Morocco in October: 3 Powerful Ingredients for an Extraordinary Adventure
When I look back on my travels, certain places leave a mark that feel deeper and more impactful than others. Morocco was one of those places. During a 7-week journey that took me through multiple countries, my 10 days in North Africa became a clear highlight—an experience that stood out in ways at first I couldn’t quite put into words.
Friends and family have asked me why Morocco had such an impact on me, and honestly, I’ve been stumbling to find the right way to explain it. What was it about those moments that made this trip so extraordinary?
This is my first real attempt to answer that question—not through a list of must-see spots or itineraries, but through three stories that I think hold the answer. They center around a strong nudge out of my comfort zone, a breathtaking dose of awe, and the unexpected yet deeply meaningful connection between women.
Let me take you back to my Morocco experience in all its colourful, chaotic, and captivating glory.
OUT OF MY COMFORT ZONE: Lost and Found in the Marrakech Souk
Marrakech Souk treasures
Stepping into the Marrakech souk felt like entering a living labyrinth—a maze of narrow alleyways that twisted and turned, often leading to dead ends. My senses were overloaded from the very first step inside. Over 3,000 merchants line the ancient market, stalls overflowing with vibrant fabrics, intricate lanterns, polished teapots, and stacks of gorgeous pottery. Pyramids of spices in every shade of red, orange, and gold tower alongside cheap trinkets and handmade treasures. It is colourful, chaotic, and utterly captivating.
The air buzzed with the hum of haggling voices, the occasional roar of a motorbike cutting through the tightly packed crowd, and the squeaky wheels of donkey carts. At one point, a cart piled high with bananas forced the throng to scatter, squeezing against walls and trying not to topple a precarious display of pottery. I was so focused on not losing my travel companion in the swirl of people that I barely had time to truly take it all in.
Every once in a while, though—admittedly, not as often as I’d like—I managed to slow down and let the souk’s sensory magic wash over me. The earthy, spicy aromas of turmeric, saffron, and cinnamon mingled with the occasional waft of grilling meat. Around every corner, the sounds seemed to shift: merchants calling out their wares, animated bargaining in multiple languages, and the sudden interruption of a motorbike revving much too close for comfort, snapping me out of my daze!
And then there was the little girl.
We got lost—of course—and in the chaos, a sweet-looking girl with silky black curls appeared. Smiling up at us, she said, “To the square? I show you.” It felt like a scene out of a movie. She darted in and out of the crowd, her head popping up now and then to make sure we were following her. She was so confident, so certain, and for a moment, we let ourselves be swept up in her momentum.
But as we followed, other children emerged from the shadows, their faces hopeful. The girl waved them off with a commanding, dismissive gesture. That’s when it hit us. We’d been “caught.” This was her hustle, and soon enough, we’d be expected to pay for her guidance. My companion and I exchanged a knowing look. As tempting as it was to reward her cleverness, we didn’t want to encourage children to stop attending school for this kind of work. When she motioned for us to continue following her, we smiled and said, Non, merci! before turning back the way we came.
Of course, that left us still thoroughly lost. But by then, we’d surrendered to the chaos and decided to laugh it off. A teenage boy working in a nearby stall, who must have witnessed this same scene play out dozens of times, chuckled and kindly pointed us in the right direction.
Finally, the souk spit us out, and we found ourselves in the sprawling Jemaa el-Fnaa, the Medina’s vibrant main square. We spotted the towering minaret of the Koutoubia Mosque and used it as our visual compass. As we weaved through henna artists, snake charmers, and vendors aggressively selling everything from street food to slippers, we felt like we’d stepped into yet another world entirely.
Jemaa el-Fnaa
Nearby, we discovered a peaceful garden—a small oasis bordering the square. For two introverts who’d spent the last hours completely out of their comfort zones, it was a welcome haven. Sitting there, surrounded by meticulously planted gardens, we caught our breath, laughed at our little adventure, and marvelled at the wild, unpredictable beauty of cultural experiences. And it was just Day 1—there was much more to follow!
AWE in the Atlas Mountains
When I first read the group tour description for the Moroccan Women’s Expedition, hiking in the Atlas Mountains immediately called to me. It promised a connection to nature and a glimpse into life beyond Morocco’s bustling cities. I wanted a less touristy experience, something I wasn’t quite ready to tackle solo or piece together on my own. The itinerary struck the perfect balance—active days, cultural immersion, and a pace that felt manageable for me (mostly flat terrain, with 20 kilometres being the longest day).
What I experienced was far more extraordinary than I could have imagined.
Mother Nature has created an exquisite pocket of raw, rugged beauty in the Atlas Mountains. Snow-capped peaks reach to the bluest sky above striated red cliffs dotted with juniper bushes, while lush green gardens weave their way along the valley floor. The landscape is so striking it almost doesn’t feel real—a blend of extremes that seem straight out of a fairytale.
The Imazighen people of North Africa, who have called these mountains home for centuries, have a culture distinct from those living in the bustling cities of Morocco. They live simply, are deeply connected to the land, and speak a different language (Berber). To my delight, once we reached the mountain village of Bou Tharar, we said goodbye to the 15-passenger van for four blissful days and stepped into a privileged glimpse of this Berber way of life. There were no cars, no stores, no cell service—just us, the mountain trails and the rhythm of village life.
Mules carried our luggage, our meals were prepared the traditional way (fresh bread baked in wood-fired ovens, hearty tagines simmered over single burners, numerous glasses of sweet Moroccan tea), and our shared accommodations were often very basic: thin mats on a floor, showers of trickling cold water, squat toilets, and not a sign of tourist-luxury. I LOVED IT. The people who hosted us were warm and welcoming, the food was tasty and plentiful, and there was always electricity to charge our well-used cameras!
Our hiking days were sublime. Our trekking guide was the first female licensed hiking guide in the country. She was 64 with a mischievous smile that hinted at marvellous stories she might have shared if we could speak the same language! We followed her through landscapes that felt like walking into a painting. Villages made of red clay seemed to melt into the mountain crevices so that they felt like an extension of the land itself. On a couple of occasions, we removed our hiking boots to wade through a river gorge. Looking up, I marvelled at cliffs adorned with ribbons of sediment; looking down, I felt humbled by the raw beauty of the cold water flowing over red, green, and golden rocks beneath my sandals.
On the third day, something in me shifted further. The awe I’d been feeling deepened. It no longer felt like I was walking through a painting—I was in it - I was part of it, not just looking at it or admiring it from the outside. We left the village just before sunrise that morning, climbing hills that passed nomad caves and wound along cliffs of loose rock. Our guide kept a steady, safe pace, and our group of ten women walked mostly in quiet reverence. Occasionally, small conversations would bubble up, but more often, we simply walked, letting the vastness of the mountains pull us deeper into awe.
As the sun rose higher, we stripped off layers, slathered on sunscreen, and sipped from our water bottles. When we paused to rest—either beside a riverbed or halfway up a hillside—we’d snack on dates, nuts, and bits of chocolate. The mules and their handlers, always ahead of us, set up the most magical surprise: a picnic in a sun-drenched valley near an empty nomad dwelling. Carpets and pillows were laid out and bread baked in the traditional nomadic way—on hot rocks—filled the air with its earthy aroma. We ate, laughed, sipped mint tea, and felt utterly alive.
Of course, it wasn’t all picture-perfect. There was also the less glamorous reality of squatting to pee in an animal cave, surrounded by a carpet of goat dung. Travel has its humbling moments.
Later that day, we linked arms to cross rivers swollen from an unusual downpour earlier in the week. Unlike many rivers back home in North America, the stones here weren’t slick with algae; instead, they were muddy and secure. Each step felt like a small adventure—thrillingly wild yet safe and supported by the togetherness of the group.
We all shared our photos…this one taken by someone who made it to the other side of the river!
In the Company of SOLO WOMEN TRAVELLERS
Though I spent a week solo in Versailles, I didn’t register for this tour as a solo traveller—my girlfriend and I had planned this adventure together. We met in Paris before flying to Marrakech, ready to embark on a journey we’d dreamed about for months. Our friendship had started four years earlier through virtual work and had already been cemented by a whirlwind trip to the Yukon one snowy February. Still, we made a pact before meeting the rest of the tour group: we’d approach the tour as if we were solo. We’d sit apart on the bus, walk with other people, and blend into the group, letting the experience unfold independently for each of us.
Our group consisted of 10 women, including a mother-daughter pair, my friend and me, and a collection of solo travellers from all over the world: four from the UK, two from the US, three of us from Canada, and one from Australia. We ranged in age from 24 to 64, and our backgrounds were as varied as our passports—finance, tech, geology, medicine, nursing, teaching, food science, social work, volunteer coordination, and me! Many of us were happy introverts, and all of us shared a desire to connect with Morocco in a way that felt deeper, and less traditional.
This was my first time on a guided tour, apart from a few day trips, and my first experience with a women-only expedition. I suspect that horror stories exist: personality clashes and group dynamics that drain the joy from the journey rather than enhancing it. But this group was the complete opposite. From the start, we clicked. We genuinely liked each other, and over the course of the week, that initial camaraderie deepened into something special. Our connection was nurtured by the beautiful way our tour leader showed us her country. Full of pride, vulnerability, and honesty, she held space for our group to dip our toes into her world and was always the first to sing and dance joyfully!
The initial seven-hour bus ride from Marrakech to the mountains was quiet. Adjusting to the new culture and shifting scenery seemed to pull us all inward. That first night, though, the mountains came alive with drama. We watched a storm roll in as the skies darkened, and by morning fresh snow capped the peaks, while the valleys had turned into nearly impassable muddy quagmires. The uncertainty of the day’s hiking itinerary amplified our excitement and while there was some initial disappointment at the change to a hike on higher ground, it came with a silver lining: unscheduled time together.
We hiked to a homestay in Agouti—a simple and traditional clay mud house. It had a flush toilet, a squat toilet, and a shower that trickled cold water. The windows didn’t have glass, just shutters, so the rooms were very cold. We huddled around low tables on pillows, each of us wrapped in thick wool blankets, sharing warmth and stories. With no Wi-Fi or phones to distract us, we did something almost rare these days–we talked. And talked. Our tour leader told us stories of growing up in Morocco, and we began to open up, sharing the experiences and motivations that had brought us here.
As the week unfolded, those conversations blossomed into connection. We sang together, giggled and belly laughed, and danced. We asked questions about the cultural differences we were encountering, uncovering layers of curiosity and understanding. We celebrated each other’s strengths, found comfort in our vulnerabilities, and bonded over shared meals. There’s something magical about food—it softens edges and draws people closer. And when you’re eating freshly baked bread and steaming tagines with women from across the globe, that magic is amplified.
In hindsight, I think the uniqueness of the tour itself played a big role in shaping the group dynamic. It wasn’t just any guided tour, it was specifically designed for women, with an intentional focus on nature, connection, culture, and the unexpected. That shared purpose seemed to draw together like-minded travellers, creating a group that felt united from the start.
Was this tight, supportive group of women travelers a once-in-a-lifetime experience? Maybe. But what I do know is that small group tours designed with purpose have won me over. They won’t be my only way of travelling, but they’ve earned a place in my evolving approach to exploring the world. Sometimes, the best adventures happen when you let go of the reins a little and trust in the magic of shared journeys.
Morocco in October was everything I needed it to be.
Travel has a way of surprising us. It pulls us out of our routines, shows us the beauty of the unfamiliar, and challenges us to see the world—and ourselves—with fresh eyes. My journey through Morocco in October was no exception. From the sensory whirlwind of the souks to the breathtaking stillness of the Atlas Mountains, and from the camaraderie of women from all walks of life, each moment layered upon the last to create an experience I’ll carry with me forever.
In the labyrinth of the Souk, I was reminded to surrender to the chaos, to let go of control, and embrace the unknown.
In the Atlas Mountains, I found awe not just in the rugged beauty of the landscapes but in the simplicity of slowing down and being present.
And in the company of inspiring women, I rediscovered the joy of connection—a sort of sisterhood that transcends nationalities, age, and background.
Looking back on this adventure, I know I’ve grown in ways I didn’t anticipate. I’ve learned to see the beauty in chaos, to trust my strength as I step out of my comfort zone, and to be open because the unexpected often holds the greatest gifts.
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