I’m Cindy, a single empty-nester, writer, editor, and English professor passionate about travel and culture. My story is here. I’ve been in school since I was five. I can assure you as an educator and learner that NOTHING teaches us more about the world and ourselves than traveling and living cross-culturally. This blog empowers women […]
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Each day for six months has been nothing but new. My only constant has been change. Even traditions–Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year’s Eve—were celebrated in first-ever ways. St. Valentine’s Day 2015 I climbed with friends to a riad rooftop supported by 300-year-old walls. New chums encircled by the snowy Atlas Mountains, we sat sleeveless on a sunny summit above the Marrakech Medina. Good company, fabulous food, pure peace.
My friend, Kate, was our hostess for lunch at Riad Mur Akush which she manages. New to Morocco, too, she moved here from Melbourne. I met her and Maria, the English owner, at an InterNations mixer last fall. Kate had flown from an empty nest and we meet regularly to share stories of our second acts. This time, rather than meeting for dinner at a restaurant in our neighborhood, I asked if we could do lunch at her workplace. I love riads–traditional Moroccan houses or palaces. For privacy, rooms open to interior gardens or courtyards with flowing fountains or tiled pools. Most of the riads serve meals only to guests, so I knew friends would love to spend an afternoon in such a pretty place.
Always about beauty breaks and exploration, I added: “Maybe we could visit other riads, too?”
She loved the idea and made it happen. “We could do a Riad Crawl like the pub crawls in Australia! I’ll speak to our cook and get back with you on a menu.”
And with that, what we hope to make a new tradition began. Since she had a full house for the holiday, she said we’d start small on the roof. Later when too hot to be up there, we’d move downstairs to accommodate more.
I’ll be interviewing Kate soon on her reinvention and our meal—a fusion of Moroccan and Australian cuisine. Some left with plans to book family who visit; some to take a stay-cation there themselves. All needed Cupid’s wings because we were too full to walk home. But we had a second stop, Le Maison Arabe, the oldest and largest riad/boutique hotel in the Medina where Kate had arranged for us a tour and coffee.
We were greeted by their friendly staff, the sounds of fountains draining into the pool, the smell of cedar, and the feel of a 1940s jazz club. Some plan to try their cooking classes and others their spa which, unlike wellness centers in many riads, is open to the public.
Thanks, Kate, Riad Mur Akush, and La Maison Arabe for sharing the love on February 14th with seven newcomers to Marrakech.
Update: La Mamounia’s love affair with artists has lasted 100 years! The luxury hotel provides a Beauty Break for the Soul and is a Muse to many. Congratulations, La Mamounia, for making the Condé Nast Traveler Gold List in 2022 and Condé Nast Traveler Readers’ Choice Award in 2018 for “Best Hotel in the World.” I’ll never forget an afternoon when you gave a southern girl living in Marrakech an early spring.
Winter in Marrakesh is usually shorter and milder than in most places, but I was ready for it to be gone. I needed a Beauty Break. Badly. I’m not talking about a manicure, makeover, fancy frock, or new ‘do. I’m talking about the kind of beauty we find in creation — nature spun by God and art fashioned by man. I needed an artist date so I took a ten-minute ride to La Mamounia. I’d read about its splendor — the architecture, history, and drama — that make the luxury hotel a masterpiece. Also, La Mamounia’s love affair with artists has lasted 100 years.
As much as I love to write on weekends, I needed inspiration. Julia Cameron convinced me long ago in The Artist’s Way that in order to create something, we need “artist dates.” She says, “Creativity lies in paradox: serious art is born from serious play.” Likewise, Clive Matson said in Let the Crazy Child Write! that our best work comes from our subconscious — our inner child — and that child needs room to roam. In Tennessee, my artist dates were walks beside a lake or weekends where I’d marvel at the massive arches and stained glass of a Gothic cathedral hidden in the mountains. I’d return home refreshed and write with clarity. Poet John Keats was right: “Beauty is truth, and truth is beauty. That is all ye know on earth and all ye need to know.”
Looking up at blue and out at green is what we all need. Studies show that workplace productivity increases when employees have windows with views. Natural light and green space reduce stress and boost morale. The University of Washington lists many benefits of going green, including alleviating symptoms of Alzheimer’s, dementia, stress, and ADD. Nature breaks also enhance cognitive, imaginative, and social functions.
From the moment I entered the gates, I was energized by the warm staff, gorgeous gardens, soothing waters, and palatial design. La Mamounia quenched my thirst for spring with fountains of blessings. Everywhere you look, beauty brims here.
Hope springs eternal at La Mamounia Marrakech
La Mamounia invites guests to focus on beauty.
La Mamounia’s love affair with artists has lasted 100 years. No wonder, because the property is a portal to an exotic, creative world.
La Mamounia Marrakesh Terrace
Artists have been drawn to Morocco for its natural beauty and creative culture for centuries. For the last one hundred years, La Mamounia is where superstars have stayed … Nelson Mandela, Charlie Chaplin, Kirk Douglas, Omar Sharif, Sean Connery, Francis Ford Coppola, Martin Scorsese, Ronald and Nancy Reagan, Nicole Kidman, Kate Winslet, Tom Cruise, Gwyneth Paltrow, Jennifer Aniston, Orlando Bloom, Salma Hayek.
Until 1923, La Mamounia was the palace of Prince Moulay Mamoun, son of Sultan Sidi Mohamed Ben Abdellah, ruler of Marrakech in the 18th century. Guests are still treated like royalty and rock stars (and yes, Elton John and The Rolling Stones slept there, too).
While directing Doris Day and Jimmy Stewart in The Man Who Knew Too Much at La Mamounia, Alfred Hitchcock, the King of Thrillers, was inspired to make the movie The Birds. Judging from the way a flock of fine, feathered friends eyeballed me from orange trees while I had lunch on the terrace, I understand why.
Entrance to La Mamounia Marrakesh
La Mamounia Marrakesh Pool
La Mamounia Marrakesh Pool
La Mamounia Marrakesh Pool suites
Astronomer Galileo Galilei discovered that Earth orbits the sun and not the other way around. He also said, “Wine is sunshine held together by water.” While sipping a Chardonnay on the La Mamounia Marrakesh terrace, I saw beauty reflected in the glass and all around me. Beauty Breaks for the Soul remind us that all is right with the universe.
Alfred Hitchcock was inspired to write The Birds here.
Alfred Hitchcock’s Muse at La Mamounia
La Mamounia Pool Buffet
La Mamounia Pool Buffet
La Mamounia Pool Buffet
La Mamounia Pool Buffet
Dessert at La Mamounia Pool Buffet
Cacti and Succulent Garden La Mamounia Marrakesh
Cacti and Succulent Garden La Mamounia Marrakesh
Cacti and Succulent Garden La Mamounia Marrakesh
Orchard at La Mamounia Marrakesh
Down the Garden Path
Winston Churchill said Marrakesh was “the Paris of the Sahara” and “the most beautiful place on earth.” He loved painting at La Mamounia. Con Coughlin reported in The Telegraph, that Churchill invited President FDR to meet him there where they made history.
Art Deco Bar
1920s Art Deco Design at La Mamounia Marrakech
Plush Art Deco Seating at La Mamounia
A romantic bouquet from the gardens is fitting. La Mamounia’s love affair with artists has lasted 100 years.
Table Tennis at La Mamounia Marrakech
We are art, spun from the hand of the Creator. Made in His image, we get pleasure from creating, too. I learned at home in Tennessee that sometimes writers need to close their laptops and go find pretty. I found inspiration then in paintings hanging on the Frist Center walls, in light reflected off Old Hickory Lake, and in woods surrounding a Monteagle B and B. I now live in Marrakesh where beauty energizes me on a grand scale. No hotel I’ve seen thus far compares to this.
View of Mosque from La Mamounia Marrakech
Fountains are ubiquitous at La Mamounia Marrakech as they are in the Abrahamic religions. In Judaism, Christianity, and Islam fountains represent blessings, cleansing, abundance, and paradise.
Architectural details are gorgeous at La Mamounia Marrakech, a pillar of the artistic community.
La Mamounia’s love affair with artists includes rock stars, like Sir Elton John.
1) Someone in our apartment complex said water will be cut off citywide in Marrakesh tonight–no idea why or for how long.
2) Electricity went off four times today at school. My desktop computer (no wifi) which I use for teaching, grading, attendance and our only electric heater--gone. It was 39 degrees this morning and with no central heat in the building we were cold.
3) Meanwhile at my house in Nashville… a storm broke a limb which cut off my renter’s electricity. My brother-in-law, Jeff, called and we’re trying to get her up and running. I first spoke with him on the early bus—one I’d taken only 2 times this year because it’s reserved for teachers with children or emergencies. Today I had one.
4) My bank card wasn’t working, and I was told by a colleague to go get it resolved because when her card stopped working money was still subtracted from her account. I’d tried mine at three ATMs last weekend so for all I knew, I was cleaned out without a dirham in my purse. Third world problems I’m told.
As I got off the bus at the bank, I dared one more thing to go wrong. Just. One. Fulfilling the stereotype of the “violent American,” I mumbled through clinched teeth Clint Eastwood- style, “Make My Day.”
Then something did.
Gratitude.
(Full disclosure: I’ve vowed in 2015 to say “thank you” several times every day. While writing my Gratitude List below, Jeff called. The electrician had bad news. Very bad. I said an ugly word. Twice. But then I realized I am so thankful for insurance, Master Card, and especially Jeff for handling the house while I’m away. It was reassuring and fun talking to him.)
When I took my eyes off the problems, I saw solutions. Here’s to all the good stuff, the cups half full, the reasons this was a great day.
1) Our amazing staff who got my electricity up and running as soon as I sent a student for help. And they do it every single time every single day with a smile.
2) Our school changing the infrastructure of our wifi so that in a few weeks my kids should be one-to-one for the first time ever every single day. They can learn, research, problem solve, collaborate, create–take more ownership for their learning as they will at university –using the internet in the classroom.
3) 18 girls who committed to the Be Girl program of Project SOAR which will help keep village girls in school. And our boys who asked if they can volunteer on Sundays, excited to help their neighbors on a weekly basis.
4) My bank card working again.
5) Skyping with my daughter, Taylor, who asked what she can do to help. Skyping with my mom, who told me again what “good company” Ella (my lab mix) and Precious (our Persian) are as she spoils them rotten.
6) And….The coolest book release announcement of the 21st century. Harper Lee is publishing her “sequel” to To Kill a Mockingbird. The story of Scout all grown up was written before the Pulitzer-Prize masterpiece, the greatest southern novel, a tribute to the best in human beings everywhere triumphing over the worst. JUST YESTERDAY I told my students Harper Lee, like Emily Bronte, were two of the only writers I know who were justified in writing one novel because they hit the mark of perfection the first time out.
Thank God I was wrong.
At 88, Harper Lee, Atticus-like, inspires all of us. It takes courage to shine light on a first work—particularly when the 2nd one was perfection. I can’t wait to meet Scout all grown up. I’ve been doing some growing up, too.
Thanks, Ms. Lee, for reminding those who’ve always felt we have a book in us but feared we are too old, that we are wrong. You have made my day.
Surrounded by olive trees, lavender bushes, and mustard-colored blooms, we painted, stretched like yogis across the tent panels of the Project SOAR art area. Too cold to fan their plumes, the namesakes of Peacock Pavilions perched, watching us work to Dave Matthews with a rooster crowing as backup. Maggie requested a Lionel Ritchie encore.
Maggie O’Neill, American artist whose prolific portfolio includes designing the Washington, DC Twitter headquarters, flew in with friends from the Hill to volunteer in the grove. Meeting her was even better than I imagined. Not only because when I asked her about meeting President Obama for the first time she said he was so easy to talk to, so humble, so real, but also because she is, too. Energetic, funny, and friendly, she made our work play.
She said she had talked to the President surprisingly easily until asked to show him the portrait she’d painted of him. Then she became emotional. With tears in her eyes (which triggered tears in mine), she extended her arms to show how she had presented her work to him as an offering. All she had been able to say was, “I made this for you.”
On Sundays the girls now see our offering to them– newly painted walls of blues and greens on their sports court and walls left for them to finish in their art tent. Project SOAR is a beautiful space for beautiful girls. It’s a community of volunteers who cultivate confidence and nurture creativity through arts and sports.
Over lunch Maryam Montague, always the perfect hostess and founder of Project SOAR with her husband, Chris Redecke, shared stories of life in Marrakesh and needs for the girls and the village. The Be Girl program, a success in South America and South Africa, will roll out soon with Project SOAR chosen as pilot for Muslim countries. Health initiatives such as dental care and designs for trash pickup and a hamam for the village were discussed. If you’d like to volunteer or donate, please see how you can help here.
I left with new friends, like my painting partner, designer Adrienne Chinn, visiting from London. As her Twitter page reads, “Life isn’t about finding yourself. It’s about creating yourself.” And bringing together creative people who care.
Frazzled, frustrated, fearful in Fes. I left not a fan.
To be fair, the seven- hour bus ride on CTM with no bathroom break began the trip badly. At 10 AM as Monica and I tried to board behind other passengers allowed on the coach at the station, we were yelled at angrily and herded back into the lobby. As we showed the glaring employee our tickets he shut the glass door in our faces. Ten minutes later another man opened another door and we were allowed to file out with others. Was the first guy’s treatment of us because we were the only two on the bus from outside the country? Because we were the only two women? Because he was rude, tired, or angry? No idea.
At dusk we rolled into Fes exhausted. Monica had come for a fall break visit, and we’d just returned to my apartment the night before from a 3-day camel campout far south in the Sahara desert. Thankful for her company, I was glad we’d booked a big week. Outside our bus window we saw a mob of people running frenetically to cluster in a circle around something, someone in the middle. Was this the start of protesting the US Embassy warned us about via email while we were en route—a strike we were told could become violent? The email cautioning Americans to stay inside appeared on my phone a couple of hours from our destination. Hoping it was an an over-precaution, I contacted a friend who teaches in the city. She said her school told them to stay home and stay in. Too late for that. I messaged a coworker who was on an overnight train headed to Tangier to be careful.
By the time we arrived by taxi at the world’s largest Medina–a medieval maze dating back to the 9th century–it was too dark not to negotiate a deal with a boy who offered to guide us to our riad. With over a thousand streets and a population of 250,000 within the ancient city walls, we appreciated the young man grabbing our backpacks, throwing them into his cart, and taking off so fast we had to rush to keep up. Another man appeared, walking alongside the one we’d hired. We assumed they knew each other. He chatted at us as if our old friend. By October I’d already learned to ignore young men who give “helpful” suggestions you never asked for. Some follow foreigners even after being told their services are not needed. Unsolicited, they’ve told me I’m going the wrong way—and though they are sometimes right—a word of thanks leads to a demand for money. We’d struck a deal and typically that made us off limits to another guide asking for pay. Still, I didn’t talk to Guy Number 2 because I was too tired, a little suspicious, and experiencing the first symptoms of culture shock that would hit full force in this city.
I wondered why the fountains at the bus station had no water.
The alleyways smelled of sewage and animals live and dead. Cats clawed at garbage flung everywhere. Peering at me in the dark was either a Kafka-sized cockroach or scarab beetle that had migrated north from The Mummy set. Though I was thankful for the absence of motorbikes that threaten to run over my foot or mow me down with one mistimed step in the Marrakesh souks, donkey carts were more prevalent here—always depressing as I feel powerless while many drivers hit their animals with thick sticks. The stench of the tanneries— raw and pungent unlike a leather coat or couch smell– assaulted every alley.
Doors were open and from inside dark, narrow thresholds, solemn male faces and those of their horses and mules stared at us as strange creatures. Children’s cries came from upstairs windows. Scaffolding—wooden boards—held up leaning, stone walls, obstructing light and making sunny days dark. Groups of boys ran wild—no parents in sight, the older ones looking for business. A little guy, about six, smacked me on the behind and laughed as I passed. This was a male town. Over the next 24 hours I’d see younger boys with dads but never a girl and rarely a woman in sight.
When we finally stopped at our destination my imagination was in high gear, transporting us back in time. We used the iron knocker on the heavy wooden door and I waited for some mysterious, shrouded figure to open it, then give us some secret sign to enter. Thankfully, a smiling, professional, thirty-something man—Mohammed—opened the door and welcomed us in. Monica walked inside. I had no change, so I handed the boy we’d hired a 200- Dirham- bill and asked if he had any. The other guy grabbed the money, saying it was his portion. I’d reached my limit—furious from exhaustion and the repeat of a couple of bad experiences I’d had early last fall. I said we had no deal and that money was for the other guy—the one who had actually done the work.
The interloper took off down the alley, saying something about getting change. Monica came out asking why I’d given the guy cash. I hadn’t heard her say she was getting smaller bills. We wondered if he’d return. He did and insisted again he keep the money for his “services.” He was hostile and I’d had it. We paid the guy we hired, and the manager and Monica took over with Con Guy. I stumbled into our new place.
Moving to a new continent has taught me a lot. Mostly about myself and some of it not pretty. Navigating my first two months as an expat– some bouts of sadness over what I left behind and daily over-stimulation from first-ever situations– left me drained. I needed a break but in Fes felt placed on even higher alert. A baby in a new world, I was undone by hunger and fatigue and, in the words of my friend, Kim, ‘I wanted to fling myself on the ground and cry.”
Before I’d left Nashville, my friend, Dana, who was packing for Taiwan tried to give me preventive medicine. Having taught in Casablanca she gave me a list of comfort food to take from home that I wouldn’t find in Morocco. When my bags filled fast with a year’s worth of clothes, I dismissed her advice because when I’d previously traveled I’d loved eating the local cuisine. Tagines, grilled meat, and couscous was my future.Two months in, I longed for anything but. I didn’t realize the food here is bland for someone who loves spice. Tagines are pot roast, and grilled meat can be tough. On the Sahara trek only Moroccan food was served. The week before we’d had mostly the same. I knew from traveling one has to be flexible, but by fall break I’d learned living in a culture is very different from traveling through it.
Billed as a metropolitan city of 1 million, Fes had food reviews promising an international hub for delicious and diverse dishes. After the desert, food here would be dessert. Let the vacation begin! We’d planned to eat out; but after the drama of getting to our riad and getting rid of Con Guy, we were ready to stay in. The manager offered us dinner there. We asked about the strike.
“I’ll know by 10 AM tomorrow if it’s safe for you to go out. If not, you’ll need to stay here.”
Fearing our own episode of Big Brother meets Survivor, I asked, “If we can’t leave, what will we eat?” A carnivore with a gnawing stomach, I’d noticed the tagine on the stove he’d offered for dinner smelled good. Lamb or beef and a glass of wine would stop my hunger shakes and calm my nerves.
“We’ll find something. As soon as our other guests–a couple from Germany arrive, we’ll have dinner.”
“Ok, thanks. That sounds good.”
The tagine is vegetarian.” I need protein, my belly cried.
“And we don’t have wine in the medina.”
Meltdown.
I put off this post for months because I realize I should have been thankful for any food given that many people here don’t have anythingto eat. Having read Night I realize I’ve never been truly hungry in my life. But when baser urges took over, as we say in the south, I acted ugly.
I also hadn’t heeded Dana’s advice to stay rested. Recently I was talking with my friend, Sherry, an expat in Ecuador. She said it’s funny how much our way of doing things seems hard-wired within us–as if it’s in our DNA. Sometimes we naturally default rather than reset. Famished and frustrated, I reacted from my flesh rather than the Spirit. Assumptions about what a vacation should look like, smell like, feel like, sound like, and especially taste like set me up for disappointment I didn’t handle well.
It’s a fact of life. Sometimes what we expect is not what we get.
But by grace, we always get better.
Once I let go of what I thought I wanted and just went with what was, gifts appeared.
The riad was beautiful, and Frank Sinatra was crooning. Another guest, a young man from Australia, entertained us with travel stories. When the other guests arrived, we sat down to a delicious meal and, Voila, a bottle of wine, which the manager ordered appeared.
The conversation over dinner was one of the most interesting I’ve had since moving to Morocco. The couple that joined us was from Germany and the best treasure we found in that Imperial City. With Klaus, a vet, and Monika, a teacher,we discussed with Mohammed our children, education, travel, life. We learned that Islamic men are still allowed four wives if they can support them—another jolt of culture shock as I thought that practice was no longer observed and wondered how wives feel about that. He assured us, smiling, that he finds one is more than enough. We met her the next day—pretty and expecting their first child.
Though the protest closed most shops, it was deemed safe enough to go out. After a delicious breakfast with the best fresh-squeezed OJ I’d ever had, the four of us set out in the sunshine together. We strolled through the UNESCO (United Nations Educational, Scientific, and Cultural Oraganization) World Heritage Site, capital of Morocco until 1925, and still- religious center, finding the beautiful palace and gardens. We stopped for tea. Klaus and Monika deflected harassment though one boy did tell us the restaurant we’d chosen for dinner was closed, lead us to another one, then wait outside for payment. When we left the riad the next day we exchanged contact info. They talked with Monica about staying with her in Vigo and gave me an invitation to visit them anytime in Eichenzell which connects to train routes throughout Germany.
Photo by Monika
Photo by Klaus
Photo by Klaus
With more time, we might have discovered the new city and found it lovely, and in the medina, wandered into rich riads and enjoyed them. But on this stop Monica and me found it wasn’t so much about what we saw as who we saw it with. With darkness lifted by the new friends, we set out for the blue skies of Chefchaouen.
She and other creatives are flying in to decorate welcoming spaces at Peacock Pavilions and the non-profit’s new Dourar Ladaam village center. There girls and their moms will take classes in health, sports, and yoga. Also coming in 2015 is a Big Sis program and a Be Girl pads launch. Learn more about how you can help.
DC-based fine artist Maggie O’Neill paints works inspired by fashion, travel, and music. She also specializes in interesting Washington places and folks from Uncle Sam to Honest Abe, Teddy Roosevelt to President Obama. Partnering again with Maggie are the girls of Gypsy Mint, a Minnesota-based company donating stencils for the weeklong mission. Committed to giving back and eco-friendly best practices, painters and designers, Alicia Danzig, Kelly Fee, and Peg Malanaphy worked with O’Neill at Project SOAR in December 2013. You can be a part of ongoing support provided by Maggie O’Neill Fine Art and Gypsy Mint.
Showing girls how to discover their own passions means also modeling pursuits of our own. I’m thankful that since moving to Africa to do a couple of things I love– teach and travel–other passion paths have aligned. Writing, serving, finding community, even painting again. For all of us, taking the road less traveled does make all the difference.
Today marked the first hike of a new group and I’m so glad I joined. It was the maiden voyage of the Marrakech Trekkers—almost literally— given the rain -swollen river that gushed across the road we needed to cross. On the other side were mountain villages we’d hike around and through, lookouts over green valleys and the snow covered Atlas Mountains. Even before we reached the rushing creek bed we’d encountered another obstacle on our course. The Marrakech Marathon had closed so many roads that finding a way out of the city was daunting. After trying many alternative routes and back- alley shortcuts through neighborhoods I’d never seen, Shane, our fearless driver and human compass, found a way and we were headed southeast of town. An hour later at our destination, locals on tractors cautioned against trying to cross the river by car. As little girls gathered to watch, we searched for a stone path that would keep us dry–something Synnove and I preferred. There wasn’t one. We considered hitching a ride across by mule, but the owner laughed and walked on. When a passenger van appeared, we planned to ask if we could jump in. But since the van had two mules in the back, we decided to go by car another way.
We found a shady grove, parked the car and headed upward. The path snaked between bluffs on the left and fields on the right. In the middle of green sat workers drinking tea. A man chopping trees gave us directions as we went higher, passing women cutting vines with scythes and tying the firewood on their backs. A mother and her daughter smiled and said, “Bonjour Madame” as we emerged from a stone tunnel and continued following the creek bed. A grandmother sat watching her sheep graze as the wind rustled tall grass; another later joked with Shane in Arabic.
I hadn’t hiked steep hills since last summer, hadn’t teetered on narrow trails along cliffs since Ecuador, hadn’t been offered tea in Berber homes…ever.
Shane and the men and boys in each stone village talked and laughed and welcomed us with a handshake.
Women nodded and smiled. Children stopped their play and followed us–one jumping from a tree, some calling “Bonjour,” all giggling. One girl around six carried a baby brother swaddled on her back. Another girl of fourteen had a baby strapped behind her, too. Her own.
As we drove home we passed cyclers–motorbikes carrying a child, dad, and mom. Almond trees were already blooming this first month of a new year. I was thankful again for the kindness of strangers. Those who welcomed us into their villages. And those finding community in Marrakech. I look forward to more journeys with new friends–those who couldn’t make it today and others as the group grows. But today, I loved that a man born in Spain, a woman born in Norway, and a girl born in Kentucky all enjoyed this Sunday under the Moroccan sun.
Les Jardins de Bala, my favorite lunch spot in town, is perched atop the 5-star hotel, Les Jardins de La Koutoubia, located in the front of Marrakech’s Medina. Sun lovers can eat the best Indian food I’ve found while overlooking the pool, the Koutoubia Mosque, and the Atlas Mountains. Around the corner are tables in the shade with comfy leather couches overlooking the ground floor pool. In the terrace gardens birds sing on boughs where bougainvillea and lemons bob in the wind.
The staff is amazing, friendly and accommodating, making every visit a pleasure. I love that they serve my usual request, Chicken Tikka Masala, from their dinner menu no matter the time of day. For those needing a break from souk shopping or jumping Jamaa el Fna Square, follow the doorman outside the hotel who’ll escort you up the elevator to a hidden haven. If local and unable to do lunch during the work week, drop by to toast the sunset.
My first time here was last month with my children visiting for the holidays. It’s now “our place.”
My colleague and photographer friend, Rabi’a Laurie Neeno
Jasna and me Photo Credit: Rabi’a Laurie Neeno
Photo by Rabi’a Laurie Neeno
Photo by Rabi’a Laurie Neeno
A good day in the souks Photo by Rabi’a Laurie Neeno
A House Special for that Sunset Toast. Cuantro, Mailbu Rum & Bombay Gin Photo Credit: Rabi’a Laurie Neeno
When a man is tired of London, he is tired of life.—Samuel Johnson
This blog is about more than my move to Morocco. It’s about all of us moving, changing, learning. It’s about discovering new people and places that make us come alive. A new year is the perfect time to move from pondering to planning new experiences in 2015. Like travel. Since some readers found the posts on London appealing, here’s what I’ve learned in 7 stays in Shakespeare’s City—particularly on this last trip where I planned my own itinerary rather than relying on a tour company. Some of these suggestions apply to any destination. London is great for first-timers-abroad a bit nervous about speaking only English. It’s a lit lover’s dream where summers are cabbage roses and winters mulled wine. It’s Christmas where Charles- Dickens- tradition meets high-street -shopping.
It’s Big Ben, Boxing Day, and The British Library housing the oldest copy of Beowulf. It’s touching the wall built by William the Conqueror and hearing the bells at Westminster Abbey on Christmas Day where/when he was crowned king. It’s tracing the steps of Jack the Ripper, standing on Harry Potter’s Platform, and crossing Portobello Road.
Thanks to former colleagues and roomies-on-the-road, Sharon, Betty, and Theresa, who led educational trips via EF Tours for years, and to new coworkers, Asil, a Londoner who gave us bus and tube tips for getting around, particularly for Christmas Day when the city almost totally shuts down, and Jasna, London lover who pointed us to Primark and Pret. And to Moni…my Spanish friend who did Morocco with me North to South and told us not to miss Camden Station.
Please reply below if you have a question or travel tip to add.
Passport/Travel Documents Start planning early. Check online to see where you obtain one in your area, noting time needed for the process. Get going to avoid paying extra to expedite US passport or to risk being grounded if it doesn’t arrive by your fly date. Some airlines for international flights require passport information at time of booking. Some allow you to add it online before you leave, but get it ASAP to avoid stress later. Although you will keep your passport/visa and money on your person at all times, also start a folder of all travel documents, such as hard copies of booking confirmations for your carryon. Don’t rely solely on emails or even notes in your phone since service isn’t always available and batteries can die during travel. At the border of each country you plan to enter (and in some cases, leave), you will have to fill out a card with the exact address of where you will be staying, the dates of your stay, and the reason for being in the country. Just knowing the name of the hotel or apartment you’ve booked isn’t enough. You need the address as well.
Flights Track prices through sites like SkyScanner. CNN Money advises buying plane tickets 8 weeks before departure date on a Sunday—cheapest day—rather than Tuesday as long thought. They say Monday is the most expensive day to book. And thanks to MIT computer scientists and Suzy Stratner at The Huffington Post for sharing with readers the best-tool-to-date for finding the lowest airfares, the ITA Matrix. Buy tickets early—particularly if flying with smaller airlines from this side of the pond, like Easy Jet or Ryan Air— who have amazing fares but limited flights that book fast for holidays. Christmas 2014 prices started going up in October, peaked in November, and went down some in December. If traveling solo or uber flexible, last minute deals are great, but not so if needing to ask off early or schedule around school/work breaks of multiple travelers. Carefully consider connecting flights. If the connection is in a large airport, you will need more than an hour—2 to be safe—to make the next flight, particularly if the first one is delayed. When traveling to Costa Rica through Atlanta I almost missed my flight because I allowed only an hour for the connection. Running through an airport is no bueno. I opted to send my children through Chicago O’Hare though there is always a chance for snow there in December. The connection time was longer than Atlanta allowed and it is a smaller, less complicated hub than JFK.
Be aware of policies particular to the airlines you choose. Easy Jet and Ryan Air require customers to print boarding passes before arriving at the airport and charge you if you don’t. A typical “airline-sized carryon” bag purchased in the US will probably exceed the size they allow free of charge. On Easy Jet, you are allowed one small carryon, but a purse or computer must be placed inside it when you board the plane. Ryanair’s carryon size is even smaller, though they allow a personal item. Prices for luggage to be checked in/placed in the hold area are expensive though the person checking our bags at the desk charged us less–perhaps based on weight?– than the “cheapest price” Easy Jet offered online if bought beforehand. Though American Airlines allowed my children checked bags at no charge in addition to their carry ons, Easy Jet did not. Weigh—LITERALLY—the cost of extra baggage.When possible, travel light, particularly when walking or traveling on the tube or train. Leave space for purchases. I learned from Europeans long ago to simplify my wardrobe to basic, dark pieces that can be worn in many combinations more than once. The good news is if you do need to check a bag, it can be a large one (check dimensions on website lest they change) as long as it doesn’t exceed 20 kg/44 pounds.Gatwick also allows one bag of purchases from their duty free shops to be carried on free. On January 1st those shops had 1/2 off most merchandise.
Travel to/from Airport In London, you have options of taxis, busses, trains, and the tube between your hotel and the airport. The most expensive option is a taxi. I tried the other three. I tried Gatwick Connect upon arriving Christmas Eve. Though it is less expensive than Gatwick Express, its additional stops meant a 1 ½ commute to the hotel. Gatwick and Heathrow Express, on the other hand, runs every 15 minutes and take less than 30 minutes. Gatwick Express runs to and from Victoria Station, from which you can grab a taxi, bus, or the tube. Heathrow Express runs to and from Paddington Station from which you can travel likewise. Express tickets to/from each airport can be bought at the train station. Buying a roundtrip ticket saves money. The Heathrow ticket was collected once the train left the station; the Gatwick ticket as we exited to the airport. When Taylor and Cole departed London from Heathrow, I saw them off, then caught a bus to Gatwick, where my plane flying out of later. I was in no hurry and on January 1 there was no traffic. The trip took one hour. Traveling on the actual holiday, such as Christmas Day, means cheaper airline tickets, but consider that public transportation in London–trains, tubes, public busses and taxis–will not be available.
While there are deals here, down the street by the canal is a bigger market.
No matter how you plan to travel to/from the airport, be sure you know from which terminal your plane will arrive/depart. It may be on your confirmation or boarding pass or you may need to find it online. Departing Gatwick you will go through security first. If you have your boarding pass, no bags to check, and a carry on that meets regulations, you will check the board for your gate. Easy Jet posts boarding gates only 30-45 minutes prior to boarding but given lines at security it is recommended you arrive at least 2 hours before flight. For bigger airlines flying abroad, its best to be safe and arrive 2 ½-3 hours before flight time.
Tubing It If the tube maps in the station on the wall or in print drive you mad, pre map your journey before arrival with this handy dandy tool (thanks, Asil!) At the sub station an Oyster card can be purchased and loaded for all day hoping on and off the tube and busses. If you need a ticket for one day only, the cost is less than 9 British Sterling Pounds. If you plan to do a lot of sightseeing, check out The London Pass before booking tours on your own (more on that below).
AccommodationsPrice I start with Trip Advisor for hotels to read reviews and see rankings and Airbnb for home stays. If you want to live like a local and save money, Airbnb is great, though with its popularity properties go quickly. By October there was almost nothing left in central London and within weeks the same was true of hotels. A travel blogger led me to Airbnb two years ago when I stayed with her in Puerto Viejo and with her friend near the Costa Rica airport. Likewise, homes of my friends, Chuck and Emily, in Nashville, Tennessee and Monica and Ale in Vigo, Spain are listed. Once I’ve found favorites, I Google for best price. Since moving here I’ve found good deals on Booking.com, but Home Away, Holiday Lettings, Holiday Watchdog, are options, too. But here’s something else I’ve discovered…contacting hotels directly can get you the best deal of all. In London after finding the best price online, I called the Shaftesbury Premier London Paddington Hotel and got an even sweeter deal. Same was true yesterday when a bout of spring fever led me to booking a weekend beach getaway. Some hotels promise to match or go below online booking sites. If one Morocco has taught me one thing, it has been how to bargain.
Location Staying outside of major cities like NYC or London can save money, even though you have a commute price. But when staying only 3 days and one of them is Christmas when all public transportation shuts down (trains, tube, taxis), being within walking distance (Trip Adviser calculates this) of major attractions, subway and bus stops, and neighborhood groceries was a better choice. It also gave us the experience of living like a local. I chose a Paddington hotel from which we could walk to Hyde Park’s Winter Wonderland (a Christmas Market of food, lights, and crafts that was my favorite stop this trip), Oxford Street, Regents Street, Little Venice, and Notting Hill. Paddington Train Station is also hub for the Heathrow Express as well as tube lines and bus stops.
Christmas Day–quite chilly– we cheated a bit. Dressed for the service at Westminster Abbey (reserved seats obtained through Eventbrite via the Westminster Abbey website) and on a tight schedule, I booked a private taxi through our hotel in Paddington to Westminster. After the service, lasting from 10:30-11:50, we walked to Westminster Pier to catch a 12:15 Thames River Cruise I’d purchased through Golden Tours online. To make our reservations for a late lunch, we caught a black cab (again, no cheap taxes that day) from the pier to Notting Hill. Both trips were twice the cost of a public taxi on any other day but since we walked the rest of the trip, walked home from lunch to the hotel, and it was my son’s first cab ride which took us past Buckingham Palace, it was worth it. We’d saved a lot by doing the Thames cruise without dinner served on the boat, opting for The Castle Pub which had better reviews.
The Castle in Notting Hill
New Year’s Eve Finding a hotel near the London Eye is a good idea if you want to walk to fireworks on the Thames New Year’s Eve. Though the tube is free that night, overcrowding makes it a place to avoid. Likewise, the authorities asked people not to drive given the crowds, though cabs, costing twice as much as on Christmas Day, were packed and at a standstill. Tickets were sold online to get closer to the fireworks but couldn’t be printed, so between the risk of not receiving them in the mail on time (there were some issues) and their selling out by the time we reached London (they did), booking a hotel near a “free bridge” near the Eye was our best option. We also had no trouble getting a table without a reservation for dinner—unlike the feeding frenzy of pre-booking Christmas Day—but we went early. January 1 our hotel booked a private shuttle to the airport, again, limited service on the holiday, but for the same price as taking the dragging luggage at 6:30 Am to the tube, then Heathrow Express.
The Queens Arms in Westminster
Food Our hotels included “full English breakfasts”—something that saved us money, filled us up, and started the day together. If traveling solo, this may not be an advantage, but for families or those who want to go all day and not eat again until dinner, breakfast included is a benefit. We also ate in Pubs–public houses–where food is good and more reasonable than some restaurants. Pret and Eat, soup and sandwich shops, are in almost all neighborhoods, offering the fastest, most affordable, and healthy fare.
Groupons, Living Social, and the Like Sign up for deals in London (or wherever you are going) but be sure to read the fine print on when and how they can be used. These are recommended for longer stays and/or a flexible schedule in terms of attraction admissions and meals. Be sure a “deal” is for real on hotels. In Costa Rica I saw a couple horrified when our van arrived at their destination. It was far from the picture. On a Sahara desert trip a couple on vacation paid more for the Groupon deal than those of us who booked the trip from local companies in Marrakesh.
Socializing For solo travelers writing members of Meetup.com or Couchsurfing, or contacting bloggers as I did before traveling to Central America, can give you inside info and maybe a new friend.
Essential PrebookingChristmas Day Meal Most restaurants and pubs are closed and the few that are open require prepayment and selections premade from their special menu. I searched high and low for a traditional meal and found one on quaint Notting Hill just off Portobello Road. But the one printed confirmation I didn’t print was from The Castle pub concerning our booking. Thankfully, I did have our emails back and forth on my phone, and though they had no record of the reservation, they gave us a table. After popping our English crackers, donning paper crowns, and eating good food, all was well.
Queen of The Castle
Brown’s Pub, Boxing Day, off Regent Street
Westminster Abbey Sung Eucharist Check their website for all holiday services. None were left when I first checked in October, but days before departure EventBrite had 3 returned seats. A miracle. Other tips It’s a good idea to exchange some money through your home bank before the trip. Banks don’t have foreign currency readily available so allow time to order. Check exchange rates because the bank may not be your best option. But if you don’t have time to exchange, ATMs—some without transaction fees—are at the airport and off many tube stops. Using your credit card sometimes gives you a better exchange rate, but be sure to notify your home bank of travel destinations/dates and use cash for small purchases. At the airport, if your phone is unlocked but doesn’t have global calling, you can buy a SIM card, have it cut to fit your phone and activated by the vendor. While an airport store may charge more than buying a card at a local grocery ($20 vs $6) where you have to cut the card and activate the service yourself, the extra $14 to be sure it fits and works is worth it. Wifi can be used in areas without phone service activation, but if you need a GPS for exploring the city, meeting up with a fellow traveler or any other phone use outside the wifi areas, buying a SIM card is an option. Either way, grab a tube map or city map at the station or hotel. Boxing Day Tips Name brand shops in Camden had the same 50% off sales as Oxford Street. The area also offers diverse food, handmade goods, and an artistic, local London crowd. Covent Garden is still one of my favorite places to shop, eat gingerbread snowmen, be wowed by the decorations, and hear live music. We fell in love with Primark. But after fighting the Christmas Eve crowd turned away at 6 PM…after giving up getting in there on Boxing Day (a tradition observed December 26 which took on a new and literal meaning when Cole had to yank Taylor and me free from a mosh pit in front of a store on Oxford Street where customers stormed a store), I discovered shopping December 27 at opening is perfect. No crowds. Just the best bargains I’ve seen anywhere.
And last but not least… Who knew the Jack the Ripper tours fill faster than any attraction in London? That people love gory tales other than those of the Scrooge’s ghosts right through the holidays? My children had one request when I began planning the trip in October, and I was determined to find a tour with an opening. Eight tour companies later, I booked the Jack the Ripper and Sherlock Holmes Tour of Haunted London online. We met our our knowledgeable and entertaining guide at the Victoria Bus Station who escorted us to a double decker vintage red bus and off we went. Using his iPad to show us actual newspaper clippings/illustrations of the murders of London’s serial killer, he was a storyteller who knew how to build suspense. We dark –alley-crime -scenes and saw sites where Charles I was beheaded and William Wallace was executed—now a grassy park where people eat lunch. Take a Risk… Planning the “perfect Christmas” for my children was important, and I was more Type A than usual. But when flight schedules demanded I arrive in London a day early to meet them at the airport for a Love Actually greeting, I decided to take my chances and go with one of Priceline’s “No Bidding, Big Savings Express Deals.” I knew I wanted to stay in the Paddington area near the Heathrow Express I’d catch the next day, so I booked sight-unseen the 4-star hotel for under $100—unheard of in central London. It was amazing…a little gift for which I’m still grateful.
For another time… Had we more time in London, we would have hit the museums and taken a day trip to Oxford, the Cotswolds, and Stonehenge. Had it been summer, we would have rented a car and gone to my favorite places—the Lake District and Yorkshire. One day I mean to get to Cornwall and Wales as well. Planning takes time, and I learned a lot. But traveling with the most precious people in our lives is more than what we see or do. It’s what we become—even closer.
Thank you to Kate, an Australian expat mom I met through InterNations who moved to Marrakech last fall, too. Her son visited and returned home before my children came, and she set up lunch for last Sunday before I left for London knowing I’d need a friend after the holidays who understands the joy of sharing this life with family, then sadly saying goodbye again. To all moms who spent quality time during the holidays with your children–adult ones who live elsewhere and little ones you could stay in pjs with you till noon, is there any gift greater?
January 1 as my daughter and son disappeared through Heathrow’s security gate I felt the ground I’d gained shake.
Before meeting them in London, I’d left school for winter break thrilled that I was almost there…Christmas Eve…when I’d hug Taylor and Cole at the airport. I also felt peace because I was there–my first big marker since moving– as students hugged bye and called across campus, “Have a nice holiday, Miss!” A coworker reminded me that our dance class would resume in January, and I looked forward to working with Model UN students in the spring, then traveling with them to St. Petersburg, Russia. I was excited for a colleague who had been hired by a school in Brazil next fall and wondered if I’d apply for South America or Europe one day. I’d met her and two other new friends for lunch at our favorite restaurant, and we all celebrated soon seeing family and friends in Italy, Austria, the US, and England.
Despite fall’s challenges, fears, tears, I’d made new relationships on amazing adventures, discovering beauty without and strength within. I realized I’d survived my first continent teaching/living on a new continent, and In 2015, I thought, I will thrive.
Spending Christmas and New Year’s Eve with Taylor and Cole in London and bringing them to Marrakesh were some of the happiest days of my life. Taylor said it was her favorite vacation we three have spent together. Cole loved his first trip abroad, and we all said we could not have had more fun.
On the plane to meet them I’d read a travel article called “How to Escape Your Family for the Holidays.” I was so glad I’d be traveling with mine. Seeing the two loves of my life–who are my home–and spending nine days with them was an even bigger blessing than I anticipated while planning our reunion for months. Knowing how short this life is, I am forever grateful for that time.
Even if the low that followed when they left was hard, the high of being together again was worth it. Even more… the bond that remains.
January 1st–too soon– we again hugged at the airport. I didn’t think I’d be able to let go. I ached and tears flowed as I boarded a bus for Gatwick, waited there till my flight, then prayed I’d sleep on the plane so I wouldn’t feel the physical pain.
When I’d moved to Morocco I used all the packing and planning to postpone the full impact of saying goodbye to them–the hardest part of this decision. My daughter, unable to handle an airport farewell, hugged and kissed me on a hot, August night in my sister’s driveway the night before my flight. As she drove away crying, I walked behind the house and fell on my knees from the hurt. My son, who tried to keep things light, hugged me and smiled the next morning at the airport. I cried but wouldn’t allow myself to feel the full impact. I was determined to grieve later– away. And I did. The sadness at times in early fall was so terrible only God, who I knew had brought me here and Skype calls from my mom; sister, Penny; and best friend, Kim, kept me from depression. I thought I’d paid the pain price for this life change then in full. I was wrong.
But this time my recovery came faster. Penny reminded me that when we all live under the same roof we don’t always make or value the quality time. She said this move has been life changing. Our time together now is more intentional, and we recognize it as precious. She reminded me the holidays always have to end, when we all return to school and work. My mom, like Penny and her family who I missed seeing at Christmas for the first time in our lives but who has always wanted to see me happy, reminded me that I have a “traveling soul” and this opportunity is who I am and what I’ve wanted for a long time. January 2nd I began work on a project that kept me busy till I returned to school January 6. Seeing students and colleagues was nice.
Again I remember that even if I still lived in Nashville, Taylor and Cole would not be living with me on Jenry Court. As families do after Christmas together, we go back to the “real world” to begin a new year. But what we experienced was REAL. The sweetest thing in life is relationship. Being together body and soul 24/7–no phones and computers (other than to check in briefly with family and friends in the US) — for over a week made us even closer.
First day in the Medina and rooftop sunset
School Visit
Rooftop lunch at Chez Joel
Thankfully the Taj Palace reopened; it is now the Sahara Palace.
Through Taylor’s Eyes
After initial culture shock, Taylor wrote this: “Marrakech has brought so much peace to my life. This has truly been a life changing experience! Today we heard the call to prayer for the first time. I saw the oldest mosque in the city with snow capped mountains in the distance. Now I know why my mom fell in love with this place. This adventure has been my favorite one yet! Marrakech has captured my heart!” Last night on Skype she said she feels so much better about my safety. That everyone she met here was so nice to us. That Morocco was not what she expected.
After the cold of London, both of them loved the warm weather and snow-capped mountains in the distance. Cole said when he first stepped out on my balcony the city looked and felt like Florida.
Though we’ve always been together in spirit, having them physically here has meant more than I expected. I can share stories now they better understand. Now when I go to the souks or grocery, I remember them there. When I eat at our Indian restaurant, on Chez Joel’s rooftop, or hear Casanova’s piano man, I remember them there.
When I watch a movie or see Queen Elizabeth dance in my apartment, I remember them here–and Cole hiding his Bluetooth speaker and Dancing Queen with a note for me to find when they were gone. A surprise gift that made me laugh and cry.
We laughed a lot. We appreciate each other more. For the privilege of being the mother of two amazing human beings, I am forever grateful.
Before I left Nashville and told Kim how hard it was to leave, she reminded me of a quote by Winnie the Pooh, a favorite friend who lived stuffed in my son’s room when he was little. It’s true. I am.
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