Morocco

A trip to Morocco

Morocco Memories: Reflections Over Coffee  

Sitting in this little café back home, watching steam rise from my cup, I find my thoughts drifting back to Morocco. The coffee here is good—rich and dark—but it lacks the ceremonial quality of Moroccan mint tea, that sweet, fragrant ritual that punctuated my days there. I close my eyes and can almost hear the distinct ping of tea being poured from heights into small glasses, the skillful pouring creating a thin layer of foam that the locals call “the turban.” Morocco revealed itself to me gradually, like a series of veils being lifted. The maze-like medinas that I initially found overwhelming became navigable by landmarks: the spice merchant with the gap-toothed smile, the blue door with intricate metalwork, the corner where cats gathered in the afternoon sun. In Chefchaouen, the overwhelming blue of the buildings seemed to shift with the changing light—powder blue at midday, periwinkle at dusk. The Atlas Mountains stood as ancient sentinels, their peaks disappearing into clouds, while the Sahara stretched beyond comprehension, golden dunes rippling to the horizon. In Marrakech’s Djemaa el-Fna square, I watched as the space transformed from a daytime market to an evening carnival of storytellers, musicians, and food vendors, smoke from the grills creating a hazy ceiling above the crowd. What stays with me most, though, are the conversations—with the carpet seller who shared mint tea and stories of his Berber grandmother; with the young guide in Fes who was studying literature and quoted both ancient poetry and Bob Dylan; with the family who welcomed me into their home for couscous Friday and wouldn’t let me help with dishes because I was a guest. Morocco exists in my memory as a symphony of sensations: the call to prayer echoing across rooftops at dawn, the feeling of cool mosaic tiles beneath bare feet, the earthy fragrance of cumin and saffron, the taste of tagine slow-cooked to perfection. I take another sip of my coffee, knowing that while I’ve returned home, a part of me remains there, wandering those labyrinthine streets, forever captivated by a country where tradition and modernity dance together in brilliant, sunlit harmony.