Oddly, my suitcase was much emptier on the flight back from Morocco than the flight there. I'd like to think that after weeks perfecting my daily packing ritual, I had finally gotten it down. While this may play a small role, it probably has more to do with the articles of clothing left behind in various hostels over the past weeks, the state of my remaining wardrobe (full of holes and desert sand), and the very sad fact that I didn't buy anything in Morocco.
Initially overwhelmed with the sensory stimulus of the market souks, and then loathe to cart tea cups and carpet bags around the country, I kept a running list of things that I wanted to pick up on my last day in Marrakesh, right before I left. Unfortunately for me, this date happened to correspond with a national sheep sacrificing holiday, memorializing the day God told Abraham he must prove his faith by sacrificing his son and then sending an angel to intervene. The angel told Abraham he could sacrifice a sheep instead, and this has become an annual tradition throughout Islamic countries, and a reason to close up shop for the day.
So, in lieu of scouting for Moroccan treasures, I spent my last day in Marrakesh drinking pot after pot of mint tea, and siesta-ing on the terrace. I am going to miss these rooftop evenings, the beautiful cry of the muezzin echoing from the top of the mosque, the pace life takes while waiting for tea to cool. And so, while I'm leaving without any leather bags, ceramic bowls, or tin lanterns, I'm not coming back completely empty handed. When I get home, I'll still have these rituals which will work their way into my everyday life, and in this way, Morocco will stay with me.
(Although, I don't think the sand is ever going to get out of my hair or my pockets.)
Initially overwhelmed with the sensory stimulus of the market souks, and then loathe to cart tea cups and carpet bags around the country, I kept a running list of things that I wanted to pick up on my last day in Marrakesh, right before I left. Unfortunately for me, this date happened to correspond with a national sheep sacrificing holiday, memorializing the day God told Abraham he must prove his faith by sacrificing his son and then sending an angel to intervene. The angel told Abraham he could sacrifice a sheep instead, and this has become an annual tradition throughout Islamic countries, and a reason to close up shop for the day.
So, in lieu of scouting for Moroccan treasures, I spent my last day in Marrakesh drinking pot after pot of mint tea, and siesta-ing on the terrace. I am going to miss these rooftop evenings, the beautiful cry of the muezzin echoing from the top of the mosque, the pace life takes while waiting for tea to cool. And so, while I'm leaving without any leather bags, ceramic bowls, or tin lanterns, I'm not coming back completely empty handed. When I get home, I'll still have these rituals which will work their way into my everyday life, and in this way, Morocco will stay with me.
(Although, I don't think the sand is ever going to get out of my hair or my pockets.)
