Praks in Wonderland

A country steeped in more history than I had ever witnessed before*, with a recorded history that begins between the 8th and 6th century BCE. Walls, and streets, and shops older than I can wrap my mind around. Tradition so deeply embedded in every person, a theme amongst all but also so unique throughout every group. It was the first time in my memory that I had been somewhere with that kind of depth of culture.

*I went to Israel when I was a much younger child but I do not remember it, so I am not counting it.

There’s something incredibly fascinating about walking through streets that have existed for such a long part of human history. And at the same time, almost being run over by people on motorcycles that were produced in 2025, taking selfies on a hand held phone which didn’t even exist 30 years ago, speaking in a language that would have been impossible to understand 500 years ago. It is a very curious dichotomy to observe and be a part of.

The cities in Morocco are so lively, the smells so persistent, the colors so vibrant, the sounds almost overwhelming, the people so welcoming. Everything felt more there, in a way. Life feels very much alive. You can see, smell, touch, hear, taste the very essence of humanity in everything there.

The bustling of Marrakesh was only the gateway into the incredible country. Traveling further inland led to the most magnificent landscapes. Mountains that were rich with trees I’d never seen and waterfalls that snuck up out of nowhere. Panoramic views of valleys filled with flora that had learned to survive through harsh climates.

If you’ve read my posts on Iceland, lets just say this was a complete 180. So dry, and so hot, even at the very beginning of summer. Some of our guides told us it was normal to not see any rain for many months, even sometimes years. My skin felt like it was cracking apart, and we were all constantly reapplying lotion and chapstick.

We passed through towns with buildings and houses that were made of clay and blended in perfectly with the landscape. Their warm tones a clear sign of the earth they came from and where they will return. We journeyed through the rolling foothills, deep gorges, and jagged peaks of the Atlas mountains, a deeply interesting geological range.

And then we reached the Sahara, a stop on the itinerary that I had begged my mother to add. At that point, we’d long since left the mountains and entered a flat, and extremely arid land. Watching the terrain change was fascinating, seeing the orange sand of the dunes start to peek up above the horizon was emotional.

I found out that the Sahara is not just comprised of endless sand dunes, and maybe that was silly of me to assume. There are of course a LOT of dunes in the Sahara, but there are vast stretches of it that are simply dry land. I’ve seen the sand dunes in New Mexico, and some in Indiana/Michigan as well and nothing could have prepared me for the dunes of the Sahara.

The sand so soft and fine it almost feels like flour. A vibrant orange that is nearly impossible to capture on camera. I can’t get over how orange the sand is. Watching movies like Dune, you would think they edited the color of the sand for dramatic effect, but the sand is actually just. that. orange. When we got on the camels we were going to take to our camp, for a few seconds everyone and everything in the group was just quiet – no wind, no whispers, no camera shutters, no cicadas, no birds… I’d never experienced that kind of silence in the wilderness. As someone from the Americas, most of my time in wilderness has been with so many animals making noises or even just trees whispering, there’s never really a moment of actual silence. I would like to sit out there for a few hours and just experience the silence with nothing other than an occasional murmur of sand being blown across the dune crests.

However, once the wind began to pick up in the evening and the sand began to bite into any sliver of exposed skin, things got a lot more challenging. With a 10% humidity level, and powder-fine sand being blown in every possible direction, my eyes had never felt more dry or abused. However, throughout the evening we were treated to a beautiful thunderstorm and even a small rain shower. Feeling moisture fall from the sky onto my skin while in the Sahara is something I will never forget.

We then ventured back through the mountains and made a stop to see the Cedar Forest and were lucky enough to see the Barbary Macaque – the only primate that survives above the Sahara. I love seeing monkeys and apes interact. It is like a glimpse into the past, what humanity once was. These creatures are so playful and so social, it reminds me of how important community is. I think a lot of the modern ailments amongst humanity are due to the fact that we have lost connection to each other. Especially in the US, we live in an incredibly individualistic society, refusing to rely on other people and refusing to allow ourselves to be relied upon. This is no way to live, and we did not survive this long as a species without connection. Primates are meant to exist in large groups, and we don’t do that anymore.

Eventually we reached Fes, and much to my dismay this was where my stomach problems began. I attempted to brave the fatigue, cramping, and nausea but ultimately had to spend most of the rest of the trip in bed resting (and running to the toilet). I would love to tell tales of the history in the “Mecca of the west”, describe the blue buildings of Chefchaouen, and even regale you with a party ending in Barcelona before going home, but unfortunately such was not my luck. Despite my unfortunate fate for the final leg of the trip, I was still lucky enough to see places that I had only ever dreamt of and that was quite enough for me.

love, Praks.