What’s a country that’s at the top of your bucket list?
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I’ve been fortunate enough to travel to several countries throughout my life, although I should probably clarify that not every journey was undertaken for pleasure. Some were considerably more interesting than others, and a few provided experiences I would have been perfectly content to live without. Nevertheless, each country offered something worth remembering, even if I didn’t necessarily recognize its value at the time. That’s the peculiar thing about traveling. Sometimes the most valuable lessons don’t reveal themselves until long after you’ve returned home, unpacked your bags, and resumed whatever passes for normal life.
When asked which country sits at the top of my bucket list, several possibilities come to mind. However, Morocco has occupied a particularly interesting corner of my curiosity for some time, and not necessarily for the reasons one might expect.
My interest in Morocco began, in part, through my studies of faith. Over the years, I’ve discovered that many of my personal beliefs and philosophical ideals align with teachings associated with Sufism, the mystical and contemplative traditions within Islam. I’m particularly interested in the relationship between faith, personal understanding, and the ongoing examination of one’s place in the world. I’ve never believed that knowledge should be confined to a particular classroom, institution, or method of instruction. Life has a rather effective way of teaching lessons, sometimes with considerably less patience than the average instructor.
My cousin, who is a practicing Sufi, has visited Morocco several times. During our conversations, she has spoken about the country with a particular affection, describing what she considers its magic. I enjoy hearing about her experiences, especially because our shared interest in Sufism provides another dimension to those discussions. Her enthusiasm is infectious, although I remain conscious of our tendency to remember the things we love about a place while allowing the less pleasant details to fade into the background.
That’s not a criticism of my cousin. It’s simply human nature. We all do it to some extent, whether we’re discussing a country we’ve visited, a relationship we’ve experienced, or that wonderful restaurant we remember from twenty years ago. Of course, returning to that restaurant sometimes reveals that the food wasn’t nearly as extraordinary as we remembered. Apparently, nostalgia has a rather generous seasoning policy.
Still, her descriptions have encouraged me to learn more about Morocco, particularly its historical relationship with Sufism and the various cultural traditions that have developed around it. I would welcome the opportunity to visit historical religious institutions, explore places associated with Sufi scholarship, and perhaps encounter communities where these traditions remain part of everyday life. Not because I’m searching for some grand spiritual awakening, but because I believe there’s value in experiencing the living expressions of ideas one has previously encountered through study.
Reading about a tradition and witnessing how people incorporate it into their lives are two entirely different experiences. Neither necessarily invalidates the other, but together they can provide a more complete understanding. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that understanding becomes considerably more difficult when we convince ourselves that we’ve already acquired all the knowledge worth having.
Beyond its spiritual significance, Morocco interests me because of its cultural and historical complexity. Its Amazigh, Arab, African, and Mediterranean influences have contributed to a society shaped by centuries of interaction, adaptation, and change. The architecture, historical cities, traditional crafts, and landscapes certainly offer plenty worth exploring, but I suspect my greatest interest would lie in the ordinary lives unfolding around them.
I would like to spend time outside the usual tourist destinations, although I have nothing against visiting the famous attractions. If I’m going to travel halfway around the world, I certainly don’t intend to ignore something remarkable simply because someone had the audacity to put it in a brochure. However, I don’t want my entire experience determined by carefully arranged itineraries designed to present a country in its most flattering light.
I’d rather see Morocco as it is, or at least as much of it as a visitor can reasonably hope to understand.
That distinction matters. I don’t believe there’s some secret, authentic Morocco hidden away from tourists, waiting for an adventurous foreigner to discover it. The people living in its busiest cities are no less representative of their country than those living in smaller communities. What interests me is the opportunity to experience different aspects of daily life without everything being filtered through the expectations of tourism.
Perhaps that means spending an afternoon in a neighborhood café, wandering through a market, visiting a smaller town, or simply observing the rhythms of a community going about its business. I don’t necessarily need every experience to be extraordinary. Sometimes the ordinary provides a far more revealing glimpse into a society than its most celebrated monuments.
Having traveled internationally before, I’m familiar with the learning curve that accompanies entering another culture. Customs differ, social expectations change, and things that seem perfectly reasonable at home may be interpreted quite differently elsewhere. I’ve generally found that approaching people with respect for their traditions and a willingness to learn goes a long way toward making those differences manageable.
Does that mean everything always goes smoothly? Of course not. Misunderstandings happen, and occasionally you discover that what you thought you understood was completely wrong. Fortunately, I’ve had considerable practice being wrong over the years, so the experience is no longer particularly traumatic. Well, most of the time.
The important thing is remembering that I’m the visitor. I don’t expect another country to rearrange its customs or cultural expectations to accommodate my preferences. If anything, part of the value of traveling comes from stepping outside those familiar expectations and recognizing that the world has developed perfectly functional ways of doing things without consulting me first.
Imagine that.
Naturally, I would bring my camera and notebook. Photography and writing have become inseparable from how I experience the world, although I wouldn’t approach Morocco with a predetermined collection or story in mind. I’d photograph whatever catches my attention and write about the things that move me. Perhaps it would be the architecture of an ancient city, the changing light across the Atlas Mountains, or a conversation with someone whose experiences are vastly different from my own.
Then again, it might be something entirely unexpected.
Some of my favorite photographs have emerged from moments I wasn’t looking for, and some of my most meaningful reflections began with encounters that seemed insignificant at the time. I’ve learned not to underestimate those moments simply because they arrive without fanfare. Life rarely announces when it’s about to teach us something worth remembering.
And that, perhaps, is what attracts me most to the possibility of visiting Morocco.
I’m not expecting perfection, nor am I particularly interested in pursuing someone else’s romanticized vision of the country. Morocco undoubtedly has its frustrations, contradictions, and challenges, just as every other country I’ve visited has had its own. I don’t consider those realities reasons to avoid a place. They’re part of what makes it a living society rather than an elaborate display assembled for the convenience of visitors.
I also don’t require the journey to produce some profound transformation. If I returned home having enjoyed myself, met interesting people, learned a few things, and acquired memories worth keeping, I would consider the experience worthwhile. Not every journey needs to alter the course of one’s existence. Sometimes it’s enough to have gone somewhere unfamiliar, experienced something different, and returned with a slightly broader understanding of the world.
Of course, I remain open to whatever knowledge the experience might offer. I’ve never believed wisdom belongs exclusively to scholars, religious leaders, or people with impressive collections of letters following their names. Knowledge comes in many forms, and some of the most valuable things I’ve learned were taught by individuals who probably had no idea they were teaching me anything.
That doesn’t mean accepting every idea without question. Curiosity and discernment aren’t mutually exclusive. In fact, I would argue that one becomes considerably more useful when accompanied by the other.
So, Morocco remains near the top of my bucket list. Not because I expect to find answers to life’s great mysteries wandering through its ancient streets, nor because I believe its landscapes will somehow transform me into a more enlightened version of myself.
I’m interested because there’s a country I haven’t experienced, a culture I’d like to understand better, and a spiritual heritage that connects with ideas I’ve spent considerable time contemplating. My cousin has shared her experiences and the magic she has found there, but I’d like the opportunity to discover what Morocco means to me.
Perhaps I’ll find some of that magic she speaks of.
Perhaps I’ll discover something entirely different.
Either way, I suspect I’ll return with a few photographs, several pages of notes, and enough stories to keep me occupied for a while.
And if I learn something along the way?
Well, that’s just one more reason to go.
