… out of the oasis and into the big city. If Chefchaouen was a swirling mass of blue Earth, Fès was the entire galaxy. 600 acres of tiny cobbled streets, hee-hawing donkeys, buzzing motorbikes, and shouts of ‘balak!’–watch out, get out of the way! It was disorienting to pick up and move cities so quickly, but oh, did we learn to recalculate and navigate, if only to not be in the way. Balak! Similar to how one retreats inside herself to find solace and stability, it’s because

Everything that happened before and everything that would happen after paused so I could connect the dots and see how, collectively, they all made sense. Life slows down when you’re mindful. On the third night of our trip in Morocco, and our first in Chefchaouen, we procured our first bottle of Moroccan wine, popped it open on the rooftop of our riad, waited for the sun to set, and listened for the day’s penultimate call to prayer to sing out. As if through honey, the movemen

Tangier swarmed and swelled. Winds raced through the crowded city streets, men ogled and catcalled, making us glad we heeded the advice to dress conservatively–despite the humid heat. To the north, we could see Spain. To the south, unknown. We came to Tangier first; as if in order to understand our journey and ourselves we’d have to carry the torch that we unknowingly lit on prior trips to Europe, watch how the flame flickered as it ferried across the Mediterranean and then b