I just spent three weeks in Morocco. Two weeks travelling with a group of women I’d never met before, followed by one week with my husband. What I expected was beautiful landscapes, incredible food and culture shock. I got all of that. What I didn’t expect was how much the trip would make me reflect on empathy, curiosity, my privilege and the beautifully complicated nature of human connection.

Before Morocco, Islam wasn’t something I had ever really been immersed in. I know Muslim people and I have Muslim friends, but Islam itself has always existed around me rather than in my everyday experience. In Morocco, it’s woven into everyday life.

Being immersed in that way of life and learning about it directly from kind and thoughtful locals gave me a completely different perspective. It reminded me how important it is to learn about people directly from the people, rather than from whatever version the media chooses to show us. One thing Morocco reminded me very quickly is that two things can exist at once.

You can deeply respect a culture and still live differently to it and not fully agree with aspects of it. You can admire people’s devotion to religion while not personally being religious yourself or agreeing with aspects of it. You can be curious without needing to become that thing you are curious about.

Morocco doesn’t widely serve alcohol, although some places do, but you have to hunt them out. A group of women on holiday will always find a way. We discovered supermarkets and “patisseries” that sold wine, and after long days, we’d enjoy a few glasses together back in our rooms or on the rooftop. Ahmed, fully aware of what we were doing, would smile and say, “Enjoy your mint tea, ladies” while probably internally eye-rolling us.

After buying my Quran, he took me aside and explained to me just how sacred this book is. Apparently, I couldn’t drink wine around it, swear around it, or play my music around it either. At one point I joked that I might need to get the Quran its own hotel room because I wasn’t sure my personality was fully compatible. It still isn’t. He told me to wrap it in my favourite item of clothing when I get home and put it somewhere safe. It feels like a bigger responsibility than I signed up for. But I’ll try my best to be a good girl around it, Inshallah.

We were all different women from different walks of life, but what bonded us was that we had all taken this leap of faith to travel across the world together. We shared stories about motherhood, relationships, work, life, fears, dreams and everything in between while winding through mountain roads, drinking endless mint tea, endless “mint tea” and eating kilos of bread.

Morocco will never let you go hungry. There is bread before the meal, with the meal and always supporting the meal. We quickly learnt about day one, day two and day three bread. The older it is, the harder it becomes. But I still ate it.

By the end of the trip I was 30% mint tea, 20% “mint tea” and 50% bread and grateful for all of it.

I loved wandering through the souks by myself with nobody else’s schedule to follow. I loved shopping alone, stopping where I wanted, sitting for mint tea when I felt like it, getting lost down little alleyways and taking my time. I realised I’m completely comfortable in my own company, and that’s something I really love about myself.

This trip reminded me that I know myself really well now. I know what I need, I know when I need space, and I’m unapologetically myself in that. There’s something really freeing about reaching a point in your life where you stop trying to force yourself to exist the way you think you’re “supposed” to. And to say no and feel completely comfortable saying no when something doesn’t align with you.

I think travel has a beautiful way of reaffirming who you already are.

At first my brain was doing its usual overthinking thing:

Who else has been on this floor?

Was this floor disinfected? Do I look fat?

What exactly is happening here?

Then eventually I just let go and said to myself:

Fuck it - when in Morocco Kelly!

The washing itself was somewhat aggressive. No relaxing spa music and cucumber water like Bali. More like being sandpapered back to life. They scrubbed every inch of dead skin off us, flipped us over like rotisserie chickens, threw buckets of water over our heads and tugged us around while we all lay there crying laughing.

At one point I decided I may as well fully commit to the experience and tried to communicate with my hands that I’d like to wash my own fanny and bum so I wouldn’t need another shower later. The woman nodded enthusiastically once she understood my hand motions, grabbed my hand and marched me over to a bucket. She handed me soap, supervised the process like it was a totally normal thing to do, then proceeded to pour water down both the front and back of my underwear to rinse the soap out - except Kathy happened to be lying directly below me, so all of the water went all over her. Sorry Kathy!

Another thing I really struggled with emotionally was the animal tourism in Marrakech, particularly in the main square, Jemaa el-Fnaa. There were snake charmers, monkeys chained up wearing nappies, animals in cages being used for photos. It hurt my heart.

People would constantly approach saying,

“Photo? Photo?” And every part of me wanted to say:

No. This isn’t okay. This is cruel! You are bad!

But again, I found myself sitting in that uncomfortable space where two things can exist at once. I can deeply disagree with something and refuse to support it, while also recognising that this has likely been somebody’s livelihood for generations.

Who am I to fly across the world and tell people what is right and wrong in their own country?

And yet, even writing this now, part of me feels uncomfortable admitting it.

Not because I’m not grateful for the experience, but because I think when you spend time being confronted with hardship, poverty and the vast differences in how people live, you become hyper-aware of your own privilege.

I’m still learning that gratitude and guilt don’t have to be the same thing. That you can deeply care about the world and still allow yourself moments of joy, excitement and beauty too.

Most of all, Morocco reminded me that two things really can exist at once.

Beauty and hardship. Joy and guilt. Connection and independence. Curiosity and disagreement.

The Moroccan people I met had a deep, unshakeable connection to their faith, their rituals and their way of life. It was different to mine in almost every way. And yet they accepted me completely, “mint tea” and all. And me, them.

Maybe that’s what travel is all about. To crack you open just enough to let a little more of the world in. To remind you that most people are just doing their best, and that sitting with the discomfort of not having all the answers is ok. And that my tiny, yet beautiful life is just a speck in this extraordinary world. What a privilege to be in it and to explore it.