Travel Archives - Adham's Blog

Carthage Diaries 02: Kidnapped, Fed, and Welcomed

“Revive me today and kill me tomorrow.”

These are the words of my taxi driver in Tunis. Taxi drivers are a great source of inspiration.

Tunisians are kind and generous. On the street they seem a bit more serious than Egyptians who are joking in any possible situation. I always wonder what events in the history shaped the collective mood of a nation. Whether it is winning/losing a war, or for example works of literature or art that influences everyone.

I visited the Punic and Roman ruins of Carthage, a city of big history that was completely destroyed by the romans. Before that destruction, its general Hannibal marched his army through Spain, crossed the Alps, and spent fifteen years fighting and winning the worst lost battles of the Roman Empire. He marched from the north to Cannae, further than Rome. He did not march to Rome. Nobody knows why.

The problem is that we may never know, because the history that survived was written exclusively by the Romans, who later burned Carthage’s libraries with all the books in Carthage.

Similar to civilisations, unless we document things ourself, what will remain of us is what the others tell about us. I guess this is one reason I am writing here. But also interesting is to imagine, what others would tell about your “civilisation” when you are gone. Probably the truth is distributed between what you think of yourself and what the others think of you. And as. They say, each of us exists differently in every mind that thinks of us. The versions of you that live in your mother’s perception, in a colleague’s, in a stranger’s who watched you once on the metro are not the same person. And none of them is actually you. Neither is what you think is you! We are probably the overlapping region of several Venn diagrams: some of what we believe about ourselves, some of what the others perceive, and what remains true beyond both. I spent a lot of time alone in Tunisia, reflecting and sorting out my thoughts about my life. On the other hand, I have had a few great conversations, specially with Amel, the English language university professor that definitely enriched my perspective on Tunisian lives as well as mine.

If you’ve read this far: I invite you to also enrich my perspective, There’s an anonymous form below. Tell me something I should change or some aspect I could improve. Just be a bit kind hehe.

Amel introduced me to many other beautiful souls, Hajer, Omar, Asma and Malak. They were my window into the Tunisian society with their projects and their dreams. They nicely “kidnapped me” after midnight for a late snack at 2:30 am. I have now officially made new friends in Tunisia and will be back one day.

Carthage Diaries 01: Always Negotiate

You are not the same person at the time of planning and the time of doing. You book your holidays with a certain need that might not be there when your trip starts. A core difference between a backpacker and a regular traveler is the versatility adapted to introspection. Plans force you to comply, so you serve the trip instead of the trip serving you. Maybe this doesn’t apply to people with less temperament who maintain a constant state of being (genau). I came to Tunisia after night shifts in the emergency department with a few very sick patients. I needed to eat, sleep and dance.

Living in the developed world rewires you. You get used to the fact that actions have predictable consequences. Do this, get that. The Middle East doesn’t work like this. And that’s its magic. No matter what you do, you cannot predict what happens next.
On my first night, past midnight, a taxi driver was taking me home. As it always does with Tunisian men, the conversation found its way to football, we have a long rivalry between Egyptian and Tunisian clubs. I asked, almost casually, whether any good matches were coming up. One of the strongest derbies in the country was happening the next day. I asked about tickets. He told me it is probably sold out, and then added: you could also just show up at the stadium and tell them you’re Egyptian. I didn’t think that could possibly work.
The next afternoon I approached the stadium to find it ringed by police checkpoints. At the first one, I said I had no ticket, that I was an Egyptian tourist. The officer looked at me and said: you have no chance, but go ahead and try.
Three years ago I would have turned around at the first refusal and gone home. But I had learned something.

Flashback (like in the movies):
In Dubai, my cousin, a young professor of finance, had once talked our way into a fully booked museum. The tickets were sold out, the desk lady said so immediately, and I was already turning to go. But he simply stayed. He explained that we had come from other continents and that this was spontaneous, that we had no chance to wait. He showed zero intention of leaving without a ticket. And then, somehow, the lady did something on her computer and let us in. (End of flashback, heheh)

That memory came back to me at the second checkpoint, where three officers refused me, but one who appeared to be their superior said: actually, why not? Go and try. Tell them you’re Egyptian. So I did. I went to the gate and told the same story one more time. They pointed me toward a man who looked like a mafia boss, talking on the phone, bossy presence, and people slightly lowered their heads when they talked to him. He listened and nodded, and that nod was my ticket to the game.
It was a full 90 minutes of songs, noise, and action. One of the highlights of the trip. And I walked out having learned something I’m still carrying: always negotiate. Even when you think you don’t need to.

I was ironing my shirt in a mediocre hotel in Tunis, thinking about this trip, about the choices I make when I travel, and I realized I consistently choose the unorthodox. Because I want unusual experiences. Experiences tailored to my interests. In a world where we increasingly have less originality, fewer true individual thoughts and more generalized „woke“, very few people have their “special sauce.” Traveling is great for collecting ingredients for your special sauce of personality. The strangeness of the combination you gather from different places is the point.
We don’t invent. We shuffle. Concepts, words, materials, feelings. We rearrange the universe’s existing inventory and call it creation, and we claim it for ourselves. In Tunisia, I found more spices for my sauce.

Thai Days #4: Side Mirrors, Side Roads, and Side Steps in Phuket

The scene of a white man and a Thai woman is something you see daily. Often, the man is older. I personally don’t judge these men who seek feminine energy in times of scrambled gender roles and energies. These women, too, are probably seeking something and it doesn’t always seem to be money. I am yet to interview one of these nice Thai ladies. So far, my contact with them has been limited to being catcalled: “You are sooo handsaaaaa.” Thai people like to stretch words, drop consonants at the end, and speak in what sounds like a high pitch. It was our national sport, Pedrito and I, to immitate them the whole day, untill the commander a.k.a Arm, asked us: “why do you guys speak like this?”. Not much later did Arm recognize the pattern which to native Thai speakers goes unnoticed.

With Pedrito and Arm, we spent three nights in Phuket, starting by renting a car, which meant I had to drive on the other side of the road, like in England. It was my first time, and on numerous occasions I almost ended up in the wrong lane or even on the wrong road altogether. I even knocked off another car’s side mirror, simply because I wasn’t used to calculating the car’s far dimension on the left side. Thankfully, Arm and I could just clip the guy’s mirror back into place.

Also thankfully, I didn’t cause an accident despite the sudden things that appear on Thai roads. And even more thankfully, Pedrito didn’t cause an accident either, despite his Balkan-style aggressive driving, which seems to be the case regardless of which side of the road, or which side of the world, he’s on.

These risky behaviours, like driving in Thailand, come with rewards. They allow you to discover restaurants in the middle of nowhere, or resorts in the middle of nowhere, with maybe ten guests and coconut trees stretching endlessly on both sides. After getting burned by the sun that is far too close to the equator, we engaged in other activities: Pedrito teaching me jiu-jitsu drills on the beach, or us trying to knock coconuts down from palm trees by throwing older coconuts at them. After several failed attempts, the resort staff brought a ladder and got us the freshest coconuts I have ever had.

Our time in Phuket was split between eating (Arm does an excellent job recommending food), driving to places (Arm does a horrible job with logistics), being on the beach, and attending bachata parties. After the first night of dancing bachata, the local organiser noticed us and asked if he could use us to promote his next event the following day: “Three guest European dancers” aka, us.

There were numerous Russian women in the dancing community, and I didn’t see a single Russian man. The parties were fun, and I used my wingman skills in the hope of facilitating romantic connections. “I haven’t felt like this for a long time” was the feedback a few days later. Feedback that thrills any loyal member of the International Wingmen Club. Our next stop is Koh Tao Island, or Koh Taaaaaaaaaoo.

Thai Days #3: Napalm Fish, Motorbikes, and Muay Thai in Dangerous Bangkok

In a nice Thai restaurant, Arm asked Pedrito and me if we “can handle” the spicy fish he was about to order. Our sweet toxic masculinity jumped in to say, “Of course!” The fish came decorated with green peppercorns and baby chili with some sweet and sour sauce. Pedrito gave up after a few bites; for me it was delicious (and spicy), but my ego refused to admit that it was probably a better idea to delegate the fishy-task to Arm. What I also learned, is that you should not drink soda after stuffing your food with spicy food; the combination is more like a nuclear reaction, like a volcanic lava that tries to jump out in the form of reflux. Already on the walk after dinner, I felt that some of this napalm ended up in my lungs, making the top of my chest burn. Luckily, the bachata party afterward helped digest the fish and its friends inside my stomach.

The few days we spent in Bangkok had an unbreakable routine. We had a daily gym session, ate Pad Thai, which is THE typical Thai dish, had a daily late-night back massage, and ended the day with pancakes from food stalls with banana or mango. Between these essential activities, we explored and discovered crazy Bangkok, which reminds me of Cairo in many aspects. Having almost the same population as Cairo but spread out on 3x the area of Cairo, which makes Cairo more crowded. Nevertheless, it was very crowded, and we sometimes had to take motorbikes as a means of transportation instead of taxis since they are much faster and go through traffic like a hair in dough (Arabic expression). Even though, we barely managed to be on time for most of our appointments. Pedrito said that we were “playing with time” and I thought we were rather playing with destiny taking these motorbikes.

Thailand is the homeland of Muay Thai, a combat kickboxing sometimes named “the Art of Eight Limbs” since you can use fists, elbows, knees, and shins. Pedrito had tried it in the past and was determined to buy original Muay Thai shorts. Which looked like fancy underwear boxers with golden inscriptions. We also went to a Muay Thai event in the main stadium for these events, which was, for me, a highlight of our time in Bangkok. The event featured a few fights, mostly between international fighters. The fighters started by doing rituals in the corners of the ring and then started the actual fight, divided into 3 rounds. At the beginning, the level was good until we saw the later fighters who triggered many WOWs. In particular, there was a fight between “Mohammed” from Iran and a tall black “Christ” from the USA. It is difficult to believe that this fight was not staged, hehe. Mohammed finished Christ quickly with a knockout (nothing intended here). One fight was between two Thai fighters who initially looked like kids with their small bodies. However, once the fight started, you could easily see that this combat sport was born here. They were agile, and their punches were scary fast. This exciting fight ended up with a draw. The last fight was between a Thai champion and another from Taiwan. As exciting as it was, it lasted only less than a minute, where the Thai fighter did an air double kick with his knee ending in the bottom of the poor Taiwanese’s chin, who immediately fell to the ground, followed by a hurry of his trainer and the medics. The Taiwanese fighter was carried out in a wheelchair. This fight concluded the event that was very well-organized and very entertaining. Also the presenter was very charismatic in the “Let’s get ready to rumble!” style.

Bangkok treated us nicely. Piotry does not want to go home. We ate a lot, danced bachata with the locals, and went to jazz events with Arm and his friend Pete. I think we have experienced multiple levels of what Bangkok can offer. We also went for custom-tailored linen suits, which I am excited to see how they come out. Our next stop is Phuket, where we hope to tickle the sandy beaches, get tanned, and eat more Pad Thai and Roti pancakes.

Thai Days #2: The Holies and Unholies of Bangkok

Jetlagged, we woke up around 14:30 pm and rushed to the street for breakfast, thinking we lost half of the day. Khaosan Road is a main party street in Bangkok, crazy at night but so peaceful and quiet during the day. Pedrito and I had a serene breakfast while I contemplated his not-so-often-smiling face. I told him that today, I will have a smile-counter for him to have some statistics. This moment of serenity was not an indicator of the next 12 hours in this crazy city.

We had no plans and no to-do. We started walking randomly in one direction until a tuk-tuk offered us a tour for 40 Bhat (which is around 1.25 Swiss dollars). As Piotr (we also call him Pedrito) said when I asked him about the program, “He can take us where the fuck he wants”. Our first step was a tiny temple with some golden Buddhas. After 30 seconds of looking at the first Buddha temple, you ask yourself, “Now what?”. At this golden moment, a middle-aged Thai man who looked like he had a decent job entered and did some bowing, then came to us to strike up a small conversation. He said we were lucky to be in this temple because it opens one day per year, that Thai people come there when they start a new business or get married to get blessings, that he drove 13 hours for his brother’s wedding, and asked about the program of our tour and said that the planned visit to a textile “factory” was lucky since they had a promotion for custom-tailored suits. He wished us luck and went away while we took our tuk-tuk to the factory, which turned up to be a regular tailor shop with high prices, and the whole thing is a scam. Our tuk-tuk driver confessed that the tailor shop gives them coupons for the gas station to fill the tuk-tuk with gas for the whole day. Our next stop was a “tourist information center” which also turned out to be a scam. The woman lied when I asked her whether this “center” was affiliated with the government. When I said, i don’t want to book any tours, and I just want information,” she said something in Thai that I imagine meant, “Get the F* out, you cheap tourist.”. Our next stop was a Big Buddha temple. Pedrito reached the top of his enthusiasm when he said in a monotonic voice, “Yeah. It is big”.

We then took a boat trip in the canals of Bangkok. For me it was a movie in the cinema. Passing by houses of different economic statuses. Some poor ones that barely have some metal as a roof, and just beside them are glass-walled lofts or villas. It was very interesting to watch people doing random things in their decks; most of the time I had no idea what the person was doing. Some of the houses were shops selling unidentifiable things. This trip triggered a few philosophical conversations between me and Pedrito about the spectrum of human happiness. I pondered how many of them, probably poor, seemed to have a very slow pace of life that was difficult to imagine being stressful. Check this youtube viedeo about the boat tour.

After the tour we walked around, again randomly in any direction. Which took us to a live music concert with a local market, then we found ourselves in a flower market, which is a whole street selling flowers. I assumed it is since Buddhist people use flowers a lot in their temples and offerings.

Crazy things happen all the time. Timing is mostly crazier. The moment Pedrito and I were waiting to cross a street, a motorbike came fast and hit another motorbike with a couple that wanted to turn. Since the second one was at an angle, the second motorbike was kicked away, and the couple that was sitting on it flew in the air and landed on the asphalt. A surreal scene for us. We rushed to the scene to see if help is needed. The girl on the floor was holding her stomach, but nobody seemed to be badly injured. The locals took care of the situation.

We spent the rest of the evening in our party street, where we ate dinner twice, once on a rooftop, and got a full-body Thai massage. Khaosan Road started showing us crazy things, with ladyboys dancing erotically in a bizarre scene. Plenty of food stalls, and many of them selling barbequed insects and scorpions. Grilled crocodile meat! Many offers for sex-shows and etc. Even the wrist bands they sell had bizarre writings like “I rape gay retards”, and “I love irish cunt”. It was easy to conclude that this street is exactly what was meant in all the holy books when God sent his wrath down upon the earth.

The maximum smile from Pedrito

“An electrician’s wet dream” as Pedrito says

Thai Days #1: Freezing Beijing and the Rose Petal Toilet

The trip

A bald Polish gentleman, with a taste for cigars and women with cigar-colored skin, was waiting for me in Milan with a slight flu. A cheaper flight from Malpensa is just another excuse to pass through this kingdom of beauty: Italy. Probably, if you add all the costs, the trip from Zurich would have cost the same. But life can also be measured by the number of times you’ve been to Italy. We took an expensive Uber with Simone, who entertained us with a lively conversation during the 100+ euro ride to the airport. Both flying with Air China, we discovered that Piotr had booked a different and shorter transit through Chengdu instead of Beijing. I tried to convince the check-in clerks to book me on his flight, but my attempt to charm them was met by “I can’t do it in the system”. I knew that Air China would probably be of no help to a privileged person who wanted to change a flight just to be with his friend. The customer support would most likely pay more attention to whatever fraction of the 1,000,000,000 Chinese people are flying today.

I spent my time on the plane watching a Chinese comedy, an Indonesian super-hero movie, and relocating the head of my sleeping Italian neighbor from my shoulder. Aware that his girlfriend is in the seat in front of him, I repeated “I am not your girlfriend”, while he kissed my shoulder and gave smiles and bites in the air (grrrr), without consciousness. Nevertheless, I found the situation cutely funny, hehehe.

The trip comes at the end of my work in my previous clinic before I move to a new hospital for a next rotation. Piotr and I are bachata dancers, and we will be joined later in the journey with our also-dancer Thai friend “Arm”, whose real name is not really “Arm” and we don’t really know his name. With these two gentlemen, I plan to tickle the sun, engage my taste buds with the rich culinary culture of the East and dance with some cigar-skinned ladies (while hoping they are, in fact, ladies without cigars… hehehe, sorry for the cheap joke).

15 hours in Beijing

I planned a 15-hours transit in Beijing to discover the city on my way to Thailand. Well, I didn’t. As soon as I left the metro station downtown to the street, I was hit by the -3 degrees cold, I was not prepared for. Within a minute, I rushed back to the station and looked for plan B. It took a couple of hours. Back and forth to the street to hope for a taxi or a “Didi” = (Chinese Uber). I finally managed to go to a 24-hours SPA where you can relax, eat, drink, play video games, get massages, steam room, sleeping pods, for 299 Yuan which a bit more than 30 swiss francs with all-you-can-eat fruits, ice cream, and popcorn and all you can drink. When I entered the spa, I had to remove my shoes at the entrance, strip, shower, and they gave me one-time underwear and pajamas. In this transition, I saw way more than I wanted (which is zero) of naked Asian men. I am indeed writing these words here inside a steam room decorated with essential oils that force body stress out of your body like an exorcist forcing a jinn out of a possessed aunt. Inside were also chess sets. I spent the next couple of hours indulging in treating my body. The place was posh! They even threw rose petals in the toilet, which you come and shit on (somehow dark).
In China, WhatsApp is blocked, so is Instagram messaging, Telegram, most of Google services are useless. No ChatGPT. I had to use the Chinese DeepSeek as my alternative source of directions and information. Getting a ride with the local app Didi was not successful for me. An eSIM from Hong Kong for the day with unlimited internet costed less than $2, so I could have connection with the non-Chinese world.

During the few hours inside the spa, it snowed. So I experienced Beijing with a different view as well. I took the metro to the airport, where I spent the next flight to Bangkok sleeping. In general, I was positively surprised by Beijing. For some moments I thought that Chinese people would have no reason to live in Europe or the West since their life in China is probably better. The transportation system is very efficient. What also caught my attention was the high sense of security. A security guard in each metro car! In each flight as well, there is a security person.

I arrived to Bangkok, took a “Grab” which is the Thai Uber and went to the hotel where Piotr was still sick. Although it was 3:30 am, I went for a pad Thai to kick off the Thai days.

Hi Boston

You would think that our world is immune to certain things by now. Then some events happen where you see the bad guys unapologetically, shamelessly, & loudly challenge what we thought to have morally agreed upon regardless of our multitude of differences. What is more puzzling is how some previously loud voices suddenly turn silent, in a display of moral incoherence, which to me is immoral. Like the German national football team (and many supporters) taking a stance against the World Cup in Qatar contesting about human rights while remaining forever silent when it comes to the Gaza-issue. Most of us are morally naked. This is somehow my answer to the question “Why are you going to the United States, while Trump is the president?”
A 10-day trip, mainly to attend my friend Amr’s wedding in Boston. Amr is a bright Egyptian doctor that went to the States to get his PhD and recently finished his medical residency and training as an epileptologist, which is a few things we have in common. I thought I would combine the trip with a short visit to Miami, which would be my second time after my lovely visit in 2022.

Landing in Boston and crossing the border was a breeze. I took the public transportation to my Couchsurfing host, Steve, a 67-year-old gentleman. It has been a while since I couchsurfed, having only hosted travelers in the last few years. I was looking forward to refreshing my “traveler’s nomadic soul” and stretching my arms wide to the serendipity of the universe. As I approached Steve’s house, I found the Ukrainian and Palestinian flags hanging outside. I now knew we were up to some good conversations. Steve welcomed me into his home where he lives with his foster child and two cats. He has been fostering children for a couple of years, giving them a roof and providing for them in his retirement. Steve insisted that I use his bedroom while he slept on the couch. A remarkable generosity.

During our conversation over his prepared breakfast and our long walk in the Arboretum that belongs to Harvard University, I got an unexpected glimpse into Steve’s life. His inspiring resistance to the government in different periods, joining protests and refusing to pay taxes to object to how the money is used by the government. He would declare his tax money and put it in an escrow account and tell the government “Here is the money that I don’t want to pay to support you.” He is not even keeping the money for himself. Counting the consequences that followed, I was more inspired to know that he started doing the same thing last year to object against the Gaza genocide. I bet Steve looks in the mirror and feels true to himself.
After our walk, Steve had to leave for some appointments, among them his piano lesson. I prepared myself for Amr’s wedding, picked up the rental car, picked up Anna, one of Amr’s friends, and we drove to the wedding at a venue on the lake.

Amr’s bride is American, the wedding had a majority of American guests and some Egyptians from Amr’s side. The ceremony started in joyous and classy fashion. My heart melted to the words of their vows and I truly wish them a prosperous life with never-ending love. I mingled with other invitees and introduced myself randomly. “The world is too small,” I said when I met Sayed, another Egyptian doctor who used to live in the same building as my late grandmother!
I was seated at a table with other epileptologists from Amr’s department in Harvard’s Brigham and Women’s Hospital. Eating, socialising, and dancing to Western and Egyptian songs concluded the beautiful event.

The next day Steve had to leave early for a sewing lesson. It is impressive how many things this man is still learning. I had my breakfast in a nearby café, then decided to visit the Museum of Science. A big building full of creative scientific experiences that would delight the most apathetic child. I roamed around avoiding stepping on the thousands of children that filled the museum with their accompanying adults and felt slightly overwhelmed with inspiration. Ideas for art projects that include scientific principles always excite me, knowing that I will only manage to realise a few of them in my lifetime 🙁
I grabbed a bite and decided spontaneously to attend an improv theatre show. Improv theatre is one of my favourite hobbies from many years ago and is again a place that never disappoints for some laughs and creativity. During the show, the actors asked which guest thought he came from the furthest. Egypt (or even Switzerland) was obviously further than New Jersey. They asked me a few questions about Egypt and I shared with them that Victoria’s Secret has many branches in Cairo since a few decades ago. They used my answer to generate a hilariously improvised show including King Tut wearing lingerie and an actress who had a bra branded “King Tit” hehehehe.
After the show, Steve and I went to a free jazz concert in a nearby local church. It featured a mix of Black and white artists. Steve mentioned that this is not very common, and that the music scene in Boston is unfortunately often segregated. Steve offered to host me for two extra nights since we got along very well. I was thankful for his generosity and company.

With a neuron in Boston Museum of Science

I had no plans for Sunday. So I joined Steve and his friend Linda at an estate sale — which is practically when a family is leaving a house and selling everything: furniture, books, etc. Everything has a price tag, and you roam around and buy what you want. I went to the book section and bought a couple of books from the intriguing collection of what seemed to me to be a remarkable family. “The Lost Art of Healing” was written by Nobel Prize winner Dr. Bernard Lown, the man who invented the cardiac defibrillator.
Steve and Linda dropped me near Harvard Square where I visited the Harvard Art Museums and roamed around different Harvard buildings. It felt somehow surreal to be there, where some of the greatest minds on the planet existed/exist. I wondered how it is to live here. What kind of interactions do you have with people in the bakery or in the canteen? What kind of conversations do you start or overhear in a bar? A kind of self-sufficient and auto-stimulating environment?
I went for the famous lobster sandwich and oysters for lunch, then took my newly acquired book and went to a Harvard common area, sat among students and scientists, and hungrily devoured the pages; learning, being inspired, and thinking about the chain of events that led me to this moment. The butterfly effect. Was it deciding to Couchsurf? Or contacting Steve? Or deciding to join the estate sale? Has another sequence of events, in a parallel universe, led to an even more enriching experience?
Steve went to donate platelets (would he please stop making me feel useless to society??) and afterward we met at an Egyptian restaurant where I introduced him to Koshari, Mahshi, Hawawshi and other typical Egyptian dishes. We split again so he could go with a friend to another jazz concert, while I intended to go to a bachata party — only to be overpowered by the sweet tiredness of jet lag.

On Monday morning I put on my suit and went to Brigham Hospital to spend the morning in the Epileptology Department. I had agreed with Barbara, the head of the department, to shadow there and see how things are done. I wanted to get a feeling of how things are done in a Harvard hospital. I attended a consultation with a patient with her, a meeting about functional neurological disorders (she is the president of the International Society of Functional Neurological Disorders), and exchanged a few questions about how epilepsy is diagnosed and our corresponding institutions. Another interesting episode in my Boston chronicle, and I have to say — how we do things in Zürich is not bad, it is not bad at all.
Probably one thing that caught my attention was a wall with “Best Teacher of the Month,” where some doctor was awarded this title for his teaching activities. This reminded me of that rewarding American work culture that is almost absent in German-speaking countries. In Germany and Switzerland you only get letters of warning and lists of shame, listing doctors who are late in delivering patient reports, while good doctors (or other workers, for that matter) never get any recognition.
So this is a shout-out to anyone who managed to read until this line: please use positive feedback at least as often as you use negative feedback, whether in work or in a relationship. We need a stronger positive-feedback culture.
I grabbed a quick lunch, went to Steve’s place, picked up my stuff, and headed to the airport where I would fly to Miami. I’m done with this Boston cold weather.

In Miami, I won’t be Couchsurfing. Instead, I will try HomeExchange.com for the first time. I learned about it at the end of last year, and another encounter a couple of weeks ago refreshed this knowledge. So I decided to let some people stay at my place during my trip. This gave me some “points” that I can use to stay at other people’s places around the world. I used these points to book an apartment in Miami for five nights. This has already saved me a few hundred dollars (if you wonder how I can travel so often 🙂 ).
I will be joined in Miami by Mohamed, a Syrian epileptologist who, after finishing his training in Germany, decided to go to the United States and re-do his training, currently living in Texas. He saw my posts on Instagram and happened to have holidays he was undecided about. He decided to fly to Miami to join me. Sweet serendipity.

Moro-Diaries #4: Rabat

Before coming to Morocco, I had more negative than positive experiences with Moroccans in Europe. This trip flipped my perception 180 degrees, turning me into a fan of the country and the countrymen (including countrywomen for our feminist readers among you). They were mostly kind and sincere people. Compared to Egypt, I found more quality services in Morocco. I always felt very welcomed, especially when people came to know that I am Egyptian. The two countries share a history rich in culture. I also noticed that the rate of obesity is not as high as in many other Arab countries (and definitely less than in Germany and England, for example). To my surprise, the local cuisine does not have a lot of carbohydrates. It is hard to find a dish that is served with rice, and the cuisine in general had lots of meat and vegetables.

I arrived in Rabat on a Saturday, just in time for the Liverpool vs. Tottenham football game. A local taxi driver guided me to a rooftop terrace crowning a fancy-looking hotel, where a simple espresso costs 5$. The other clients were mostly couples enjoying romantic dates. Joining me in a non-romantic way were Mirjam, a new local friend she had made, Sufian, and two fellow young travelers from Ireland and Colorado that she had met at the hostel. We exchanged travel impressions and suggestions, a great way to refine your trip-plan on the fly.

The Colorado traveler, Braeden, had taken the opposite route, starting in the north. He visited Chefchaouen, the famous blue mountain village known for its reputation in weed production. Surprisingly, he was disappointed by the quality of the weed in comparison to Colorado, where marijuana had been legalized around a decade ago. It seems they’ve likely perfected the art of growing weed using scientific methods, research, and development.

I left the crowd after the game and headed to my accommodation in a local riad in the old town. Moroccan riads are traditional, elegant residences with distinctive architecture, often centered around a courtyard or garden. They are renowned for their intricate tilework and Islamic decorations.

***

Rabat showed me a different side of Morocco. Its clean, wide streets were lined with perfectly aligned palm trees and featured many beauiful architectural constructions. I went to meet Sarah, a Moroccan architect who had spent six years in the United States pursuing her MBA and managing some exciting projects in DC. We had a lengthy walk in the suburbs of Rabat, near the king’s palace and a golf course.

The highly intelligent and talkative Sarah shared valuable insights about Moroccan society, the economy, and politics. A significant portion of the economy is based on mining, particularly phosphate mining, with Morocco holding the world’s largest phosphate deposits, comprising 75% of global reserves. I was charmed by her liveliness and her fluency in four languages. She expressed her intention to leave Morocco after a few months to explore new life perspectives.

Following our walk, we enjoyed a cozy lunch with more conversations. Then, Sarah volunteered to drive me around Rabat in her white Fiat 500. We drove through the streets of Rabat as she pointed out different landmarks, including the new, under-construction Hassan VI’s tower and the soon-to-be-operational magnificent Grand Theatre of Rabat, designed by the late, great British-Iraqi power woman and renowned architect, Zaha Hadid. I made a promise to myself to come back to Rabat.

After saying goodbye to Sarah, I attended a local afternoon Latin party for some social dancing, where I was impressed by the excellent local salsa dancers, surpassing those in other cities. Soon after, I had to depart after nearly 24 hours in Rabat to catch my train to the historic town of Fes. At the train station, I discovered that the train was delayed by 2 hours. I hummed some thankful prayers for the taken-for-granted Swiss railways company, and spent my waiting-time reading.

Miserable me im the train st for two hours

Moro-Diaries #3: Casablanca

After a bus journey to Marrakesh , it was time to split the company. David stayed in Marrakesh while Mirjam and I took the train for Casablanca. The almost 3 hours of discomfort in the second class was not my most favorite experience, and the train was packed with locals with no significant air conditioning so that by the end of the ride, I felt myself drained of all manifestations of life, like a deflated balloon!
But Casablanca was a significant stop on my trip. Many travelers would say that Casablanca is just a big jungle of concrete not interesting to visit. For me, big cities are homes for many smart and professional people, which is a big focus of mine in my trips.

***

On the first day in Casablanca, I had a local breakfast and then headed to meet Mirjam to visit the remarkable Hassan II Mosque. It is the largest functioning mosque in Africa, and its minaret ranks as the second tallest in the world. When we arrived, the 60-story minaret was almost disappearing in the fog that surrounded the mosque. It was nearly prayer time, making it clear that Mirjam wouldn’t be going inside. I decided to attend the Friday prayer, while Mirjam waited in a café, and we met again after the prayer.

The mosque is immense, and its decorations exude majesty. Intricate patterns in marble, wood, and other materials, the nature of which I couldn’t identify, contributed to a certain atmosphere of peace and serenity.

During the “Khutbah,” the imam’s sermon, the topic was the earthquake, highlighting how Moroccans were united in managing the aftermath. The absence of differences between Arabs and Berbers hinted at underlying sensitivities in the region. Throughout my trip, I encountered many Moroccans who took immense pride in their nation’s earthquake response, recounting stories of how they proudly declined assistance from France. France was not amused.

A short video showing the Hassan II Mosque

After visiting the mosque, I met Mirjam again, who had managed to make a random new friend, Faisal, a local young guy in his thirties. I also got to know Faisal while observing surfers ride the high ocean waves just outside the mosque. Faisal didn’t hide the fact that he was deported from Germany after living there for 5 years. He was then trying to build his startup, specializing in various crimes like stealing and selling drugs. He traveled around many European countries in the process of finding a new home. After his deportation, he decided to start a new life and switch to the side of the angels by visiting Mecca. He currently works as a taxi driver, and today was his day off. We all went to the “Medina” together, where we had a quiet, fancy lunch with even better food than usual. Afterwards, we joined a Couchsurfing meeting where many young Moroccans and travelers gathered for chatting and later for a party. At some point, I detached to visit a Latin party, only to find that it was canceled because of the prophet’s birthday (which is not as important for Muslims as Christmas is for Christians). I called it a night.

***

The next day I went again for a local breakfast and decided to have a Moroccan hammam experience. Who could imagine, that there is a big colossal hammam underneath the big Hassan II mosque?

I decided to go all-in, and took the deluxe package with all the features, which costed me around 60 euros.

First, I found myself in a jacuzzi filled with sea water, where I tortured my body with a hydraulic massage. After around 30 min, they took me to a steam room, where my hammam-man (?, I don’t name of this job, maybe hammamist?) soaped up my body, and I stayed there for eternity, I think to open the pores of the skin to receive the next mystery.

Then came the main event – the hammam table. The hammamist got to work, scrubbing away at my skin like it was his enemy. As I sat down, I noticed some dark thingies on the floor. With an embarrassment, I asked him if that was what he had just exfoliated from my skin. He grinned and confirmed it was indeed my “dead skin.” I thought I was Mr. Clean with my daily showers, but this was next-level cleanliness. I had to ask my hammamist how often he subjected himself to this ritual, and he proudly said that he did it once a month. From that moment on, I became a believer that Morocco must be the cleanest nation on Earth. Sorry, other “hammamistans” out there.

After the epic scrubbing session, he slapped on a mask made of coffee and chocolate, claiming it was a treat for my skin. I felt like a piece of fruit dipped in chocolate in a Christmas market. I didn’t have any erotic thoughts at all 😀

Then, he unleashed a full-body massage and some moves that looked like he was a chiropractor. Following the mask’s wash-off, I received another round of massage, this time with argan oil.

Leaving the hammam, I looked at my skin in disbelief. Somehow I didn’t recognise my own skin. I felt new and I promised myself that I shall offer my body this love regularly. I went straight to the beautiful Casablanca train station and took the train to Rabat, the capital.

A short video showing the hammam

With one of thr fount In front of Hassan II Mosque

Moro-Diaries #2: Essaouira

Although surfing with Adam in Marrakesh was a nice experience, I decided that it was enough for this trip. I guess at my age, I prefer a certain minimum amount of comfort. On the other hand, hostels are great places to meet people. I decided to continue the trip sleeping in private rooms in hostels or hotels. I grew to appreciate good privacy and alone-time at the end of a socially packed day.

***

The bus from Marrakesh to Essaouira took around 3 hours with a short break. Beside me was a French girl with whom I started chatting in the second half of the trip. Upon arriving in Essaouira, I immediately felt pleasant vibes, the complete opposite of the chaotic vibes in Marrakesh. Already from the bus, you could see countless kites of surfers in the famously windy city. I went straight to the hostel where I booked a room and was greeted by a German young man with one arm. He volunteers working there in exchange for surfing lessons and accommodation! I immediately climbed to the roof terrace with my book to have a read while observing the sun setting in the Atlantic Ocean. Around me were groups of young people who seemed to be traveling together, mainly French or German. I thought about putting on my noise-cancellation headphones since young people in general intimidate me👴🏼. In parallel, I checked out “couchsurfing hangouts,” which is a section of the Couchsurfing app to find other solo travelers to meet up. There, I found Wouter, a Dutch gentleman, and we agreed to go for dinner. Soon enough, a young European lady entered the terrace, saw me, and directly came to me, saying “you were on the bus from Marrakesh.” I said yes and invited her to have a seat nearby, and we started chatting and getting to know each other. Mirjam, a Norwegian 27-year-old traveling solo around Morocco. Mirjam, Wouter, and I went for dinner in a tiny family-run restaurant in the old town of Essaouira. The cook was a Moroccan lady, assisted by two others who looked really old, while the son waited on the tables. We ordered Tajines while discussing life, love, and Morocco. After dinner and the homemade cream caramel, we wandered around the “medina,” charmed by all the handcrafted goods, the small alleys, and passing by the fish market where fishermen prepared their fish of the day for the market the next day, I assume. Mirjam is a janitor, and Wouter is an animation artist. The conversation was very engaging and went much deeper than the casual customary fact-based chit-chat, to include childhood traumas and matters of the heart.

***

On the next day, Wednesday, I started the day with breakfast in the hostel. A modest breakfast that included my new favorite Moroccan almond spread “Amlou.” It consists of argan oil, almonds, and honey. The almonds are toasted, then crushed and kneaded with honey and argan oil. I enjoy it with some freshly made pancakes despite the flies hovering over the whole breakfast!
I then went to the medina, met Wouter, where we bought a chess set and went to a local cafe for some games of chess and more conversations. On the second floor of the cafe, we sat separated by the chess set, the early morning sun rays sneaked from the window and shone directly on the chessboard as well as on Wouter’s stressed face 😅. While playing, we discussed differences between Morocco and Europe and mainly topics which one can’t discuss in Europe since they are tabooed. Wouter’s lack of political correctness was refreshing, and I enjoyed the time we spent together a lot. We exchanged contacts and decided to try to meet later in our trips in another city.

***

Mirjam has a talent to know random people on the street; I met her later in the afternoon with her new friend, Hicham, a Moroccan French young man passionate about Salsa and working in tourism around the world. We spent some beach time where we built a sandcastle like a group of kindergarten children. The sea is relatively dangerous for swimming since the waves can be very high. This is why Essaouira is a good place for wind-surfing, kite-surfing, and etc-rfing. In the evening, we went for dinner accompanied by two new travelers that Mirjam recruited from the hostel, David, from the Canary Islands, traveling the world and speaking 5 languages, and Bartly (fake name), a Chinese electric cars engineer. Bartly barely spoke English but had a radioactive enthusiasm and positivity. We all went for dinner and had funny x-rated conversations, where Bartly was the protagonist translating everything we say with some efficient Chinese app. David and I laughed till tears when Bartly referred to oral sex as “sea-food” 😂😂😂. I hope no children are reading these lines. After another great meal, we went for some dancing in a local bar that was also filled with tourists. On the way back to the hostel, in the windy night of cute Essaouira, David said, “First and last time in f***ing Essaouira.” Mirjam and I will head to Casablanca tomorrow, while David will join us halfway and then stay in Marrakesh.