute. I longed to share such a celebratory moment in paradise… one day (sigh)… with The One who was meant to be—whoever, wherever he was.
Though I still wait in hope to meet him, I have learned to cherish the many people with whom THE One, God, has blessed my life. And over the last twenty years, I stopped waiting to be in a romantic relationship to see the world or show it to my children. Money I have spent on traveling with my family, friends, and students strengthened relationships, made priceless memories, and taught us all something. Likewise, I’ve learned to appreciate solo travel which has given me confidence, courage, and peace I never thought possible. A mentor told me years ago that giving ourselves what we need models self-care to our children and is healthier than waiting for someone else to fulfill us. Travel rejuvenates and like a class taken to improve mind, body, or spirit, it’s an investment in personal growth which positively impacts us and those around us. Yet, though I’d traveled from Moscow to Morocco to Malibu and now live in the Caribbean in Santo Domingo, something inside kept saving the fantasy island resort experience for a hoped-for honeymoon. Until recently…
Though Punta Cana is known for love connections– the 2014 season of The Bachelorette was filmed here– and this 5-star mega-complex in The Dominican Republic is popular for weddings, family vacations,
This family reminded me of Florida vacations with Taylor and Cole. I long for those days but in the words of Disney’s Dori, a family favorite, we have to keep swimming.
and bachelorette/bachelor getaways,
the Caribbean haven cradles single women travellers with comfort. For those of us with grown children on their own journeys, going solo can provide rejuvenation and even reinvention as we navigate this new season of life.
I was impressed by the 85-year history of the Barcelo Group, a family company founded by Simón Barceló in Felanitx (Mallorca, Spain) and later expanded internationally. After scanning The Dominican Republic by helicopter, owners chose Punta Cana–a then deserted stretch of beautiful jungle and beach. Because they bought wide rather than deep as many property owners have since, this resort stretches two kilometres along Bavaro Beach rather than behind a small oceanfront area. The company’s hotel division now has over 100 hotels in 19 countries and its travel division has 685 travel agencies in 22 countries. These figures position it as the third largest hotel chain in Spain, and the forty-second largest in the world.
2) REST AND REVIVE.
Choosing an all-inclusive resort is the best way to rest before and during your stay since everything–where to eat, drink, swim, sunbathe, shop, be entertained, be active, and find transport–is provided. While I enjoy researching and plotting my own travel adventures from restaurants to excursions, planning takes energy and time. For those worn out from home/work responsibilities and constantly making grown up decisions, going with the flow of resorts that offer everything from a bowling alley to a soccer field
to a casino
to live entertainment can be freeing. For those flying into the Punta Cana airport, transfer service to the resort can be arranged as can car rental. Currency exchange is available and stores carry items you may have forgotten, like sunscreen. Upon arrival at reception, get a map to see the lay of the land, and if not interested in the buffet, make reservations for some restaurants which require them and any special services–such as spa or tee times (though you can call from your room to set these up later). I traveled less than three hours from Santo Domingo but was tired and upon checkin rested awhile, then showered before dinner.
Relaxing shower and pampering products provided
Realize as the New Kid at Camp (seriously, the Barcelo complex feels like an amusement park/pleasure palace for adults), it’s normal to feel excited but also strange not having friends or family there to share the experience. A trip to the spa and Wellness Center with use of the private pool outside thanks to Premium Level (this upgrade also provides free internet and personal service in the Premium Level Lounge which serves food and champagne and early and late check-in/check-out when available),
Photos of me by Patirica Fuentes, Community Manager, Barceló Bávaro Grand Resort
a dip in one of the oceanfront pools,
an iced chocolate cappuccino in the coffee/cigar bar,
or room service, minibar, (courtesy of the Premium Club Suites)
In my room were local rums. Mamajuana is a spicy, peppery legend in the area.
and a movie –whatever you need to unwind–will help you relax, recharge and relish your evening and stay ahead.
3) BREATHE AND DWELL IN POSSIBILITY.
Before dinner at the seafood restaurant where I had lobster on the terrace (the Sante Fe Steak House also has seaside dining), I walked barefoot on sugar sand inhaling the sea air. I breathed…exhaled… under a full harvest moon. What would I reap on this trip? As always, I felt warm knowing those I loved to the moon and back were looking up, too. I thought of Van Morrison, Emily Dickinson, and the Creator of the most gorgeous clouds I’d ever seen. Truly, it was a soothing, surreal, “marvellous night for a moon dance,” a time to “dwell in possibility…the spreading wide (of) my narrow Hands To gather Paradise.”
Though the property is so huge shuttles connect its vast offerings, a solo woman traveler can feel safe walking alone at night.
4) EAT, DRINK, AND BE MERRY.
An all-inclusive (see under “Other Important Services”) vacation is NOT where we count calories. Healthy choices are always available, but dieting? No way. And since we first eat with our eyes… the ambience of open air tables set amidst lagoons, lakes, and gardens makes every meal a feast.
I slept later than usual thanks to the blackout curtains, had coffee on my patio where I was visited by a Moorhen, nicknamed the Chicken-foot Coot because its feet aren’t webbed and it steps high like a hen. Rested, I was ready to step out, too, so I headed to the nearest restaurant just around the corner for something I rarely get–a Southern-sized breakfast. The night before PGA golfers (The Dominican Republic is known for the best golfing in the Caribbean) gathered in the foyer bar –champagne, cocktails, beer and bachata music flowing. Now hushed except for the tin, hollow sound of clubs hitting golf balls, the course and sky met as a blue-and-green canvas for a new day.
From Dominican fare to all-you-can-eat buffets to a Buffett-worthy Cheeseburger in Paradise, culinary and beverage choices abound. My finest meal was at the French restaurant recommended by the concierge upon my arrival. I had to book for my second night because it was booked the night I arrived.
Warm Salad with Breaded Camembert and caviar (a first for me).
Snails A’La Bourguignonne
The Chateaubriand was rich and tender. Other choices included Beef Wellington, Pork Loin, Chicken Cordon Blue, and Duck Breast a l’Orange.
Chocolate Fondant
Berries and cream
5) LET YOUR INNER CHILD PLAY.
Remember when you were little and you weren’t afraid to explore, concerned about “getting it right” or impressing others? An all-inclusive where you don’t know a soul allows you to follow Eleanor Roosevelt’s advice: “Do one thing everyday that scares you.” Of course, do what you love. For me, this was dancing bachata on the beach (Romeo Santos had recently done a concert in Punta Cana). Golf, tennis, volleyball, soccer, walking, swimming –do what makes you happy– but leave room to discover a new passion.
Zumba
Maybe learning to like alone time is what you need. Or maybe starting a conversation to make new friends and not just because paddle boats take teamwork.
I loved meeting Patricia who gave me a tour of the property on Saturday and took me out to sea on Sunday. She assists travel bloggers/media influencers, she’s from Spain, loves promoting community and all the Barcelo brand has to offer, and I liked her instantly.
And I finally tried kayaking. It was fun.
So was meeting Harry Lee and Livvy Turner, Brits below who had just arrived. They were in the Caribbean for the first time and were looking forward to ten days of bliss. Harry said they weren’t leaving the property, that he was exhausted by city life. “I am a broken man,” he quipped, “but will return to London with more energy.”
6) LET YOUR INNER CHILD NAP.
Count ships, not sheep, under rustling palm leaves shading you from the sun. And if you can’t sleep, as my mother used to say, rest your eyes and your mind.
In Eat, Pray, Love, Elizabeth Gilbert writes:
“Il bel far niente means ‘the beauty of doing nothing’… [it] has always been a cherished Italian ideal. The beauty of doing nothing is the goal of all your work, the final accomplishment for which you are most highly congratulated. The more exquisitely and delightfully you can do nothing, the higher your life’s achievement. ”
Last spring break I’d planned to practice this skill on The Amalfi Coast. Of course, I planned to write and photograph Positano, but that isn’t work to me. Circumstances prevented that trip, but I’m trying to learn the same lesson in the DR. This weekend was a wonderful teacher.
My favorite–pink and blaring bachata.
7) LOOK BACK IN GRATITUDE.
Recall happy times in the past with thanksgiving. If I’ve learned one thing from many Dominicans it is to laugh and sing more.
Too often we’re too tired to remember what day it is, much less yesterday or yesteryear. As has happened a lot over the last two years of living abroad memories of family flood me. In Punta Cana I remembered other beach vacations with women who have strongly influenced my life. The summer in Hawaii with my mom, sister, cousin, and aunt. Another summer in Florida with Mom and her mother, Mama Sargeant–single women for many years like me. I toasted to them with a Pina Colada, the drink my grandmother enjoyed when she became ill and mom moved in with her until she passed. I thought of a month earlier when my daughter, Taylor, and I enjoyed another DR beach together.
8) LOOK FORWARD IN HOPE.
As gentle waves lap the shore the clear, calm waters of the Caribbean invite reflection. Remembering happy times, even hard times, reminds us of all we’ve overcome to get to this place which strengthens us to face, even greet what lies ahead.
Scan the horizon knowing that good is coming. In studying Spanish I realized this week the roots for esperanza, hope, and esperar, to wait or to expect, are the same. Faith says to wait, to expect with hope.
On this lake is the Barcelo chapel where some couples marry.
And on this pier, a group of friends waited for the bride and groom.
What are you waiting for? Some things we can make happen. Others we can’t, so we must trust, wait, and watch. Traveling solo helps us figure out what we want and how, if in our power, to get it. What to hold onto. What to let go of. The beauty of this gorgeous globe gives us peace in knowing the One who created it can work all things together for good.
9) SEIZE THE DAY AS THE BEST SOUVENIR.
We must live in the moment. I agree we can take so many photos trying to capture special times that they truly escape us. Too much staging can kill just being, breathing the experience. And yes, people may laugh at your selfies, but deep down most of us want to remember times we recognize as special pieces of eternity. Even if you don’t typically like to have your photo taken, you will want to remember that you were once in a beautiful place and felt more beautiful for it. I promise. Just as a mom says if the house were on fire and all people and pets were out safely she’d grab baby photos first, one day you’ll want to see yourself in a Caribbean paradise where you grew, changed–even use the photos as your screen saver–so you don’t forget how important it was–it is–to get away and enjoy gifts of beauty and adventure you’ve been given.
While in Punta Cana I read an article in More magazine called, When Looks Fade: An Exercise in Perspective by Christine Lennon who interviewed “The Professionally Beautiful,” asking them how to age with grace. Molly Sims, author of The Everyday Supermodel said:
“It’s funny how I used to look at a picture when it was taken and think, Ugh, I look awful. You look at that same picture five years later, and you think, Dang. I looked pretty good.”
A friend in her 40s recently had professional photos taken to remember this time in her life. My mom did the same in her mid-30s. I get it. Even if you shy from the camera, the best souvenirs of any vacation are photos which capture living -in- the- now forever. At a Caribbean resort photo opps are everywhere and you’ll see many taking advantage of it. Don’t be shy. Help a solo traveling sister out. Ask if she’d like you to take her picture and ask her to take yours. Hotel staff will kindly oblige as well.
Whatever your age or style–girly girl, Bohemian Babe, or mermaid, wear something–maybe a new frock found in shops on the complex– that makes you smile. Though I brought a tropical dress with me–a TJMAXX special–I was thrilled to see new styles of two brands I fell in love with in Spain (Mele Beach in Tarife and Desigual in Vigo) sold at the Barcelo Punta Cana complex.
The beach is your runway. Get creative. Take the plunge. You’ll be glad you did.
10) TAKE A PEACE OF PARADISE HOME WITH YOU.
Peace. Going solo to a Caribbean resort will convince you of what research shows. Though too few people take enough time off, those who do vacation return rejuvenated and more productive. No matter the age. For some of us, the prime time to go solo seems to be when we are trying to survive, even thrive after the nest empties. We are “tweeners”and if we can’t take a gap year, a gap week works, too. Soon–assuming we stay in good health–we may be needed to care for parents and grandchildren. Doing all we can to stay fit–physically, mentally, spiritually–is vital for the ones we love.
We are as young as we feel. I loved seeing women my mom’s age doing Zumba in their bathing suits on the beach. And about those photos and the freedom on your face they will reflect…
Christie Brinkley, 62 year-old author of Timeless Beauty and former Sports Illustrated swimsuit model said, “Aging needs a huge rebranding campaign. People still think of 60 and picture a granny with a shawl and bun. We need to stop lying about our ages. Go ahead and say your number; then you’ll reshape other people’s images of that number.”
Likewise, when people ask in disbelief, You traveled to the Caribbean alone? say, Yes and smile. They may need to be freed, too.
Special thanks to Barceló Bávaro Grand Resort for an amazing experience. As always, the opinions here are my own.
I was excited when my friends, Sana and Steve, invited me to join. Though newlyweds, their kindness and inclusiveness from the day we met blessed Taylor and me. Trusting them as history teachers and adventurers, I did no research but quickly scanned a few photos online and took off. As I’d been thrilled by Venice last January, I wanted Santo Domingo to share some of its secrets as well. I wanted to be surprised. I needed to feel wonder. For awhile I hadn’t had the energy or desire to explore, but last week I’d begin feeling like myself again.
Located just outside the city, Los Tres Ojos (The Three Eyes) costs a mere 100 Pesos/$2 and is open until 5:30 (though ticket sales end around 4:15).
As I journeyed into the dark bowels of the limestone labyrinth leading to underground lagoons, thoughts of spiders made me flinch at water drops from stalactites above. What other creatures might swim and slither within?
The three underground eyes are Lago de Azufre (Lake of Sulfer) discovered in 1916 , La Nevera (Known as “The Fridge” for its icy cold water) and El Lago de las Damas (“The Lake of the Ladies”) where Taino women–first inhabitants of the island of Hispaniola (now Haiti and the DR) — bathed their children.
The second lake was darker than I’d hoped, and Steve and I joked it was the stuff of the Sci-Fi Channel. I remembered a movie about a mutant shark grabbing a victim gazing into an underground river, so though I wanted to take the boat into even darker depths, I was nervous. Normally I’d take photos with flash, but as we crossed the water I was afraid of arousing bats hidden in holes overhead. My trypophobia was kicking in and I remembered, Katherine, my role model for adventure in The English Patient, had survived desert storms and a war but died in a cave.
On the other side, I crept off the boat, peering down into the dark at the slippery rock beneath my feet. Determined not to sink into the river we’d just crossed, I carefully groped my way around a corner of the cavern. Then, as in every miraculous moment of my life, I looked up and all changed.
My eyes filled with light. I hadn’t read that here was hidden the fourth lake–discovered after the park was named for the other three. But unlike the others, this lake opened fully to the sun. To the sky. To the heavens.
My eyes filled with wonder and recognition as another heart’s desire was fulfilled. As I’d dreamt as a girl of exotic Arabian gardens, then saw them come to life in Morocco, I stepped into another secret place I cherished as a child. I’d watched Tarzan movies my whole life–loving most the black and white Sunday morning Johnny Weissmuller films. But here in living technicolor, realtime, were vines hanging like party streamers beckoning Jane to swing. Turns out, this lake was a location for Tarzan films and Jurassic Park. Memories of dying Katherine vanished. Instead I was strong Kate on Lost and smiled remembering my kids’ groans as I’d drag them around Radnor Lake and tell them to pretend we were on the tv series island scouting for treasure. This island, too– just outside my new city– was mysterious, unearthly, ancient. And alive.
We boarded the boat, left that piece of paradise, and climbed up, then down to the third eye–the most most gorgeous blue water dappled with sunlight. On a walk around the perimeter of the park, I marvelled at this tree and its green bean pods fit for a giant.
The fourth lake, Zaramaguyones, was beautiful from above. But somehow, discovering it on the other side of a darkness and fear made it much more breathtaking.
For all my déjà vu movie moments, the expedition reminded me most of a cave of my childhood and its metaphor guiding my second-ever blogpost written so many years ago. It calls me back to my main mission for writing.
When I was a little girl in Kentucky, the Mother of All Field Trips was going to Mammoth Cave. While I was told not to fear the Natural Wonder, I wasn’t all that excited about going deep into the black unknown, feeling my way down damp, winding paths… The tour guide seemed so calm. She had a light to guide us but no map. She had obviously been in that cave before—many times–and was so familiar with it she could have led us through that vast cavern even if the batteries in her flashlight died.
The only good I can make of getting older is that I’ve lived long enough to have gone into some terrible darkness but emerged again into the light…
Though I have survived great losses, I rarely emerged from the black by way of a blowtorch or floodlight. God usually just gave me a candle—one that flickered—and He whispered He wouldn’t let go of my hand even if the flame went out. I still grope but know He’s there. Even if I can’t feel his fingers interlocked with mine. Even if I can’t feel his hand at all and seem to wander in the dark for days…or weeks….or years. I write to share my cave experiences—those I’ve emerged from blinking in the light as well as those I’m still mining through—looking for something of value as I wait and work and wait for release.
The last few weeks I’m often felt confused. Disoriented. Exhausted. I’ve had health issues and struggled at times to embrace all the changes that have flooded my life this year. Selling the home we loved, then transitioning from Marrakesh to Nashville to here has been fraught with questions about where I’ll ultimately put down roots again. Taylor moved back to Nashville and I couldn’t be happier for her as she goes after the life she wants there. As Paulo Coelho said, “Love never keeps a person from pursuing his or her destiny.” We agreed if living abroad wasn’t right for her–as it isn’t for many people–she could be proud of herself for taking this opportunity and return with no regrets. Though I’d hoped we’d have more time together, I’m so thankful for what we shared while she was here. Letting go again is so hard as all parents know no matter how many times the nest empties, but she and Cole are both in really good places and that soothes my soul. In a week he flies to Washington, DC to start his new job in Knoxville–something he’s waited a long time for. I love and miss them both madly.
So in this silent apartment I’ve been spending a lot of time lately with old friends– like Elizabeth Gilbert –who comforted me with these lines from Eat, Pray, Love:
In the end, I’ve come to believe in something I call ‘The Physics of the Quest.’ A force in nature governed by laws as real as the laws of gravity. The rule of Quest Physics goes something like this: If you’re brave enough to leave behind everything familiar and comforting, which can be anything from your house to bitter, old resentments, and set out on a truth-seeking journey, either externally or internally, and if you are truly willing to regard everything that happens to you on that journey as a clue and if you accept everyone you meet along the way as a teacher and if you are prepared, most of all, to face and forgive some very difficult realities about yourself, then the truth will not be withheld from you.
As for this new relationship with the DR, I cling to the Message version of Matthew 6:22-23: “Your eyes are windows into your body. If you open your eyes wide in wonder and belief, your body fills up with light.” I’ve experienced beauty, adventure, and relationship here. And caves. Big ones. Beyond my two human eyes is a third one of faith–the door to all things bright and beautiful. I remain thankful for the One who holds, now and always, my family, future, hand, and heart.
It has been awhile, too long since I’ve been able to write. Summer was a six-week cyclone spent in the US–(to be read aloud in one breath)half of the time spent getting medical appointments, fingerprints, birth certificates, and other pieces of a 39-page work visa document stamped by government and federal authorities sent to the Dominican Republic Consulate… the other half waiting for approval while trying to see friends and family spread across 250 miles while packing up to take off again. Each step of the Visa process demanded we wait for paperwork to be returned before sending sealed envelopes to the next checkpoint. Our target date to leave was August 1 because my job started on August 4, so I prayed the Visa would be approved giving us the signal to book flights and get “settled.” For those writing to ask if we are “settled” yet, the answer is we are unpacked (except for the fifth bag we were told at the airport we had to leave behind because of a summer embargo which American Airlines didn’t tell me about when I called the day before to confirm the cost of adding another bag. It would now cost at least $500 to ship the contents so, as we say in the south, we will “make do.”)
Waiting all summer for the Visa decision left no head or heart space to process saying goodbye to the people, the city of Marrakesh I loved NOR a proper pace to say hello, connect deeply, then say goodbye to friends and family before leaving. There was also no debriefing for integrating back into US culture as some businesses and churches provide after sending people overseas. (When did gas pumps start streaming video? When did Panera become a drive-through? When did chip technology take over the quick swipe at some stores but not at others? I always managed to swipe when I wasn’t supposed to or pull out my card before the chip technology accepted the payment, causing those in line behind me dismay as I had to start over. Everything moved so fast. When did rent-a-cars replace key fobs and cameras show you how to back out of the driveway? Keep in mind I drove a 2002 Nissan before moving abroad. When did traffic in Nashville whip from lane-to-lane and tailgate at such high speeds and close proximity? My kids said I scared them to death driving with my slow reflexes. When did a hotel room in Music City cost more than one in just about any city in Europe? When did politics peak in craziness? When did news cover only the most horrific events, dissecting violent acts bone- by- bone, day- after- day until we all pay in a pound of flesh called profound fear? When did Animal Kingdom, a series I found while channel surfing, become filled with shocking camera-closeups of graphic, sadistic human sex scenes rather than a Discovery Channel tutorial on meerkats? ( I paused on the series while channel surfing in a hotel because I saw Ellen Barkin was in it and I’d always liked her. After two years where kissing was censored from television I couldn’t believe when I happened upon a scene of two guys, seemingly enemies, punching each other and then…) And when, can someone tell me, did Jimmy Kimmel become so thin, darken his hair and grow a beard? With no time to ponder, Taylor and I flew to the Caribbean and began the business of trying to assimilate into another culture.
Although I have always considered Latin culture in many ways “home” and share with my daughter a lifelong love for the ocean, I knew moving to a new country, apartment, job, life would be challenging for us both–Taylor who has never lived abroad and I who have done so only once. Vacations have return flight dates. Moving abroad happens on a one-way ticket. I knew we needed to celebrate the small victories (learning how to turn on the hot water, light the stove, get internet and phone service, order water , negotiate a taxi…where to wash clothes, dump trash, buy groceries) because if you don’t stay positive and make room for play–wherever you live, but especially when trying to navigate new territory–so much new information can disorient, deplete, depress. So that first week, to escape the humid heat (in apartments due to electricity costs, AC units are in bedrooms only and used at night for sleeping) we checked out the local scene starting with lunch at Adrian Tropical, recommended by a new friend. The whole fish fried Boca Chica- style (named for a nearby beach) was amazing…enough for two.
The second week we went to the same restaurant in our area. Though it isn’t on the sea waterfalls and fish ponds make it a cool oasis. I also made my first pot of shrimp chowder at home. We love the food here.
Later that week we went to the J.W. Marriott for sunset tapas and a panoramic view of the city. Photos by Taylor because I couldn’t walk out on the glass terrace. 🙂
George is a hospitality pro.
The fresh fish tacos and cheese stickes were amazing.
Taylor said a highlight of the week for her was seeing the mountains against the skyline. She likes the big city (capital of 3 million people–largest by population in the Caribbean) and the bonus of the beach on weekends.
For the first weekend, I booked us a night at Emotions, appropriately named given all we are feeling with this move. Ranked #1 by Trip Advisor on what many consider the best beach near Santo Domingo, Juan Dolio, it is 38miles/50 minutes from our apartment. Saturday was spent watching waves of storms move down the beach; at the first raindrop all knew to run for cover. By night all had cleared for the animation (dance show) and fireworks. Sunday was sunny sky perfect.
Love the rain catchers.
As we checked in a crab literally led the way to the front desk. This one was just off our terrace.
It is hurricane season here, appropriate given our charged feelings as we try to absorb all the change. As I write this, again lightening flashes and the loudest thunder I’ve ever heard signals another downpour that will most likely turn the streets into lakes again. We’ve come to love the storms that cool and calm us–such a change from remembering no more than five times it rained in the two years I was in Morocco. We’ve had some great discussions–now adults, roommates–each finding our own paths and learning how to respect our differences in doing that. We both trust God has lessons and blessings for us here.
When I asked Taylor her best memory so far she said the day we walked to the store in the rain. Despite umbrellas we came home soaked, laughing all the way. We’ve laughed and cried. Sharing this experience is something we will never forget. We both struggle with the heat during the day and our inability to speak Spanish but are determined to learn as much as we can and allow life to unfold. I asked her about surprises here. She said she likes all the open air places and that we have to walk to get what we need. This morning, Sunday, was cooler and quiet–no jack hammers or honking cars (driving is crazy here–the only rule of the road seems to be to pull out and take your chances.) “Walking forces us to be connected. When you walk you see things you miss when driving. It keeps us in the mix, in the moment.”
Yesterday was a good day. Our Russian friend, Maria, took us back to Juan Dolio–this time by public bus– with Sana and Steve, a couple from New Jersey we’ve met. On the commute, under the palm trees, in the water, and around the delicious dinner at El Mason we bonded over this new experience we share. Truly, no man nor woman is an island.
One’s destination is never a place, but a new way of seeing things.–Henry Miller
I’ve always enjoyed staycations in Nashville, my home for almost thirty years. After two years of living in Morocco, I am in town for the summer, and, as friends said I would be, stunned by how much this It City has grown. In a week I move to The Dominican Republic–this time with my daughter who wants a new adventure, too. Thanks to Omni Nashville–the premier location for enjoying downtown — we had a perfect celebration as Taylor bid her birthplace a fond farewell for now.
Nashville, voted #1 for Girlfriend Getaways by Travel and Leisure, draws women of all ages with its southern hospitality, great food, shopping, and entertainment. Here females have fun and feel safe whether gathering for bachelorette parties or mother-daughter escapes. Opened in 2013, Omni Nashville is within walking distance of Music City’s best–its 800 guest rooms and 54 luxury suites offering a gorgeous place to relax before or after a big night out. It shares multiple levels with The Country Music Hall of Fame , is next door to the Music City Center, and a short walk to The Schermerhorn, The Tennessee Performing Art Center, The Ryman, Johnny Cash Museum (Taylor and I are big Johnny and June fans), Ascend Amphitheater and world-famous Broadway.
Soon to be TWO Southern Girls Gone GlobalWhen the carriage driver assumed we were tourists and asked if we wanted a ride, Taylor said, “I wish.” I said, “Let’s go.”Photo provided by Omni
We loved our room with its amazing view. After checking in, we took a short walk and had a delicious and relaxing lunch at Country Music Hall of Fame’s Bajo Sexto recommended by Nashville Lifestyles.com and others.
Back on the Omni property we visited Hatch Show Prints, a Nashville institution.
Rotated from Country Music Hall of Fame are costumes worn by icons–one that brought back memories from my childhood of the Harper Valley PTA.
The Five and Tenn stocks local products from Jack Daniels to Goo Goo Clusters, from Col. Littleton leather goods to Lucchese boots.
Forgot something? Like going to the general store, you can find what you need.
Barlines is the Omni’s live music and sports venue. With the hearTV app inside or on the patio patrons can stream live audio from any TV in the restaurant from their own iPhone or Android.
Onsite is Bongo Java–Nashville’s oldest coffee company. Taylor was impressed with the playlist here and throughout the hotel.
The Omni brand prides itself in designing each hotel to reflect the character and culture of each host city. Local artwork was chosen to represent the multi-genre world famous music scene that is Nashville.
The Ryman
Though we had hoped to use the pool, the weather didn’t cooperate, so after exploring we decided to take a nap before our night on the town.
Relaxed and rested, we headed toward the lights of Broadway for music, dinner, and a last look for awhile at an amazing city.
The next morning I was given a tour by Tod Roadarmel, Area Director of Sales and Marketing, and his team to learn more of Omni Nashville’s story.
We headed to Kitchen Notes, The Tennessean’s 2016 TOAST Reader’s Choice Awards as one of the contenders for the Best Sunday Brunch. If you’re a local or tourist who has fallen in love with their biscuit bar or brunch, today is the last day to cast your vote here.
The property has 80,000 square feet of meeting and event space. Above is one of two ballrooms where wedding receptions are held. Below, bridal parties and other guests can choose from many services at Mokara Spa. Locals can also book spa days which includes use of the outdoor pool, named as one of the Top Ten Pools of 50 Omni international hotels.
Photo provided by Omni
Photo provided by Omni
Within a year of its opening in 2013, Omni Nashville was ranked #4 of US Hotel Meeting Spaces. Here from the band stage to the boardroom creativity is ubiquitous. When Tod asked Gibson to donate guitars to be used in the conference room, he didn’t expect to receive pieces played by B.B. King, John Lennon, Jimmy Page, Jeff Beck and Billy Gibbons.
At Bob’s Steak and Chop House patrons include Reba and Vince.
Photo by Omni
On my tour I imagined a bubble bath with a view in the Johnny Cash Suite.
I remember the night Keith Urban was hanging out on Demonbreun. He set down his drank and took the stage. One day I hope to run into his wife, Nicole, who shot the Queen of the Desert in Marrakesh.
Distance gives fresh perspective, bringing life into sharper focus. With our eyes filled with the wonder of tourists and our hearts with the love of locals, I said hello again to a town I’ve missed and will always be a part of me as Taylor said her goodbye. Nashville was a great place to raise my children…a place that gave us all roots and wings.
Thank you, Omni Nashville, for a wonderful stay. As always, the opinions here are my own.
Leaving Marrakech was like leaving Oz — a technicolor, over-the-rainbow dream that brought together traveling companions from faraway places who became lifelong friends. Like me, Kate from Australia, Jasna from Canada, and Synovve from Norway discovered within us unexpected courage, wisdom, and heart. I learned so much from these single ladies about reinvention, growth, and joy. They are still in Marrakesh, and I miss them madly. I considered a hot air balloon ride as our final outing together which would have been more in keeping with L. Frank Baum’s classic. Thankfully, Kate suggested The Selman Sunday Brunch (my favorite meal out) which was truly the perfect choice for the end of an era.
Expat friends are for life. Synnove from Norway, Kate from Australia, Jasna from Canada, and I loved our brunch and pool day at Selman Marrakech. Expat friendsBeautiful horses at Selman Marrakech remind me of living on a Kentucky horse farm.A nutmeg-colored horse grazes at Selman while guests enjoy brunch.Arabian horses were brought to Morocco from Saudi Arabia in 700 AD. Selman Marrakech is named for the first horse on the property.
I had forgotten how much I love horses. In another life in the early 1980s, I lived as a newlywed on a Kentucky thoroughbred farm where I saw foals born, mares bred, yearlings sold, and champions raced at Keeneland. Later we moved to Tennessee Walking Horse Country where our children were born. Last Friday I smiled at the symmetry of watching my daughter say goodbye with love to Nashville from a horse-drawn carriage as we saw downtown Music City with the wonder of tourists. In August we move, two single Southern girls, to the Dominican Republic.
Selman is a destination for equestrians and sports travel enthusiasts.
Arabian horse show at Selman Marrakech
At Selman, a family owned and operated luxury property in the top tier of Marrakesh with La Mamounia (also designed by Jacques Garcia) and Royal Mansour, Sunday brunch guests can enjoy the “Horse Ballet.” Mr. Abdeslam Bennani Smires’s private collection of twelve horses, some international champions, graze as guests feed on the best brunch — actually, the best food in terms of quality and quantity I had in all of Morocco. He says of his showplace:
I wanted to create a unique hotel project that offered the traveler a strong portrayal of our culture. The horse, profoundly linked to our history, seemed to me to perfectly encapsulate the spirit. I’ve had the chance to visit the most beautiful stables in the world. And each time, it was an incredible experience. I wanted to be able to offer people the chance to gain access to and share in this otherwise closed equestrian world, to which access is normally only afforded by the invitation of horse owners. I want the guest to be able to enjoy the experience in all its glory. Through doing so, the guest experiences a sense of sharing which is a principle so dear to the Moroccan people.”
Though “thoroughbred” refers to any purebred horse, the Kentucky racehorse is an English breed developed in the 18th and 19th centuries derived from Arabian ancestors. Arabian horses originated in ancient Persia on the Arabian peninsula more than 4,500 years ago. Via trade and war dispatching the animals worldwide, the Arabian’s genetic code is found in almost every modern breed of riding horse. Developed by desert nomads who often kept them in tents forming a natural bond with humans, Arabians are intelligent, strong, fast, and eager to please owners. They are subject to more health issues than other breeds and, like Kentucky thoroughbreds, are considered hot-blooded. Because they are sensitive, spirited, and high-strung, they’re recommended for those with advanced equine experience.
Drama unfolded as Arabian horses made a grand entrance and walked to our tables to Sting’s “Desert Rose”.This magnificent creature reminds me of Anna Sewell’s childhood classic horse, Black Beauty.Perfection
The afternoon was relaxing. Horses made grand entrances from paddocks to Sting’s Desert Rose and performed. We feasted on a sumptuous buffet and enjoyed live Spanish music. After lunch, we wandered the gorgeous property and enjoyed a Sunday nap by the enormous pool and tranquil fountains.
Live Spanish music at Selman brunchBrunch is served on the patios between Arabian horse paddocks and peaceful waters at Selman.Sharing the shade of olive trees with Arabain horses at SelmanDesert rosesSurreal Selman Marrakech Dessert waits in the wings as you enjoy your main course.Steak and lobster is custom-grilled.The Paella is cooked poolside during brunch at Selman Marrakech. The seafood is fresh and delicious. Loved the grilled lobster and beef kabobs at Selman Marrakech BrunchMacaroons are one of many tasty desserts. Don’t miss the chocolate mouse at Selman Marrakech. We agreed it is the best we’ve ever had.Saphire glass, velvet amethyst seating, crystal chandeliers When newly married and living on a Lexington, Kentucky horse farm, we purchased our first piece of art — an equine print. At Selman Marrakech, suites are decorated with equine artwork throughout the hotel.
I was sad when this day ended and sadder still when I flew away. On the ride home, I saw Nicole Kidman in the film, Queen of the Desert, the true story of Gertrude Belle. Though it was set in the Middle East I recognized scene-by-scene shots done in Marrakesh. In a paddock, she talks to a man with an Arabian steed. It was filmed, of course, at Selman.
Desert Rose by Sting
I dream of rain, I dream of gardens in the desert sand I wake in pain I dream of love as time runs through my hand I dream of fire These dreams are tied to a horse that will never tire And in the flames Her shadows play in the shape of a man’s desire This desert rose Each of her veils, a secret promise This desert flower No sweet perfume ever tortured me more than this And as she turns This way she moves in the logic of all my dreams This fire burns I realise that nothing’s as it seems…
It was the best of times. It was the worst of times.—Charles Dickens
The best thing in my life is my family and friends. The worst? School is kind of stressful. I still don’t know what I will major in.
I love how the older I get the more freedom I get. The only problem I have is that I want to do lots of activities outside of school but I don’t have the time for them.
The best? Friends, learning, freedom. The worst? The fact that we are getting closer to the end of high school and I feel I don’t have enough time to prepare.
The best is growing, maturing, learning, focusing on my future. The worst is stress over AP classes.
The best of times is having as much fun as possible my last year in high school; the worst of times is all the college applications and SAT exam.
The best is knowing in order to be happy, you have to accept change and the fact that if you do not make yourself happy, nobody will. I always keep in mind that if I am not happy with what I have now then I will not be happy with what I want to have. The worst of times? I wish I could change this cruel world we live in and create a world that welcomes people and doesn’t despise them. Anyways, I can say that I am positive 99% of the time but to the other 1% I am not because I know I cannot change the world by myself and make it better.
Neutral.
The best is I am on good terms with nearly everyone and I know my nails are always on point. The bad? Nothing.
These were my students’ responses last fall on the first day of school to Dickens’ quote. I had taught all but one class the previous year, so after hugs hello as we filed in from summer break, they wrote how they were feeling about the 2015-16 school year. I taught an American college preparatory English curriculum so we read, discussed, and wrote about nonfiction, poetry, and classic protagonists from Oedipus to Oscar Wao. We discussed the connection between literature and their own life stories.
Unlike the students I’d taught in the US, they were all fluent in Arabic, French, and English and all would greet me with a “Hello, Miss! How was your weekend?” and most leave with a “Thank you, Miss. Have a nice day!” The majority came to class discussing the latest news in world politics. At the beginning of the US Presidential race they knew more about the candidates than I did and when one candidate said all Muslims should be banned from entering the US, they asked why he hated them so. Since our school prepares them for acceptance into US, Canadian, and European universities, they wondered how this would affect them in the future—how they’d be treated if they attended school in the US. But overall, they were like all teens I had taught. Their concerns shared with me most often involved relationships with friends and family and the desire to do well in school.
Student life in Marrakesh represents a tale of two cities. The disparity between opulence and poverty is immense. My students were incredibly privileged compared to most of Morocco where over 60% of females don’t attend school past primary grades and many children of both genders don’t finish school. My students had drivers and maids who got them to class and parents who expect them to attend the best universities as is the tradition of our school. Many plan to bring the education they receive outside Morocco home to improve conditions in their country for all. Their clothes, movie, and music choices are influenced by western culture but they observe the practices and holidays of their country’s religious and historical culture. They are tolerant of and respectful toward the beliefs of foreigners.
Morocco is known for its tolerance of other religions and in Marrakesh, Muslims live and worship beside Jews, Catholics, and Protestants. Likewise, the King and his forces are determined to protect the country from terrorists and subjects work together in a way Neighborhood Watch function in the US. They look out for one another and in Marrakesh areas where tourists frequent are under high security. And just as schools in the US have emergency drills, we prepared our students should intruders ever get past our guarded gates.
Our students enjoyed showcasing their art, music, and acting. They competed in Model UN conferences collaborating over global problems, did community service, and hosted soccer tournaments. The end of the year included senior skip day, water fights, outdoor games and an assembly where those of us leaving were sat on stage to be roasted about our quirks and classes. Their personal, public thank yous made me sob. We laughed about stories of them as well—such as the shark that kept eating my AP students (those who went MIA with senioritis) or the Alice in Wonderland Mad Tea Party scene my drama students performed for the kindergarten kids. Though very talented they became a mad tea party since up until the day of the performance only one student showed up for rehearsals in proper costumes (though the March Hare said he had one but had washed it and it was still wet.) When it was showtime, the White Rabbit (out two months with a knee injury) taped paper ears to his hair, the Mad Hatter borrowed a wool, tasseled cap, and our original Alice ended played the Caterpillar while the original Queen of Hearts played Alice. Their audience loved the performance and I loved working with them.
At the end of the year, I asked my students grades 9-11 (the seniors had already graduated) what they wanted the world to know about Moroccans. Most had lived in Morocco their entire lives, but a few had moved there from other countries, such as Italy, Spain, the US, Russia, France, and Canada.
We don’t ride camels.
We are Muslims but we are not terrorists. We are very peaceful and friendly.
Most Moroccans are kind and caring.
Moroccans give a lot of importance to family.
We are very fun and energetic. We like to go out with friends all the time. We enjoy company.
Moroccans are very grateful for what they have and always thank God.
Moroccans always help people from other countries even if they can’t speak the language.
Moroccan ladies cook very well and usually cook a lot even if there are only a few people eating.
Our food is amazing. We eat cous cous every Friday.
Moroccans are very generous when it comes to sharing stuff with others.
Not all Moroccan women wear Hijabs.
There are a lot of people who are poor and need help.
People always give you a warm welcome and help each other.
We tend to love larger women and having kids is a blessing for us.
It is not always hot here. We have snow on the Atlas Mountains.
Men love cafes.
We accept people for who they are regardless of their religion.
We tend to be late.
I want people to know that not all Moroccans are late.
Answers like the last two are reminders that not all students or people from the same country—any country–see everything the same way. It’s natural, I suppose, to try to quickly assess a place—“get a read” on the culture when moving abroad in an attempt to assimilate. I did. And I was often wrong. Many of my students were bursting with energy and highly social—too talkative in class I felt at first. But as is always the case in the classroom, a closer look and listen led to relationship that always brings a deeper understanding. As teachers we are often so busy with the more vocal students we miss those who are silent. Two of my quiet students wrote of their fears for a new year, reminder again that when we say “All teenagers are …” or “All Americans or Moroccans or People are…” or when we assume speaking up is easy for everyone we are sadly mistaken.
Anxiety is something you can’t really control. I am a very shy and anxious person. I don’t like being put on the spot, presenting, or talking to a crowd of people. When I do I get flustered, my heart rate rises, I turn tomato-red, and I can feel the blood run through my face. I try to do things to reduce my anxiety but I still feel the same way.
Being a teenager in a a world where you get judged by the slightest mistake you make doesn’t make my life easy and then comes the part of having to impress everyone which makes me have anxiety and panic attacks. My anxiety is starting to take over my life by making me cancel plans and not do things because there will be people that I don’t know. I’m happy for my friends. They get me through the bad times. They are my family. The other thing I’m happy for is the fact that I can go to school and I’m healthy.
When asked what they’ve learned by attending ASM , my ninth graders, a gregarious bunch said…
I’ve learned multiple languages and about the history of the world.
I’ve learned about other students’ cultures outside of Morocco–how they live, what they wear, what they eat.
No racism or bullying allowed.
Accept people for who they are and work hard.
I think that if I grew up in another school I would not be as open as I am today and by open I mean to new ideas.
Being in an international school is fun and interesting. You get to learn about other cultures.
And they made suggestions for tourists in Marrakesh—a must-see list and safety tips on which they generally agreed:
Splurge at El Mamounia or stay in a riad in the medina.
Visit orphanages.
Do excursions to Terres d’Amanar , the Atlas Mountains and the Sahara. Visit more cities if possible because each has its own story and character.
Mind your purse and don’t walk and talk on your phone.
Taxi drivers and some salesman in souks will try to charge tourists more.
Mint tea and Argan oil make nice gifts to take home.
As I was writing this my daughter read all their responses and asked me to express gratitude to my students for the kind treatment I received. To them I say again, thanks for the memories!
Anissa, AP student for two years–a dancer and one of the hardest workers and sweetest spirits I’ve ever known.
ASM Mission Statement The American School of Marrakesh is a multicultural community of learners. We offer an American-style education with a thorough grounding in the Liberal Arts, Sciences and Technology, and a highly competitive preparation for university acceptance around the world, especially American universities. Our students strive for mastery of English and fluency in Arabic and French. Our mission is to foster excellence through critical thinking and creativity; build resilience and character; promote responsible, global citizenship; and encourage lifelong learning.
For Those Interested in Becoming an International Educator Abroad…
If you want to make a difference/ be changed as an international teacher at ASM, go here and here. For more on life for teachers at ASM, go here. For how this journey began at a Search Associates Job Fair in Boston, go here.
Amazing Resources for Finding Your Fit at an International School
Professional Services
SEARCH ASSOCIATES represents most of the best international schools in the world. In the last twenty-five years they have placed over 32,000 primary and secondary administrators, teachers, counselors, librarians, and interns in schools abroad. Their school profiles list demographics of student and faculty population, teacher-student ratio, core curriculum, extracurricular activities, salary, benefits, living accommodations and moving allowances, estimated savings, and VISA information. Each candidate is assigned a representative to advise him/her on what to consider when seeking a school abroad and how to navigate interviews, job fairs, and contract negotiations.
Very similar to SEARCH, International School Services is another great option for seeking work abroad. Several friends and colleagues have used and recommend this service.
For my upcoming international assignment in the Dominican Republic I used TIE Online, another good resource for finding international schools around the globe and staying on top of issues and trends in global education.
School Services/Networking
Some schools, like ASM, provide candidates an online guide for new teachers on visas, cultural norms/history, shopping, medical services, gyms, social life, etc. Schools should offer personal email/Skype information for connecting with teachers at the schools to which you are applying. Talking to someone on the ground about cost of living, the quality of community among teachers outside of school, safety issues, whatever questions you have is invaluable. I was relieved to learn other than the FBI background check done beforehand the school would handle medical exams/residency card procedures, but remember every school is different and expats have different requirements according to their countries of origin.
Most international teachers sign two-year contracts. While some may want to stay in a school/location longer if offered another contract, many chose international education to see more of the world. Regardless, from the first international assignment, you will have a network of colleagues and supervisors who can put you in touch with schools where they have previously worked or where friends currently are employed. Because many teachers lead students on athletic or academic competitions abroad (as I did when I chaperoned the Model United Nations delegates in Russia) as well as attend professional training/conferences, connections are made at other schools/events as well. My main reason for taking the job in the Dominican Republic was its close proximity to family in Nashville, but I was tempted to accept an offer from a school where a former colleague teaches in Brazil. Once you make the move, you discover a world–literally–of job opportunities.
“What will be your moment this summer?” asked Jodie as eighteen coworkers sat Indian style on our apartment complex rooftop under a full moon.
A packed school year had ended with high energy and emotion— Moroccan Heritage Day, ASM’s 20th Anniversary Celebration, Graduation, our final faculty meeting sending some of us off for summer…others for good. Tears, hugs, and kisses had given way to a mellow mood. I’d sat in circles with colleagues over the last two years not only discussing work but life. Good times gathered around turkeys at our annual Thanksgiving dinners, birthday cakes, desert camp fires, and pools…challenging times around family members sick at home or a loved one in a hospital bed in Marrakesh after an emergency appendectomy…confusing times as we wondered what was going on with sad world events and the US Presidential race. The next day we’d disperse all over the globe—many traveling for ten weeks and some going home for summer. I couldn’t imagine not seeing these people again in August at our annual Welcome Back rooftop cookout.
“So…your moment? What will be that thing you can’t wait to do?”
“Hang gliding over the fjords,” said Sylvie. We’d hiked in the mountains together and she biked to school—a trek that took our bus 30 minutes to make. She’d been to Nepal last Christmas, hosted our annual Thanksgiving meal in her apartment, and shown me an amazing French cheese store and bakery in our neighborhood.
“What about you, Jodie?”
“Driving a scooter on the coast of Crete,” she beamed. “You know, I can’t believe we are living this life. We’re going to Greece! I always thought if I did do something like that it would be the trip of a lifetime. Now we take school breaks and say, ‘Want to go to Paris? Tickets are $20.’” She sat beside her husband, Jordan, as she did daily on the bus. They had raised four children and now the empty nesters were loving their first year of freedom abroad. Their summer plans also included doing the Camino de Santiago alone. Both witty, she’d sit on the outside on the bus each morning energetically singing, laughing, and proposing we contact the show, “Pimp my Ride” to enter our bus for a makeover. By afternoon his soft –spoken zingers, naturally timed with hers, made them a comedy duo. Both have huge hearts and when they’d kiss each other bye as she turned down the kindergarten wing and he headed to the middle school to start their days, I smiled. Jodie and I had bonded as moms and bloggers. She’d recorded my southern accent reading a children’s book for her students and we’d held babies together at the orphanage.
“Jordan?” We looked at the other half of the Dynamic Duo.
“I’m excited about the history in Greece and I also look forward to just reading books on the beach.”
“Mike?” He’d taught in Ecuador last year and we all loved his one-of-a-kind laugh.
“Having a beer made at a monastery that has produced it since 1050.” He was meeting his dad in Germany and then would continue onto several other countries.
“Jason?” We turned to half of another kind couple.
“Seeing my new nephew who is now six months old,” he grinned. Jason had taught middle school in our English department, would be upper school principal next year, and headed a writing workshop at the beach last spring. I’d taken yoga from his Irish fiancé from Belfast, Siobhan, a doctor, blogger, and all-around Renaissance woman. They’d met in Costa Rica where he was teaching and both have hearts of gold.
“Thelma?” Thelma and Laurance, also empty nesters, had been in my yoga class and writing workshop. They’d owned a café in Nicaragua where she was from and had given me valuable tips on The Dominican Republic where they vacationed. Their daughter, pretty and sweet like her mother, was studying close by in Nice. Both dedicated teachers, Laurance was a talented screenwriter and made us laugh. Both helped me lighten up by encouraging me to sell my house as they had done to allow for travel and expat life in this new season.
“Seeing a national park Laurance and I have always wanted to visit in Croatia.”
“Rachel?” The age of my daughter, she sat beside me as she did most mornings on the bus. Eliza was sleeping strapped to her chest. She’d taught me how to do a bun I now call “The Rachel” because it saved me from heat and bad hair days. Her husband, Jon, had tutored me in photography and painting. He’d led the Marrakesh Photo Walk last fall and was an amazing artist who first came to Morocco to do commissioned work. I’d seen Eliza grow from a month old infant to a toddler in dog ears. We’d laughed and prayed together and I’ll miss them so much. They are moving to Casa.
“Seeing my mom again who has been sick. It will also be special for Jon’s grandmother to meet Eliza for the first time.”
Other destinations included Kilimanjaro, Zanzibar, and Korea. We traveled every school break during the year and traded stories to plan future trips. My coworkers were from ten countries I can think of—probably more: Canada, Russia, Scotland, England, the Philippines, Australia, Portugal, France, Morocco, and the US. Fellow Americans were from Oregon, Minnesota, Wisconsin, Colorado, Virginia, West Virginia, Michigan, Texas. They’d attended schools like Berkeley and taught previously from Alaska to Las Vegas to Harvard. Overseas they’d taught in the Bahamas, Costa Rica, Europe, Korea, Malaysia, Japan, Indonesia, the Middle East….
I hope Tennyson was right when he said, “I am a part of all I’ve met.” Though we are from different places, backgrounds, and religions and teach students aged three to eighteen, we are all committed to being part of something bigger than ourselves. Together we worked hard and tried to love each other and our kids well. We respected each other. We collaborated. We listened. We lived out hope before our students. To be part of the solution rather than shout and shame others over the problems. To mute voices that promote negativity, fear, hate. To believe in and fight for a world of peace and understanding. I’ll miss these guys and am forever grateful for the community.
“I’m glad I met you Cindy McCain. What’s your moment?” Jodie asked before I hugged her bye and headed down to my packed apartment. “Hanging out with your kids–a movie night in perhaps?”
“Exactly,” I smiled.
That was just over a week ago. As I post this I see on Facebook Ritchie thrilled to be with her aunt in Milan, Emily having a big time in Germany thanks to the kindness of strangers, Todd and Jose on the beach in Portugal, Jodie surrounded by statues in Crete with hands in the air giving Julie a shout out for her signature pose. Moments in Morocco and beyond. We’ll remember.
1st Year…
2nd Year…
Hope to see Ali again in Nova Scotia one day
Hope to see Ymane when she visits Texas and makes a stop in the Dominican
Hanane offered her home should I return to Marrakesh.
Julie from VA, Jodie from Colorado, Siobhan from Belfast and Andrena from Glasgow do Girl Power classic, Gloria Gaynor’s “I Will Survive.”
Jon’s Art Class
I will miss Ritchie, my dear friend, and my sweet neighbors across the hall, Christopher, who kept my Mac running and provided karaoke for everyone, Bevs who fed me Filipino cuisine, and their three little ones who grew so fast and made me laugh.
Jasna, my ASM bestie on one of the few occasions she allowed herself to be photographed.
Writing workshop at Sidi Kaouki. Photo by Siobhan Graham.
Photo of bus buddies, Rachel and me, by Julie Tumasz
Just before our 7:15 AM commute, teachers dashed to the hanut (mini market) next to our apartment complex for egg sandwiches, clementines, or whatever else we needed for the day. Likewise, when we dragged off the bus at 5 PM needing water, gas for our stoves, vegetables for dinner, or fresh mint for tea, this young man welcomed us in with a smile and asked about our day. He and his brothers work seven days a week until 10 PM–always friendly no matter how high the temperature or how many locals stormed the counter.
Ismail was our go-to driver for excursions around the country (like our trips to the Atlas Mountains and Ouzoud Falls; social events; and airport drop offs and pick ups. He also transported our families and friends who came to visit including a last-minute cameral ride for my niece, her boyfriend, and me. If you’re ever in Marrakesh, contact him at Morocco Desert Adventures.
Mary (below) and her husband own Les Jardins de Bala–my favourite Sunday lunch spot where Anu, another teacher, celebrated her birthdays and my guest including my kids loved. We taught Mary’s sweet son, and I enjoyed her French flair for fashion. On the right is a chic dress she designed for 200 DH/$20 USD which included the cost of fabric and a tailor. She is beautiful inside and out.
How I miss Sayida. She kept the Woods and me organized and was nanny to their three children. Coming home to a spotless apartment, clothes and sheets washed, and dinner ready and mint tea brewed was a treat I’ll never forget. Just before I left, she surprised me with this beautiful gift. She was a Godsend and a great friend.
The only lasting beauty is beauty of the heart. —Rumi
If I’m honest I have to tell you I still read fairy-tales and I like them best of all…For me the only things of interest are those linked to the heart. — Audrey Hepburn
When I moved to Morocco, Taj Palace (now Sahara Palace) where the movie, Sex and the City 2, was filmed, topped my Marrakesh Bucket List. I’d vowed to walk there in Carrie Bradshaw’s shoes, and as I crossed that splendid threshold, I echoed her sentiment: “Toto, we’re not in Kansas anymore.” Expat friends who have lived in Australia, Asia, the Middle East, Europe, and the Americas agree that our host city offers more sumptuous, stunning respites than anywhere else in the world. As my time living here nears an end, Jasna, Ali, and I enter the gates of Palais Namaskar and another surreal experience.
We see no one, hear no one, so we follow the central walkway as long as the Yellow Brick Road toward a massive door in the distance. On the sprawling four-acre property we pass Oriental arches and epic waterways — backdrops for fashion models, blushing brides, and film stars. Is this The Emerald City or the ancient Arabia of my childhood dreams? I feel like a girl again, kick off my sandals, step off the path, and feel the grass beneath my feet. I’m no longer trying to channel Carrie Bradshaw or anyone else for that matter. After two years in Marrakesh, I’m more comfortable in my own shoes, skin, story than I’ve ever been.
We did a Palais Namaskar pool day on the recommendation of my friend, Julie. How fun it was to sashay across waterway walks, swing in a hammock, and played in the pool with friends. We climbed to the rooftop for sunset and had dinner lit by moonlight.
Inside we were greeted and shown a dressing room for changing clothes. The pool, grounds, and rooftop form a fluid sanctuary where the only sounds are lapping lakes, chirping birds in flight, and waiters scooping crushed ice from shiny silver buckets.
Thanks to Ali for the photos of me. Jasna, hiding from the camera as always, was thrilled to get a break. Love you Canadian girls!
The moon doth with delight /Look round her when the heavens are bare; /Waters on a starry night/Are beautiful and fair.–William Wordsworth
I leave knowing that beauty comes from where we choose to look — not into a mirror probing for wrinkles or blemishes nor through a magnifying glass scanning for defects in others. Wherever we are, we can find beauty, whether looking up at sunsets, down at cool waters, or around at new or familiar faces. Gazing on beauty makes us happy, and happiness makes us beautiful. Audrey Hepburn said, “Happy girls are the prettiest.”
We made memories caught on camera I’ll cherish forever. Proof I’ll show my older self that once- upon- a- time I lived in the magical Kingdom of Morocco.
For beautiful eyes, look for the good in others. For beautiful lips, speak only words of kindness; and for poise, walk with the knowledge you are never alone.–Audrey Hepburn
Joy is the best makeup.–Anne Lamott
Getting there: Book a stay at this 5-Star resort on their website or search for a deal here. Book a pool day which includes lunch here.
Before I moved abroad, my friend, Dana, told me how important — how vital — my ex-pat community would be. She and I were part of the same school family in the US, and she had a network of close friends at church. Still, having already taught in Morocco and having lived in France, she said the way friends live together, work together, do life together when family and old friends are so very far away is one of the blessings of living abroad. She was right. I was honored to celebrate a birthday with a family who now feels like my own. The Birthday Girl was given royal treatment Morocco-style: Lunch in a Berber home, a mule trek in the High Atlas Mountains, a toast at Sir Richard Branson’s Kasbah Tamadot, and a pool day at Beldi Country Club Marrakech.
I met Kate, my Australian friend and riad manager, a couple of months after moving to Marrakesh. She later moved to the apartment complex where I live with other teachers and locals. Moroccan sorority sisters, we have done meals on rooftops and by pools; walked the souks snapping photos and shopping; relaxed in riads and even a luxury tent. Baby Boomer moms, we have talked about leaving our empty nests to fly to Africa. About wanting and finding more. We talk about our greatest gifts — our children — and recently I met Amy, her youngest who visited Marrakesh a couple of weeks ago. They graciously invited me to join them on the Imlil trip and to celebrate Amy’s birthday at Beldi Country Club. Seeing the two of them together made me more excited than ever about the adventure ahead on the other side of the Atlantic for my daughter, Taylor, and me. More on that later.
On the way back from our lunch and mule tour in the Atlas Mountains, we stopped at Kasbah Tamadot, the luxury resort owned by British billionaire and philanthropist of the Virgin Empire, Sir Richard Branson. Two days ago he gave Sylvia Jeffreys of The Today Show a tour of Makepeace Island, his newest property called “the most beautiful spot in Australia.” Many would say his place here is the most stunning retreat in Morocco. (Update: Kasbah Tamadot was named #1 Resort Hotel in North Africa & the Middle East in the Travel + Leisure World’s Best Awards 2021.)
Kasbah Tamadot was named #1 Resort Hotel in North Africa & the Middle East in the Travel + Leisure World’s Best Awards 2021.The entrance of Kasbah Tamadot welcomes guests into an epic adventure.Kasbah Tamadot is owned by Sir Richard Branson.Kate and Amy have a birthday toast at Kasbah Tamadot after trekking in the Atlas Mountains.Roses in the Desert at Kasbah TamadotAny day spent at Kasbah Tamadot is a celebration.
The next day we were off to Beldi Country Club — a place I’d wanted to see since my former British colleagues, Louise and Richard, recommended it before moving to Abu Dhabi. They had celebrated a birthday there last year and said the bucolic setting was beautiful and relaxing. Indeed it was! Fields of poppies I saw last year in Spain … strawberry fields forever I heard about from the Beatles (natives of Louise’s hometown, Liverpool) … but seeing at Beldi fields of roses was breathtaking.
French owner Jean-Dominique Leymarie bought these fifteen acres in 2005 for a farm. After hosting a wedding party for his daughter, Géraldine, he received so many requests to use the property for weddings and events that he made it into a haven of several pools and gorgeous gardens where expats and tourists gather. Beldi means “traditional” in Arabic. A southern girl who grew up on big family dinners and visiting relatives in the country on lazy afternoons, I felt at home and happy until late afternoon shadows signalled the end of the weekend and time to go.
The gates swing open to a paradise of roses at Beldi Country Club.Birthday Girl Amy visiting from Australia to celebrate with Expat Mom Kate at Beldi Country Club.
There was also an abundance of Bougenvilla, my favorite native flower here which grows as wild as foxglove in England or as lavender in France.
Bougainvillea at Beldi Country ClubWe met a man with a huge bouquet on the way to the pool area.Beldi Country ClubService is premium at Beldi Marrakesh.Lunch by the pool under the olive treesOur server was fantastic.
I loved celebrating Amy with Kate.The grilled kabobs were delicious.Sweet celebrationBeautiful young family enjoying lunch at BeldiSwim time!Time to exploreGarden room at Beldi MarrakechGreenhouse Beldi MarrakeshIndoor beauty awaitsOutdoor living ideasSit a spell in rose fieldsChic loungerGorgeous water featureLily pondArt is life.My kind of potting shedPool time!Swim heaven
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an iced chocolate cappuccino in the coffee/cigar bar,
