Dear Travel, I Missed You✨

Looking forward with hope... 

As we enter a season when many of us would be traveling to see family, it’s typically a time I take advantage of to slow down from a year of travel to appreciate the little moments with family. This season, however, certainly looks different (and to be honest, I hate saying that because I am blatantly exhausted from hearing any variation of that phrase) but it’s the easiest way to address reality. 

At a time when I’d normally shut the computer and press pause on travel plans until the second half of the new year, I’m doing the opposite… because well, nothing is normal. I’m looking forward to Q1 of 2021 with high hopes to startup a nomadic lifestyle again. While I have to admit, I got comfortable to my new routine of traveling from my bedroom to my kitchen to my couch… and back to the kitchen, last week I took my first transatlantic trip in ten months and it never felt so right.

While the trip may have seemed like an easy yes, it wasn’t—for many reasons. I’ve always had a sense of pre-trip anxiety, but this time it was heightened by the world’s relapse into second, third, and fourth waves of the virus as well as an overwhelming sense of guilt that accompanied travel during an ongoing pandemic. All safety measures were met, however, traveling with masks, extra hand sanitizer, frequent tests leading up to the trip, and my destination—Morocco—is in fact open to travelers, so I wasn’t jumping through loopholes to get there.

As soon as I touched down in Casablanca, I was instantly transported back to a past life of nomadic highs and ceaseless adrenaline. I jotted down a few notes comparing the sprawling, rusty sands of the desert drive to Marrakech’s bustling medina:

Vast. A stark contrast from the winding maze of the medina. Soil and the stray tree. Stray village or pastel mosque oppose pink walls enclosing a bustling hub of spice and patterns. Textiles and commotion. Where the silence and infinity of its perimeter does not exist. Experiencing and remembering the assault on my senses from my first trip only to feel grateful I’m back three years later and after ten months my first transatlantic haul. Then texture breaking the land up as it breaks my thoughts. Shades of rust. A sunset in the dunes…

When I approached Marrakech, observing the medina from afar, that rush and that thought stream was interrupted by a muted square; like much of the world, closed shops and sparse streets now replaced the usual buzz. It was a brief peek back into normalcy then a sobering reminder of the lasting effects of a global shutdown. Witnessing the effects across the ocean reminded me we’re all in this together.

The next day when I ventured into the medina, reality continued to strike. Jemaa el-Fnaa is the medina’s main square where vendors set up stalls selling fresh fruits, juicing the likes of pomegranate and oranges to appeal to the thirsty tourist unfamiliar with the country’s palpable heat. Then there’s the snake charmers appealing to the curious tourist, and food stalls serving up street meats to the intrepid foodie; it’s typically an endless maze, a scene to navigate that becomes a forever memory. This time, however, only a handful of brave stalls were arranged, no snake charmers or monkeys, no sea of tourists gawking—I could see the square beneath my feet, I could easily see the shops on the other side of Jemaa el-Fnaa.

It was heartbreaking and I still tear up when I explain it now that I’m back home. If you’d never visited before, you could grasp the situation, comparing it to the images of a deserted Times Square that circulated the internet throughout the pandemic but I’m not even sure that does it justice. 

And it wasn’t just the square that was quiet, we were the only tourists meandering through the heart of the souks which we learned closed for seven months during the pandemic. I wanted to buy everything in order to support the businesses but of course, there is only so much one person can do.

Browsing a textiles stall in the heart of the souks, which would typically be swarming with tourists.

When I got back to my hotel room, I researched Morocco’s response to the pandemic which was a strict lockdown, as locals realized the lack of medical facilities to support a surge in cases. I also talked to a journalist who relocated there prior to the pandemic and has been living in the Atlas Mountains with 20 locals, all social distancing in an area so remote you might even be as naive as me to think, how can the virus even infiltrate that? 

Beyond learning about Morocco’s shutdown, I dug through articles discussing the rise in poverty due to a decline in tourism for a country where tourism comprises nearly 20 percent of its GDP.
 

Like many tourism-reliant countries, Morocco is relying on travel to pick up again for the sake of local livelihood, just as our neighborhood restaurants, boutiques and bars back home are clamoring for the same.

Upon landing back in the U.S., news alerts flashed on my phone; Cuomo announced the shutting of public schools, the CDC advised against Thanksgiving travel… same story, different place type of thing. To recognize a similar scene thousands of miles from home (that in ‘normal’ times would not be comparable) was a reminder of the global effects and an eye-opener that I had to share my experience. 

So, I’m looking to the future—because as uncertain of times that we live in, travel is beckoning and the world needs us. If you’re comfortable planning travel, and if you’re in a position to book, I’d urge you to consider rearranging trips that were cancelled this year. There is a light on the horizon for when countries reopen and re-welcome us, but only we can make that light brighter.

Xo,
J