Morocco: Where Every Turn Feels Like Stepping Into Another Century

Summer vacation planning with kids is its own kind of adventure.

We'd been talking about Morocco for months. The kind of trip where you want to expose the kids to something completely different, somewhere that doesn't feel like the usual beach resort routine. We decided to go with family friends, figuring the kids would have built-in playmates and we'd have backup when the inevitable "I'm bored" complaints started.

We split our time between Casablanca and Marrakech, two cities that couldn't be more different if they tried. One feels like it's trying to be modern and cosmopolitan. The other feels like it gave up on the concept of "modern" sometime around the 1400s and never looked back.

Casablanca: Not What I Expected

Landing in Casablanca, I wasn't sure what to expect. It's Morocco's largest city but doesn't get the same tourist attention as Marrakech. Turns out, it has its own character that's worth the stop.

The Hassan II Mosque

First stop: Hassan II Mosque. This thing is massive and sits right on the edge of the Atlantic Ocean. Not near it. ON it. Parts of the building hang over the water, and when you're inside, you can see the ocean through glass floor panels.

The minaret is 210 meters tall, the tallest in the world. Standing at the base makes you feel appropriately small. The interior is detailed in ways that make you wonder how many artisans spent how many years on every tile and carved piece of wood.

We took a guided tour. Our guide pointed out the hand-carved cedar ceilings, marble floors from different countries, and the retractable roof. The kids were more interested in the glass floor sections, predictably standing on them and trying to freak each other out.

It's an impressive building. Worth the visit if you're in Casablanca.

Rick's Café: The Famous Bar

Later that evening, we ended up at Rick's Café, the bar that's become a Casablanca landmark. It's designed with classic Moroccan architecture, white walls, wooden furniture, ceiling fans, and a piano player.

Is it touristy? Absolutely. Does everyone know it? Yes. But the atmosphere is relaxed, the drinks are well-made, and it's a nice spot to unwind after a day of sightseeing.

The kids thought the piano was cool. Our friends and I enjoyed the cocktails. We took the obligatory photos. Sometimes tourist spots are tourist spots for a reason.

Marrakech: Organized Chaos in the Best Way

The drive from Casablanca to Marrakech takes about three hours. The landscape shifts from coastal modern to something older, more desert, more red.

Marrakech doesn't ease you in. It throws you directly into the medina and says "good luck."

The Medina and Our Riad

We stayed in a riad, a traditional Moroccan house built around a central courtyard. Ours was tucked down an alley so narrow two people couldn't walk side by side. The taxi dropped us at the medina's edge, and we dragged suitcases over cobblestones for ten minutes while Google Maps had no idea where we were.

Then we found it. Heavy wooden door, easy to miss. Walk through and you're in a quiet courtyard with a fountain, tiled walls, carved wood, and plants thriving despite ancient stone everywhere.

Traditional Moroccan room on the second floor. Colorful textiles, courtyard view. At night, calls to prayer from multiple mosques layered over each other in a way that somehow doesn't sound chaotic.

Best part? Rooftop breakfast. Mint tea, fresh bread, views over the medina. Rooftops everywhere, laundry hanging, satellite dishes next to ancient tiles, Atlas Mountains in the distance on clear days.

The Souks: Where Haggling is Cardio

The souks (markets) in Marrakech are exactly as overwhelming as everyone says they are. Narrow passages. Endless stalls. Vendors selling everything: spices piled in perfect pyramids, leather bags, ceramic tagines, lanterns, carpets, slippers, jewelry, things I couldn't identify. The whole place smells like a mix of leather, spices, grilled meat, and incense. Motorbikes somehow navigate through crowds that barely move aside. Donkeys carrying goods appear out of nowhere. Getting lost is not optional. It's going to happen. We got turned around at least four times a day. You just wander and eventually stumble back to something you recognize.

The Hot Air Balloon: My Personal Nightmare Turned Miracle

I'm terrified of heights. Actually terrified. Drops, ledges, anything where I can see how far down the ground is makes my palms sweat.

So when our friends suggested a hot air balloon ride over Marrakech, I said absolutely not.

They didn't accept that answer. "The kids will love it," they said. That guilt trip worked.

We woke up at 4:30 AM. I was cranky and already preparing my "I told you so" speech for when I chickened out.

At the launch site, huge colorful balloons were being inflated with flames. Our calm French pilot explained everything. I didn't hear most of it because I was staring at the basket, which looked way too flimsy for something about to be hundreds of feet in the air.

"You'll be fine," my friend said.

"I will not be fine," I replied.

They made me get in anyway. Peer pressure is real when kids are watching.

Here's the thing about hot air balloons: you don't feel the takeoff. The ground just slowly gets farther away. No jolt, no engine noise. The basket is surprisingly steady. Way steadier than I expected.

And then we were up. Actually up. And I wasn't panicking.

The view was absurd. Sunrise turning the sky orange and pink. Below us, Marrakech's red buildings spread like a terracotta mosaic. The Atlas Mountains, snow-capped and massive, looked painted on the horizon.

The basket didn't sway or bounce. It just floated. Smooth and quiet except for the burner's occasional blast.

I stopped gripping the edge. I pulled out my phone and took photos, something I never thought I'd do.

"See? Not so bad," my friend said.

"Okay, fine. You were right," I admitted.

Most stable ride I've been on. No turbulence, no sudden movements. My fear of heights didn't disappear, but it didn't matter because nothing felt dangerous.

We stayed up about an hour. The pilot pointed out landmarks and casually mentioned once landing in someone's backyard and apologizing over mint tea. We touched down in a flat field where the crew served us Berber breakfast and gave us certificates.

Would I do it again? Maybe. Would I recommend it even if you're scared of heights? Absolutely. Just bring people who don't accept "no" as an answer.

Atlas Mountains Day Trip: Proof That Switchbacks Are Evil

The day after the balloon ride, we took a day trip to the Atlas Mountains. Our riad arranged a driver who picked us up early.

The drive is an experience. The road climbs, then keeps climbing, then adds switchbacks, hairpin turns, and edges with no guardrails where you can see exactly how far you'd fall.

Our driver had done this route a million times and treated it like a casual Sunday drive. He'd wave at people in passing villages, point out landmarks, and navigate turns at speeds that made us all quietly grip whatever was nearest.

We stopped in a small Berber village built into the mountainside. Stone houses, narrow paths, terraced gardens on nearly vertical slopes. A local family invited us in for tea. We sat on cushions, drank sweet mint tea, and communicated through broken French, hand gestures, and smiles.

The views are stunning. Valley after valley, mountains layered in the distance, small villages dotting the landscape. Red-brown rock and green farming patches. The air thinner, cooler, clearer than Marrakech.

We hiked a bit, though "hike" is generous. More like walked on paths not designed for tourists in sneakers. I slipped twice. The kids thought it was hilarious.

On the way back, we stopped where women were making argan oil the traditional way. Cracking nuts, grinding them, explaining in Arabic while our driver translated. We bought some oil, probably overpaid, and continued back to the city.

By the time we returned, I had a new appreciation for flat ground and roads without cliffs.

Leaving Morocco (But Taking It With Us)

Our last night in Marrakech, we sat on the riad rooftop one more time. The medina was loud below us. Calls to prayer, motorbikes, vendors, conversations in Arabic and French echoing off stone walls. The Atlas Mountains were dark shapes against the sunset.

The kids were already comparing their favorite parts of the trip. Our friends were scrolling through photos. Someone was trying to fit new carpet purchases into a suitcase (they failed).

I thought about the mosque on the ocean. The relaxed evening at Rick's. Getting lost in the souks. The moment in the hot air balloon when I realized I wasn't scared anymore. Tea with strangers in a mountain village.

Morocco doesn't make it easy. It's loud, chaotic, overwhelming, and refuses to be convenient. But it also surprises you. It makes you try things you swore you wouldn't. It feeds you until you're uncomfortable and then offers more tea.

And somehow, you leave wanting to come back.

The flight home was long. The kids made us look through every single photo they took (there were hundreds). We argued about which city we liked better. We made a list of things we should've done but didn't.

Morocco stayed with us the whole flight. Probably still does.

We're already talking about where to go next summer. The kids have opinions. Our friends are in.

Maybe somewhere flat this time. Though knowing us, probably not.