Posts Tagged: Morocco

A Little (still) Life and A Lot of Gifts

A last minute guide of gifts from the high-(and low) lights of my year. The Ecstatic Flash is back!

A Little (still) Life and A Lot of Gifts

A last minute guide of gifts from the high-(and low) lights of my year. The Ecstatic Flash is back!

Marrakech is Magic

“As you set out for Ithaka, ask that the voyage is a long one…”
The journey to Marrakech by way of the desert took us 3 days. By the time we made it to Marrakech, the final leg of my “30 Becomes Her Tour” as I dubbed this year’s round of intercontinental gallivanting, we were undoubtedly rich in our knowledge of Morocco. The magic was all in the getting there…

Marrakech is Magic

“As you set out for Ithaka, ask that the voyage is a long one…”
The journey to Marrakech by way of the desert took us 3 days. By the time we made it to Marrakech, the final leg of my “30 Becomes Her Tour” as I dubbed this year’s round of intercontinental gallivanting, we were undoubtedly rich in our knowledge of Morocco. The magic was all in the getting there…

A Journey Through Southern Morocco

You know what they say: a  journey of a thousand miles begins with a selfie   The penultimate destination on my #30BecomesHerTour may have been the Sahara, but the journey to the arid desert itself was the stuff of which imaginatively

A Journey Through Southern Morocco

You know what they say: a  journey of a thousand miles begins with a selfie   The penultimate destination on my #30BecomesHerTour may have been the Sahara, but the journey to the arid desert itself was the stuff of which imaginatively

Blue Dunes: Sailing the Sahara

They did not strike me as melancholic, the camels. Perhaps aloof, withdrawn, displaying deep lassitude even as they masticated, ceaselessly, their cud. But not melancholic. Before one can wake up to the Sahara, one must first arrive: we did so by camel, Farida and I. Dropped off at the shore of the dunes by our driver Abou, we were met by our camel guide, Hamou, a laconic boy of malt-coloured skin who appeared far too young to be so at home in the wilderness. He was ostensibly as emotionally removed from the wonder as the new humped friends with whom he greeted us.

Blue Dunes: Sailing the Sahara

They did not strike me as melancholic, the camels. Perhaps aloof, withdrawn, displaying deep lassitude even as they masticated, ceaselessly, their cud. But not melancholic. Before one can wake up to the Sahara, one must first arrive: we did so by camel, Farida and I. Dropped off at the shore of the dunes by our driver Abou, we were met by our camel guide, Hamou, a laconic boy of malt-coloured skin who appeared far too young to be so at home in the wilderness. He was ostensibly as emotionally removed from the wonder as the new humped friends with whom he greeted us.

Quintessence of Dust: Waking Up to The Sahara

A morning walk along a high crescent of the Erg Chebbi dunes “…the beauty of the world…and yet to me, what is this quintessence of dust?” famously queried the Danish prince in the throes of the existential crisis of existential crises.

Quintessence of Dust: Waking Up to The Sahara

A morning walk along a high crescent of the Erg Chebbi dunes “…the beauty of the world…and yet to me, what is this quintessence of dust?” famously queried the Danish prince in the throes of the existential crisis of existential crises.