One Last Trip: A Journey to Marrakesh

Getting to Marrakesh felt like part of the adventure itself. Four hours on the train each way gives you time to watch Morocco slowly shift—cities softening into countryside, colors changing, conversations fading in and out. It’s long enough to feel the distance, but comfortable enough to let your mind wander. By the time I arrived, I felt ready for something different.

And Marrakesh is different.

Even as someone who’s been living in Morocco, it immediately felt touristy—and not in a subtle way. The medina buzzed with a different kind of energy: louder, faster, more performative. Shops felt curated for visitors, languages layered over one another, and it was impossible not to notice how aware the city is of being seen. That doesn’t make it bad—it just makes it distinct. Marrakesh knows it’s famous.

Tucked inside the medina, though, I found a quiet pause at the Secret Garden. Stepping through its doors felt like exhaling. The noise dulled, the crowds thinned, and suddenly there was water, symmetry, and calm. It was a reminder that even in the most chaotic places, Morocco always leaves room for stillness—if you know where to look.

Another highlight was the Yves Saint Laurent Gardens. Walking through them felt like moving through a living color palette—cobalt blues, bright yellows, rich greens, sharp lines softened by plants. It was beautiful in a polished, intentional way, and a fascinating contrast to the organic chaos of the medina just outside the walls.

But the moment that will stay with me longest happened far from the city.

Before dawn, I climbed into a hot air balloon just outside Marrakesh, wrapped in layers against the cold, watching the burners flare against the dark sky. As the sun began to rise, the balloon lifted gently off the ground, and suddenly the world was quiet. Below us, the land stretched out in muted browns and greens, the Atlas Mountains standing steady in the distance.

From above, everything slowed.

We watched the world wake up—light creeping over the mountains, shadows shifting, villages emerging softly from the dark. There was no rush, no noise, no need to understand anything. Just the feeling of being suspended between night and day, held in a moment that felt both vast and deeply personal.

Marrakesh may have felt touristy, busy, and overwhelming at times—but that morning in the sky reminded me why people come here in the first place. Some experiences rise above the crowds, quite literally, and leave you with a quiet sense of awe that lingers long after you’ve touched the ground again.

And after another four-hour train ride home, I carried that sunrise with me—proof that even the most visited places can still surprise you.