It was the Grand Finale of a month of festivities all over the island. In Santo Domingo there had been an air show the week before celebrating The Dominican Republic’s Independence Day on February 27, and this would end the Caribbean Carnival season in Santo Domingo. My friends texted to say the Malecón—the oceanfront road where the oldest parade in the Americas was about to begin—was closed. I’d have to walk several blocks to get to the restaurant to meet them. I’d seen families walking toward the parade site for miles from the Colonial Zone where I’d had lunch, some stopping to buy masks, others in costumes. My driver motioned me out, so I asked which way to Adrian Tropical. He pointed left.
I stepped out onto a side street that far ahead dropped off into the sea, but I was already swimming through waves of color. Dominican groups gathered plumed in jewel tones, sequins, fringe, and feathers. I passed the Tainos in traditional dress (the indigenous I’d seen in paintings last fall ), then women like cabaret dancers in larger, more flamboyant headdresses like those seen in Rio. I tried not to look lost. I’d lived in the DR since August and was comfortable being the only expat gringa singing to bachata in my barrio’s grocery store, La Serena (Little Mermaid), but here I was a fish out of water again, disoriented by the masses and not knowing exactly where the taxi had dropped me. I squeezed past the barricades, crossed the street, and was seaside, hoping to see the restaurant up the coast. Earlier the driver got lost taking me to the Spanish Square—the biggest landmark in the city. I hoped his directions were right.
After a few blocks of moving through the crowd upstream, I stopped and asked a lady eating street food if she knew where Adrian Tropical was. She called over two guys. I turned.
It was them. The ones my friend–her families were locals– said I didn’t want to meet.
They were completely covered in black grease—tarred but not feathered–playing the part of chicken thieves, once a common problem now satirized here. She said the Carnival parades can get crazy and that these guys tell you if you don’t give them money they’ll hug you. I’d just passed other chicken thieves—men clothed as women with bulging bosoms and butts. Once these humps were really live chickens but now they are pillows stuffed under their dresses. The Carnival star/antihero is the “Limping Devil”–Diablo Cojuelo–symbolized by the chicken carried upside down by his feet. Island lore is that the devil was cast from heaven to earth for his trickery, causing him to limp.
Looking into the eyes–the only body parts not covered in tar– of the characters representing Roba la Gallina (Steal the Chicken) made me turn chicken.
“Donde?” (Where are you going? they asked.)
“Adrian Tropical.”
“Ah, Tropical! Tropical!” They happily pointed to the direction I was headed. I thanked them and turned to hurry on, almost colliding with another guy I was warned about. He was carrying a “bladder”—a balloon on a stick—to wallop people with. I felt like Candide. No one can make this stuff up.
After 20-30 minutes of walking I decided I’d been sent on a chicken chase. I about-faced, crossed the street, and scanned the sky for anything familiar. I was dying to text my friends to ask where they were and to take photos of the costumed characters and creatures I passed, but I had been warned by locals to hang onto my purse and not take my phone out in the crowd.
When I saw the Crowne Plaza, I sent up a hallelujah and started sprinting until an officer checking IDs checked me.
Like Linda Blair in The Exorcist, I growled a plea. “I only have a bank card, and I just want to see the parade.”I must have seemed scarier than the devils cracking whips in the street beside me. She waved me on. I ran up the steps, asked another security guard which way to the roof, and he pointed to the 2nd story terrace. I texted my friends who said I was only an 8-minute walk away, but the parade had started and diving into the crowd beyond the hotel again was too much for me. I told them I’d stay put.
I looked down and understood the extra security. Below was the Ministry of Culture’s main stage where participants stopped to perform. It was like being in front of Macy’s on Thanksgiving, but with three times the number marching (30,000 yearly), above the fray, and feeling a warm ocean breeze. Here’s what I saw…
Masks were worn by the first actors on Greek and Roman stages. Festivals were held for Bacchus/Dionysus–the god of fertility, wine, and revelry–as a reprieve from following Apollo/god of restraint, rationality, and order the rest of the year. Masquerade balls during Carnival, the most famous originating in Venice, spread to other parts of Europe and were brought to the Caribbean by conquerors. Combined with African traditions of the people who were here and enslaved, carnival celebrations spread throughout the Americas. The largest in the world is in Rio, the most popular in the US is in New Orleans. The word carnival means to give up meat or things of the flesh, a practice observed by some during lent in Catholic/Christian countries. Thus, Carnival often occurs just before lent begins. To consider the relationship between lent and carnival, Christianity and community, see one of my favorite movies, Chocolat, set in a small town in France in 1959. The main character’s Latin American roots are also central to the theme.
Have you been to a Carnival parade or celebration? If so, where? Which are the Must-Sees?
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 BourguignonneThe Chateaubriand was rich and tender. Other choices included Beef Wellington, Pork Loin, Chicken Cordon Blue, and Duck Breast a l’Orange.Chocolate FondantBerries 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.
Last Monday the temperature in Marrakech reached 108 Fahrenheit/42 Celsius making it the hottest day so far this year. Here pools can be enjoyed year-round, but in May when temps typically range in the 80s and low 90s, the burning question expats and tourists are asking is where to find a cool pool. A Mermaid in Marrakesh, I love doing this kind of research — especially at an iconic 5-star hotel. Four Seasons Marrakech offers a spa and pool pass for escape and self-care for a week or a day.
At the end of March, I returned to Morocco from spring break in Italy, packed away the down jacket I’d been wearing, and grabbed my bathing suit. Truly, the name of the world-revered brand couldn’t be truer than in the Red City. Here spring, summer, fall, and even most of winter, there’s nothing but blue skies, green gardens, and birdsongs. I relaxed by the Quiet Pool … a peaceful place for adults only.
Four Seasons Marrakech offers a safe haven and the best of all worlds… a place to gather with friends and family…a romantic retreat…a space of one’s own. The 5-star luxury resort is designed with the serene, palatial gardens of the Palmeraie yet is only minutes from the magical medina, Marrakech landmarks, and New City Gueliz. Here tourists — especially solo travelers — concerned about navigating a new city will feel secure and experience the exceptional service for which the brand is known.
True to Moroccan culture, Four Seasons Marrakech is family-friendly, so if you’re traveling with children ages 4 – 12, check out the Kids Club as well as activities for older children. Some of my best memories with my children happened while exploring the world. This is why I write guides for moms traveling with children. But I also appreciate that Four Seasons does the planning for moms and provides a family and an adult pool.
Still … Four Seasons is not only for family time, weddings, honeymoons, and anniversaries. It offers women a way to celebrate the sacred relationship we have with ourselves. I was forced to learn self-care twenty years ago when I became a single mom. It was a slow process. I started with going to movies alone, then restaurants, then a B and B annually in the Tennessee mountains. I eventually traveled solo to Costa Rica. After my children left the nest, I moved to Marrakech. Here I’ve found fulfillment in my work, new adventures, and kindred spirits. I’ve also found at Four Seasons a much-needed beauty break for the soul.
I love Veronica Shoffstall’s poem, “Comes the Dawn” (printed below). I would like to find a life partner, but I don’t wait for a honeymoon or a husband to enjoy beautiful escapes. Shoffstall writes, “Plant your own garden and decorate your own soul instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers.” In Nashville, I once had a garden of fifty roses. Here, I enjoy them, too.
Enjoy the Quiet Pool for Adults Only on a Four Seasons Marrakech Spa and Pool Pass.Four Seasons Marrakech brims with bouquets of roses that make a woman feel special.The garedns of Four Seasons Marrakech as sunshine for the soul.Enjoy a drink and a book in the shade.Perfect DayMom and Daughter robes and roses in Four Seasons Marrakech SpaFour Seasons Marrakech SpaRead more →
There’s a power struggle going on across Europe these days. A few cities are competing against each other to see who shall emerge as the great 21st century European metropolis. Will it be London? Paris? Berlin? Zurich? Maybe Brussels, center of the young union? They all strive to outdo one another culturally, architecturally, politically, fiscally. But Rome, it should be said, has not bothered to join the race for status. Rome doesn’t compete. Rome just watches all the fussing and striving, completely unfazed. I am inspired by the regal self-assurance of this city, so grounded and rounded, so amused and monumental, knowing she is held securely in the palm of history. I would like to be like Rome when I am an old lady.
—Elizabeth Gilbert, Eat, Pray, Love
‘I sometimes fancy,’ said Hilda, on whose susceptibility the scene always made a strong impression, ‘that Rome–mere Rome–will crowd everything else out of my heart.’
—Nathaniel Hawthorne, The Blithedale Romance
I first met her in the movies in the ’60s when my family spent Easter week watching Ben-Hur and The Robe. Later I sighed at her heroes in Gladiator and King Arthur, and still turn to Roman Holiday and Three Coins in the Fountain for escape, classic style, and fun frocks. And though recently I giggled at Brit wits, Steve Coogan and Rob Brydon in The Trip to Italy based on their pilgrimage to places Shelley and Byron lived, I do love teaching literary legends–particularly The Romantics–who moved to Rome. Long before the Left Bank of Paris brimmed with expat genius, Rome was muse to so many who for centuries have transported readers to the The Eternal City via memoir, fiction, and poetry. Still, nothing is like being in Rome for real. I was there last week on a detour; but as with many of life’s detours, I realized Plan B was To Be.
Since moving to Morocco in 2014, I began planning my Dream Week for Spring Break 2016. I didn’t know if I’d stay abroad after my initial two-year work contract, so I saved the best for last. I’d fallen in love with Italy in 2000 and have since returned eight times; but in 2004 I was swept away by the Amalfi Coast and hoped this year to perch on a Positano terrace across from Capri, the island that enchanted me more than a decade ago. A Mermaid in Marrakesh, I felt I’d find my muse staying between the Path of the Gods and the ocean below. Nothing moves me like the sea, and I couldn’t wait to live like a local and go no farther than a boat ride to a restaurant I’d read about. I’d write in the sun. I’d breathe.
I had booked the perfect villa last August beside the iconic Le Sirenuse, the set for Only You, a 1994 film my sister and I love . The plan was to join friends from the US in Tuscany the first week of the break, then travel alone by train to the coast. Sadly, an unforeseen circumstance that has caused much stress forced me to cancel that second week, but a colleague offered a Plan B. She suggested I stay with her in Rome and catch the Ryan Air flight on Tuesday for $26. My flight and stay at a hotel inspired by my favorite painter, Modigliani, cost less than changing my original ticket.
Lately I’ve been faced with huge decisions and it seemed all roads were, indeed, leading to Rome. I’m passionate about several paths–family, travel, writing, education–and have been praying for a way they can all convene. Birthdays are when I pull over to reevaluate the map of my life journey. While in Tuscany I celebrated the one that was my father’s last. He died at work. So young. So missed.
Roaming, resting, relaxing in Rome in my favorite neighborhoods (near Piazzas of Spagna and Barberini) proved to be poignant. I loved seeing friends in Tuscany (many pictures to come), but I’d spent the week fighting the flu. Being in Rome on Easter and finally visiting The Keats-Shelley House—where Keats, too, came to Rome seeking a kinder climate for his health—moved me. I’d always loved Keats’ “When I Have Fears I Will Cease to Be” where he confesses concern that he’ll die before writing all he felt placed on earth to write or before marrying his beloved Fanny Brawne. I thought, too, about Lord Byron who said “If I don’t write to empty my mind I go mad” and Henry David Thoreau, an American Romantic, who said, “the mass of men live lives of quiet desperation and go to the grave with the song still in them.” I’ve never wanted to be one of that mass. Keats died after just three months in Rome beside the Spanish Steps at twenty-five; Shelley was living in Tuscany when he drowned off the coast of Italy at twenty-nine. Byron died from exhaustion in Greece at thirty-six. All so young. So much more to write. To live. I returned to Marrakesh with a renewed gratitude for my health and the warm climate I enjoy daily. And I continue to seek the best way to live what’s left of my life.
The bed in which Keats spent the last two months of his life looking out of the two windows below. He had only one month to enjoy the city before bed-ridden.
Loved this “Romantic Beatles” T-shirt in the gift shop–appropriate since the revolutionaries/flower children of the 1960s were legacies of the Romantic Era. My fascination with these four started in college and was piqued by the 1988 film Haunted Summer and Veronica Bennett’s novel, Angelmonster, focusing on the obsessions, dysfunctions, heartaches and genius that led to Mary Shelley’s writing of Frankenstein.
Second generation Romantics Percy and Mary Shelley, Byron, and Keats followed fathers of the movement, Wordsworth, Coleridge, and Blake, in philosophically opposing tenets of the previous period, The Enlightenment– institutions, tradition, conformity, science and reason. Romantics were (and are) the Carpe Diem Crowd, idealists who value individualism, democracy, experimentation, emotion, imagination, social reform, change, and nature. Other European Romantic artists were Pushkin, Hugo, Turner, Beethoven, Schubert and Berlioz–all influenced by the philosophies of Goethe (who lived in Rome for a time), Locke, and Rousseau whose tabula rasa (man is a blank slate made by society that writes his story) meant respecting the “noble savage” be he a Native American or Mary Shelley’s creature in Frankenstein who became a monster by the doctor who recklessly created and abandoned him and villagers who feared and abused him, and the social contract (fair play between the governing and governed which fueled the French and American Revolutions).
I thought about how the tension between Reason VS Emotion, Duty VS Passion, Fact VS Feeling VS Faith affects decisions. Just as I lived the questions while wandering Venice three months ago, I roamed Rome believing I’ll live into the answers. Meanwhile I’m learning to wait in passionate patience.
I brought back writing inspiration from the vibrant literary landscape that is Rome. I walked the streets off Via Condotti where writers gathered around wine at restaurants and coffee at Antico Caffè Greco. In the area around The Spanish Steps known in the 19th century as the “English Quarter” lived not only the Shelleys, Byron and Keats but also Sir Walter Scott, George Eliot, Charles Dickens, Robert and Elizabeth Barrett Browning and William Thackeray, Henry James, Mark Twain, Edith Wharton, and Nathaniel Hawthorne. Hawthorne, the subject of my Master’s Thesis, wrote The Marble Faun based on the Faun of Praxitelesdisplayed in Capitoline Museum. I returned and read Wharton’s “Roman Fever” and plan to read Dickens’ Pictures from Italy and Henry James’ Italian Hours.
I loved studying filmmaker Federico Fellini in grad school who said:
Rome does not need to make culture. It is culture. Prehistoric, classical, Etruscan, Renaissance, Baroque, modern. Every corner of the city is a chapter in an imaginary universal history of culture. Culture in Rome is not an academic concept. It’s not even a museum culture, even though the city is one enormous museum. It is a human culture free from cultural faddishness, or neurotic trendiness.
Maybe…
One thing is for sure. From the bizarre to the sublime, Rome is human history. I’d enjoyed seeing the Forum, Pantheon, Colosseum, Catacombs, and Vatican City on two prevous trips, but this time it was nice to do what Romantics do best. Feel. Truly Rome is an Ode to Joy, a Sonnet called La Bella Vita.
Piazza Barberini
Up the street on the hill is Hotel Modigliani. Perfect location–5 minutes from Spagna and within 3 km of all main sites. In Barberini I was also just around the corner from Borghese Park.
Before visiting Paris or Rome see the 2004 film, Modigliani.
I was upgraded to the top floor suite at no charge. An unexpected blessing.
View from my terrace
Near here in Palazzo Barberini was the home of William Wetmore Story, an American sculptor, poet, and art critic, where expats gathered from 1819-1895.
Borghese Park
Easter lunch at Piazza della Rotonda across from Pantheon
My favorite store
Wine Bar atop Spanish Steps
Trevi Fountain–always my first stop so it isn’t my last.
I’m grateful for roaming Rome which confirmed two things. I’ve been missing my children since December and want to travel and do life with them again more than anything. In Positano a gorgeous villa awaits, but I hope to go when they or my sis can join me one day. And, like it or not, the only constant is change. The Romantics knew this and thus seized the day knowing too soon the day ceases. I’ve experienced adventure, beauty and new relationships aplenty. So much in my life has changed in the last two years. Places. People. Paths. My comfort is knowing the One who holds this gorgeous globe, my family, and me. He has already picked our next path. It’s good to be at peace with peace.
Whether wanting to explore Spain (and other countries’ roads that lead there), pursue a personal dream, ponder in peace, practice wellness through hiking or yoga, learn language, hear stories from travelers around the world, Spanish Steps leads the way in offering options. I fell in love with Spain last year, and experiencing that gorgeous country with Spanish Steps is now high on my Bucket List.
After hiking with Mònica Fernàndez, a talented Spanish and English teacher, through her native region of Galicia, in Southern Spain, and in the Sahara, I am excited to learn she will co-lead tours below with other dedicated members of Owner Judy Colaneri’s Spanish Steps staff including co-guiding with her husband, Alessandro Martinez, October 12-19.
All Camino tour dates in Spain, France, and Italy can be found here. Tours fill up fast so if interested take the step that leads to more here.
Making a grand entrance must have originated in Marrakech. Crossing that first threshold from the manic Medina into a roofless riad respite– blue skies or stars above—is a moment no one ever forgets. I am still thrilled every time I follow surreptitious streets snaking through the medieval city… duck archways and dodge motorbikes, donkey carts, and darting cats… then knock on a heavy wooden door that slowly swings open into a secret, peaceful place.
One of those surreal experiences when so much of what my heart loves to see, hear, taste, and touch materialized like magic. Here classic French Elegance, Hollywood’s Golden Age Glamour, and Desert Dreams meet…a rhapsody in blue.
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Welcomed warmly by owner Alexandra Richards, I could hear past the streaming foyer fountain Mancini crooning “Moon River” to a chirping courtyard chorus. Named for the Emberiza family of birds indigenous to South Morocco and considered sacred in Marrakesh, the boutique hotel that took two years to renovate was guarded by these feathered friends. They had comforted Alexandra who moved from Melbourne and found the process, like other expats building a new home in a foreign country, fraught with frustrations. A Barrister of Queen’s Counsel, the highest appointment and level of professional recognition in Australia, the Human and Civil Rights attorney is, no surprise, a strong, smart Leading Lady of her new life. But she is also a woman of beauty, style, wit and grace and reminds me of Big Screen legends like Lauren Bacall and Faye Dunaway.
When I asked what moving to Morocco taught her, she replied:
“One thing I have learned here is to ‘never say never and never say always.’ I believe Talleyrand said this of politics and war. I would say it of everything here.”
To a musical mix of Moroccan, French, and Frank (Sinatra), I wandered the riad as slowly as the turtles who live there, delighting in the details—gorgeous artwork, antiques, bedding, and baths. As I climbed the stairs to tiered terraces, then the rooftop, I could imagine Truman Capote working or Holly Golightly playing here. Riad Emberiza Sahari is a venue for artists’ retreats, weddings and social gatherings, solo or romantic escapes, and the ultimate girls’ getaway. Offerings include excursions, cooking classes, massages, yoga, or meditation.
Alexandra and Kate, a friend who lived near her in Melbourne though they never met until each moved to Marrakech.
As darkness descended the riad became even more magical–the pool and fountains dancing, flickering, reflecting lights and candle flames to classical music. We talked at table under orange and lime trees about our love for our children and for this strange, irresistible city.
I would return months later for Kate’s birthday and always look forward to seeing Alexandra. She inspires me as a woman of reinvention, as one who followed her dream and created an oasis where others can rediscover theirs. Riad Emberiza Sahari is the manifestation of who she is and what is right with the world– a dramatically beautiful, comfortable, and peaceful place.
Alexandra: “I agree with Winston Churchill that ‘Marrakech is the most beautiful place in the world.’ But a place of great beauty AND great ugliness, a place of contrasts and contradictions. Therefore it never lets you alone and you always know you are alive.”
The third stop on my November beach hop along the Moroccan Atlantic Coast was Paradis Plage Surf and Spa Resort. Owners take pride in being the first hotel in Morocco to combine yoga and surfing—a dynamic duo since yoga prepares and repairs the body after surfing. The property invites guests to ride waves, climb camels, or salute the sun as it rises and sets. Here couples, families, friends, and solo travelers enjoy over 100 suites with terraces or balconies opening to pool or sea. Recreation varies from four area golf courses and an outdoor cinema. Located 30 minutes from Agadir and 50 minutes from an international airport connecting to European capitals via 3-hour flights, the resort is where westerners love to play.
Started by Kabbage Abbes, one of first investors in Agadir hotels, who teamed with Francois Payot, head of Rip Curl Europe, the resort is a work of art run by Abbes’ daughter, Naima, and her husband, Vincent. Furnishings were created by locals and the gorgeous green spaces and gardens are by Spanish landscaper, Sergio Castaneda Beltran.
Photo by Paradis Plage
Excited to learn more about surfing and to practice yoga, I was shown to a gorgeous oceanfront suite. At the Surf House beach bar while sipping my Flag (local beer) and waiting for a Mexican burger (rare in this region), I saw horses and camels waiting patiently on the sand while cats lounged in the sun. Later, everyone returned for the golden orange sunset. See highlights of my stay below.
Simo, instructor here and in video above, is from Rabat. He has taught in Hawaii and on the US East Coast. He guarantees by the end of the first lesson every student will be up on their boards.
In partnership with Rip Curl, legendary Australian brand, Tarik Wahbi, surf pro from Tétouan, is ranked one of Morocco’s Top Ten surfers. Manager of the surf program, he leads a team of gregarious guys who hook up guests with equipment, instruction and guides to the best waves.
Photo by Pardis Plage
Photo by Paradis Plage
Paradis Plage nurtures total wellness that fits the unique needs of each guest. Surf and Yoga packages are available for two or five days. Surf School Packages are available for 5 days—2 sessions per day.
Yoga and Spa packages range from two days (daily yoga course, a sensory hammam, and a massage) to five days (yoga course, two hammams, one body scrub, and two massages).
The resort shares with clients the secrets of Moroccan women’s beauty. All cosmetics are 100% natural Taroudant Argan oil, essential oils from Marrakech gardens, pebbles from Imi Ouaddar’s beach, facial treatments using Sous Massa prickly pip, Taliouine saffron or roses of Dades Valley.
Traditional Hammams consist of a black soap scrub, Atlas ghassoul wrap, Atlantic Coast seaweed wrap, Imouzzer honey, and spice scrub. Sensory Hammams fuse fragrances of in orange blossom and eucalyptus to relax and rejuvenate. Managing massages and other spa services is Marie France Riera.
Important Tip: Schedule spa services, especially massages, and yoga classes before you arrive or at check in because appointments and classes fill fast.
Photo by Paradis Plage
Photo by Paradis Plage
Yoga group classes, the highlight of my getaway, are offered three times daily:
8-9:15 Sunrise Yoga (for all levels)—breathing, flexibility, strength, muscle toning, body opening
11-12:15 Easy Yoga (all levels but especially great for beginners) Asanas postures and poses; precision of body alignment, rhythm, balance
5:30-7 Sunset Yoga (all levels)– detoxification, relaxing based on Vinyasa flow systems
Also available are classes in Yin Yoga Therapy (gentle practice using blocks, pillows, restorative and relaxing to relieve tension in muscles and joints, relax spine and pelvis), Aerial Yoga (hammock used for suspension), Prenatal, Power Flow (ultimate workout for athletes), and 108 Greetings. Custom sessions can be arranged by Karim Fadali.
Photo by Paradis Plage
Classes are typically held in the Yoga Shala which consists of two beach studios connected by a lotus pond and facing the sea. Groups may rent the space for private retreats as they did during my stay so guests met in an open air space (see below). Sara, our excellent German instructor, lives in Cairo. Like the best teachers, she is creative, kind, soulful, and a learner herself. She was excited about taking her first surf lesson after our yoga class. My classmates were European as well– some there with partners and others solo. We “sent love to the flies”–pests in the Taghazout region at times– but packing insect repellent might also be a good idea. The small community made it possible to meet other guests in classes and connect with them at the poolside buffets or bars later.
Photo by Paradis Plage
I left feeling refreshed and restored by the beauty of nature and yoga. I loved seeing smiles on surfers’ faces when they did what we all must do to navigate and enjoy life– conquer fear, be flexible and strong, and stand tall as we ride the waves.
Thanks to Paradis Plage for a restful retreat. As always, the opinions are my own.
Recently I stayed at 5-star Sofitel Agadir Thalassa Sea & Spa, just named continental winner of “Luxury Wedding Destination in Africa” by the 2015 Luxury Hotel Awards. My time there was perfection. Though I endorse travel for all, I especially encourage single women waiting for a prince to live happily-after-after to find your bliss now at places that will make your dreams come true. At the premier hotel on beautiful Agadir Bay you don’t have to be on a honeymoon to be pampered like a new bride. In fact, any lady here will be given princess treatment.
When I moved to Marrakech to write, teach English, and travel, I began asking students where their families stay when vacationing. The answer was always the same.
In Paris? Sofitel. London? Sofitel. Rome? Sofitel. Morocco? Sofitel.
Such big brand loyalty (120 hotels on five continents in 40 countries) in the age of hip default to indie companies got my attention. But then again, I’ve always appreciated timeless, classic quality.
The French company committed to total well-being first opened its doors in Strasbourg in 1964. Dedicated to superior service infused with the celebration of art de vivre, each hotel provides cultural experiences from not only France but also each host country in which it is located. Showcasing the best artwork, literature, music, fashion, architecture, gardens, fitness, wines and foods, the hotel beckons guests to experience the sweet life layer by delicious layer. Like bees burrowing gently into the rose— velvet petal by velvet petal—drinking nectar that will become honey in the hive, guests enter space after space of palpable beauty in interactions that feed the soul. Sofitel Agadir Thalassa Sea & Spa stimulates every sense—from plush decor to soothing sounds of fountains and sea to a signature scent, Jatamansi, found only in the Himalayas. Jatamansi, also known as “nard” smells of citrus, ylang ylang and mountains and has so many medicinal powers it is considered sacred in some countries. I left filled, relaxed, energized, healed.
But beyond all these offerings, what makes the Sofitel the Sofitel is the people who work here. From the moment I walked through the doors everyone–from doorman to gardener to manager — greeted me by name. I arrived feeling ill–a situation that could have been a nightmare when traveling alone–but I quickly learned I couldn’t have been in better hands. The staff offered to get me medicine and kindly brought me treats to feel better–Chamomile tea, sweets and fruit, two dozen roses. I am forever grateful for their professional, superior service. Rightfully called, the So Staff is the best in the business.
The new Sofitel Agadir Thalassa Sea & Spa greets guests with a 100 meter long Andalusian pond and 2,000 rose bushes.
Photo by Sofitel
I was welcomed at the door of La Maison Arabe, the reception area in a traditional riad with contemporary black and white design, and served mint tea and Moroccan cookies while the staff checked me in.
Photo by Sofitel
Designer Didier Rey said of the collaboration of building this modern classic, “We had some great interaction with Moroccan artisans. Here I find the pleasure of working in simplicity as it was 20 years ago in France.”
In the gallery on display were thirty works by Younes Fizazi in a collection called “Moroccans Landscapes, Richness and Diversity.” Shots of the Atlas Mountains and Merzouga desert allowed me to relive great trips taken last fall and spring, but having just arrived from the surf town of Taghazout , I especially loved this photograph.
I was excited to see the pool and beach areas next. So Gorgeous.
The spacious suite was sumptuous, and I was especially thrilled with my three favorite elements — the terrace, bed, and bathtub (something I miss most in my Marrakech apartment). This one offered the best of both worlds–a soak with a view–so first on my agenda was a bubble bath followed by a massage.
Prestige Suite Photo by Sofitel
View of pool and ocean from outdoor lounge
Photo by Sofitel
My only complaint was the Sofitel MyBed which abducted me –a custom made mattress, featherbed, down duvet, and sleek, soft sheets. After my massage, I took a nap and slept for hours. 🙂
Hind has magic hands. I swear.
“Evasion et beaute Berbere” (Berber Escape and Beauty) treats the skin to Argan, prickly pear cactus, orange blossom water, rose water and honey. After treatments one can lounge overlooking Agadir Bay and sip herb or fruit drinks. Photo by Sofitel
Les Palais du Jardin, the gourmet restaurant where Chef Fatima cooks Moroccan cuisine fusing traditional and modern flavors. Photo by Sofitel
At L’Amane Bar fresh fruit smoothies, classic cocktails, and a jazz duo can be enjoyed every night from 7:30 PM.
Day 2 I rose early feeling great and ready for breakfast on the terrace of L’Atlantique.
After breakfast I went to play in the next door neighbor’s backyard–Sofitel Agadir Royal Bay, recipient of “Luxury Beach Resort in Morocco” by the 2015 Luxury Hotel Awards. Of its many distinctions, Sofitel Morocco was selected to host the first Kids’ Villa offering educational programs, pastry classes, belly dance, gardening workshops, swimming, aerobics, and a library for children. The honor was bestowed because The Little Prince was born in the imagination of Antoine de Saint Exupery in Morocco.
Opened in 2004, the Sofitel Agadir Royal Bay Resort was the first hotel brand in Agadir. A contemporary Kasbah, its colors are warm copper, wood, and orange, the emblem of the Souss Valley symbolic of fire representing Berber hospitality.
Six duplex villas with infinity pools overlook the ocean.
The So Lounge is the center of nightlife in Agadir and a great place for the Birthday Girl.
A winter holiday destination that offers sun- by- day and fire- by- night, Sofitel invites reflecting on the past year and dreaming of the one to come. Photo by Sofitel
Agadir, “Pearl of the South,” is a three-hour flight from major European cities. It’s where Europe migrates in winter to enjoy 300 days of sunshine each year and the Sofitel experience– timeless as Coco Chanel, delicious as Crème brûlée, and exotic as only Morocco.
Special thanks to Sofitel and Soukaina Ghallab for an unforgettable experience. As always, the opinions are my own.
A brilliant beam lasers through the blue wooden shutter. Now awake, I push open the window to catch the sun rising slowly, then bursting boldly from behind buildings on the beach. I’m singing Cat Stevens. He loved the Moroccan coast as I do.
Morning has broken like the first morning…
Mine is the sunlight, Mine is the morning, Born of the one light Eden saw play. Praise with elation, praise ev’ry morning, God’s recreation of the new day.
The afternoon before, I’d been picked up at the bus station in Agadir and driven along the coast to Taghazout. The stretch reminded me of the route my kids and I took one summer in a convertible from Santa Monica to Malibu. We’d stopped to watch surfers at Zuma Beach. This time my destination was Surf Berbere to practice yoga, learn about surfing, and live in community with the people who do it.
As we rolled into town I smelled fish sizzling. Minutes later at reception I met a friendly blond girl the age of my daughter. She, like everyone, was dressed in shorts and a tee shirt and radiated sunshine. In Marrakech it was sweater and boots weather, but here, just three hours south, it was summer (my favorite season) again. Since moving to Morocco I’d gotten serious about yoga, and when my instructor spoke of retreats on the coast, I added another destination to my Bucket List. I’d wanted a fertile climate where my inner flower child could bloom. Here banana trees abound, the sun shines 300 days a year, and people relax. Seemed I’d found the place.
She led me to the Vista Apartment all shiny clean and spacious. Flinging my suitcase on the bed, I turned and was stunned by the sight of nothing-but-sea out my window.
As on my first beach solo trip to Costa Rica, I felt broken by beauty. I’d planned to rest or write before yoga class and dinner, but thoughts began churning within like the waves without.
Reliving our California trip had made me again miss my children in Nashville. Simultaneously experiencing this amazing Moroccan place made me again realize how much I’ll miss this country one day. My thoughts were like the tide mightily pushing and pulling me in two directions. How can I live abroad much longer so far from people I love across this ocean? How will I go back after all I’ve seen and felt here? How will I give up the beauty and adventure of this place?
Thankfully, by morning future fears robbing me of the present had washed out to sea, leaving diamonds—not smoke– sparkling on the water. The night waves pounding the shore below my balcony had somehow soothed my soul as nature and its creator always does. I woke rested and ready.
As the campers of Surf Berbere had gathered around burgers on the rooftop grill the night before, we shuffled toward breakfast from our apartments to the café terraces that morning. Under clear, blue skies, fat cats chilled and a cute puppy begged as beginners and intermediates wondered which beach our instructors would choose for the day. The pros—many who had lived there for months—mapped their route for chasing waves as well. Van Morrison sang “Into the Mystic” as I finished my coffee.
I’d loved summer camp when I was a teen, so much so I became a counselor. I’d learned to ski on Kentucky Lake as many learn to surf on Hash Point. Nights at both places we circled up to tell tales of days on the water. Here some seemed to be old friends, but most campers were traveling solo and had only recently met. It seemed they, too, had decided to stop waiting for someone else to rock their gypsy souls and had shown up confident they’d find what they were seeking with strangers who’d bond over shared passions for sea, surf, and yoga.
By nine we were grabbing boards and suits at the surf shop, then bouncing on Taghazout’s main street (really only street) toward Anza Bay. In our van the campers were as eclectic as the playlist. Two girls from Cologne, Germany and another from London—aged 27-31—were excited for their first lesson. A guy from Ghent, Belgium had surfed the Great Barrier Reef. New friends from Sweden, Norway, and Switzerland were in the other van. All were on holiday from careers or retired from public service, as was the man I met from the same area of Wales as my grandmother’s family. All identified me as the only American but were surprised I now live in Marrakech—a city all travelers described as too intense and frenetic.
Later that afternoon two experienced surfers traded stories of battle scars–one a West Australian travel blogger whose fin sliced open his butt. Though it still hadn’t healed completely, he had recently gone swimming in the Nile.
“So you have a gnarly scar!” laughed the UK girl who’d been in wine sales, moved to Surf Berbere, then Sri Lanka, now Surf Berbere where she is taking the surf instructor’s course. She’d had a friend whose board rope wound so tightly around the tip of his finger, it popped the joint off. Both were energized rather than afraid of injuries, but when he said he was traveling a year, she sighed and said the same words another woman spoke at lunch the day before: “I don’t know if I can ever go back again to the western world.”
The Moroccan surf instructors, Imad and Rashid were patient, skilled, and fun. After warm ups and the lesson, they stayed in the water for one-on-one coaching throughout the day. I quickly understood the close relationship between surfing and yoga. Upper body strength, flexibility, and balance are key. Like dancing, surfing can be graceful and beautiful once techniques are learned and practiced. Like life, it’s about being in the moment rather than over thinking. It’s about catching the wave when it comes and riding it out.
Imad
Rashid
Fueling us was Chef Mohamed who served huge portions of home cooking including the best burgers and spaghetti (packed for lunch) I’ve had in Morocco. Friday I enjoyed the international fusion of favorites– traditional cous cous with apple crumble for dessert. Managing with Hamza and Beth for James, the warm and welcoming London owner, is Marie. Like many creative campers I met, she is a travel blogger from Frankfurt (where I’ll go next month as well as to Cologne thanks to the girls who said the Christmas markets in their hometown are must -sees). When Marie isn’t custom planning each guest’s daily schedule, she’s writing her Masters thesis in Brand Management. She gave me a sneak peak of her uber-cool line of surfing tights. You won’t see her without a smile.
Marie (front) and Clare (back)
As for all the campers, they were tenaciously teachable, grateful, and kind. Truly some of the nicest people I’ve met in one place. Wherever I am living a year from now, I’ll remember beginning yoga with sun salutations that were literal goodnights to the golden orb as it turned orange and melted into the sea. I’ll remember ending class with Savasana under a navy-black sky of stars above. And I hope I (and single empty nesters like me) remember the words of the instructor: “It’s not selfish to take care of yourself. It’s not selfish to love yourself. It’s necessary.”
Check out pricing and book here. Apartment rentals are here.
Thank you to Surf Berbere for an amazing retreat. As always, the opinions are my own.
And thank you, Marie, for my first Christmas card of the season. Peace to all from another traveler, Odysseus:
“Come, my friends, It is not too late to seek a better world.”–Tennyson
an iced chocolate cappuccino in the coffee/cigar bar,
After breakfast I went to play in the next door neighbor’s backyard–
