The beginning of 2010 was strange, almost as if it wanted to announce right away a particularly difficult period in my life that was just beginning. Still, in regard to the actual trip to Morocco, the most important detail was that in January and February I had three completely separate cases of the flu – and I define the flu as a cold with a fever. Just when I started to get better and I thought everything was fine, it would start all over again, and this happened three times. That’s when I came to the conclusion that I needed a break and March sounded like the kind of month in which I hoped I could avoid getting sick.
As for the destination, I had already had Morocco in mind for a while, and I had even previously marked on a map the things I wanted to see there. While thinking about potential trips for that year, I thought that maybe I could go to Morocco in September or October. At the beginning of the year, I was planning to travel to Syria and Jordan through a hiking club, but it turned out I had missed the deadline to sign up and all the spots for that trip had already been filled.
That left me with a "gap" in my travel plans, and considering the similar climate, region and culture, I simply changed the geographical direction of my thoughts and travel.
In addition, at the end of 2009, I exchanged Christmas/New Year’s greetings via email with a Spaniard from my earlier professional life and during that exchange he mentioned that he was currently stationed in Melilla and would be there until the end of 2010.
Ah, Melilla – I had dreamed about it for years! Why? I have no idea, just like that. Not Ceuta, but specifically Melilla. Why? I have no idea, just like that. To explain briefly: these are Spanish territories on the northern part of the African continent, i.e., Spanish enclaves surrounded by Morocco on the land side. In any case, I decided to go on the trip in early spring that year, so I let him know and said I was planning to visit Morocco in March, and then I would come to Melilla too, so we could meet up. He agreed.
So I bought a round-trip plane ticket, and at that time the best and most affordable route for me was through Rome to Casablanca. Since I couldn’t find anyone to travel with, I have to admit I hesitated a bit, but in the end, I made up my mind and decided to go alone. I can say right away that absolutely everything went perfectly. Moroccans are a kind and respectful people, but then again, I’m a kind and respectful woman, too.
The trip through Morocco lasted for two and a half weeks, and here is a map showing all the places I visited during that time:
To start with, I had booked a room in Casablanca in advance – one night upon arrival and two nights before my return.
However, those flu viruses from the beginning of the year still didn’t want to leave my life or my body, so four or five days before the trip, I was on the verge of a cold and experiencing strong energy fluctuations. But the ticket was already bought and I comforted myself with the thought that a confirmed hotel reservation was a hopeful sign.
So, I set off very early from Belgrade and dozed the entire time on the plane, switching flights in Rome. On the way to Casablanca, I actually started to feel a bit better, as if I had just woken up.
Upon landing in Casablanca, however, there was an unpleasant surprise – my backpack didn’t arrive. On the other hand, surprisingly I didn’t get upset at all when it didn’t show up. I thought maybe I had reached some kind of enlightenment. I hadn’t. I was probably just too tired to react.
In exactly that state – a kind of dazed exhaustion – I dealt with the paperwork and they told me to call the airport the next day around 9 or 10 in the morning to check if my backpack had arrived.
I also exchanged money at the airport and took the train to the main train station in Casablanca, and from there a taxi to the hotel. Since I made the rookie mistake of hopping into the first taxi I saw outside the station, of course, he ripped me off, like taxi drivers love to do in many parts of the world, but even that wasn’t something that particularly bothered me at the time.
When I got to the room and dropped off my things, I took a shower first – mostly just to wake myself up a bit – and then I went out for a walk to see where I was.
What struck me as interesting, while finally writing these travel stories from Morocco in 2025, is just how many things have changed in the meantime. One of them is that I had booked the hotel in Casablanca through a travel agency. Maybe booking websites were already up and running at that time, but clearly, I wasn’t using them.
In any case, it turned out that the map showing the hotel’s location, which the agency in Belgrade had given me, was completely inaccurate. The hotel was actually in a much better part of the city – for me, at least – close to a pedestrian zone with hotels, restaurants, internet cafés, and so on.
By the way, the need for internet cafés, of course, is now a thing of the past.
I headed out for a walk sometime before 4 in the afternoon, thinking I’d kill about three hours and then retreat to my room to sleep since, by Moroccan time, I had gotten up at 3 in the morning!
First, I went to an internet café to check in with the people I needed to and then I walked around a bit more.
Casablanca, a detail
However, I couldn’t make it until 7 p.m., so I went back to my room before 6.
In the meantime, my nose started getting stuffy, completely out of control. While I was walking earlier, I had bought nasal drops, but nothing was helping. Around 7:15, I lay down intending to sleep, but it was hard to relax with such a congested nose and a head full of scattered thoughts. Still, little by little, my nose cleared up, my thoughts calmed and melted away, and I must have fallen asleep before 8. I slept, with a few brief awakenings, until 6 a.m., though I continued dozing for a while after that. There was no need to rush.
At some point, I finally went down for breakfast and since the coffee was excellent, I decided to relax a bit and enjoy a second cup.
As I have already mentioned, I was supposed to call the airport between 9 and 10 a.m. to see if my backpack had arrived, and since having a second cup of coffee didn’t take too long, I even went back out for a short walk to pass the time.
It was relatively warm outside, but cloudy and dry. Still, that short walk felt good.
Although I didn’t take any photos at the time, I wrote in my travel journal that the pedestrian zone looked very nice and that there were some impressive buildings there. I guess I wasn’t in the mood to take photos or videos, since I was still preoccupied with the backpack. My plan had been to start travelling through Morocco that very day, but that, of course, assumed the backpack would be with me. Without it, the whole trip wouldn’t make sense.
So I went back to the hotel and asked the guy at the reception to help me call the airport. I gave him the phone number, but the whole thing still took half an hour – dialling various other numbers (mostly in vain), checking online to tell me that he wouldn’t charge me, that the machine would calculate the cost, and so on. In the end, supposedly (since I didn’t get any kind of receipt), the machine said 225 dirhams, which was over 20 euros – for a local call! Then the receptionist smiled and said, “Well, phones are expensive in Morocco.” I smiled back and thanked him, because there was no point in arguing.
I have to admit that the taxi drivers and receptionists I encountered at the beginning of my time in Morocco didn’t exactly behave and didn’t leave a good first impression. I’m not sure how Islam views dishonesty and cheating people. Probably like all major religions – dishonesty is not a God-pleasing kind of behaviour, but people are quite skilled at interpreting divine intentions in their own imperfect ways.
What really mattered, though, was that the airport staff told me my backpack had arrived.
So I headed to the train station, Casa Voyageurs, and waited there for the train to the airport. That’s when I finally remembered to film something.
Casablanca railway station
I had originally planned to already be on my way to the city of Meknes, but because of the backpack delay, everything got pushed back. Still, I realised that depending on the train schedule, how long I’d spend at the airport, and the coach timetable, I could still make it to Meknes later that afternoon and get back in sync with the rough outline of the first part of my trip through Morocco.
I arrived at the airport about an hour later. Wandered around a bit, but eventually managed to find the lost luggage office. I picked up my backpack and headed back to the train station. I saw on the board that the next train was at 1 p.m., but then I took a closer look and noticed one train was still standing there. I started going to the ticket counter, the alarm started sounding, people near the train began to run, a woman in front of me started running too, and I picked up the pace, trying to decide if I could make it. I thought about giving up, but the guy at the ticket window waved at me to hurry – basically, to run for it.
So I launched into a sprint with 20 kilos on my back and, in a photo-finish move, dived through the last doors of the train just as they shut behind me! Perfect! It saved me an hour.
And then I started to laugh – who says my energy’s all over the place or that my blood pressure is low because of the damp, foggy weather? In any case, I sank into the seat and the backpack settled comfortably between my legs.
I was complete now
Having returned to Casablanca, I had to get to the coach station. As lucky as I had been at the airport train station, here I came close to missing the coach. I bought my ticket and sat in the waiting area; the time for boarding came, but nothing was happening. Then it turned out I needed to register my large backpack, that is, check it in. I had to rush over to the baggage check-in, and of course, there was a shift change happening. The driver showed up and started complaining, but in the end, everything worked out fine. I got settled on the coach and set off for Meknes, which is about 240 km away.
On the way, the coach made a stop in Rabat, but my travel plan didn’t include visiting the capital of Morocco.
From Rabat, which like Casablanca lies on the Atlantic coast, the road to Meknes heads eastwards, toward Fez, a city I had planned to visit later.
What really surprised me was the sheer amount of green. I have to admit, it was unexpected for a country in North Africa. I was expecting desert tones, but everything was much greener than I had imagined.
Landscapes between Rabat and Meknes
Landscapes between Rabat and Meknes
Landscapes between Rabat and Meknes
On the other hand, the sky was gray and heavy, and I felt like it was affecting my blood pressure. Still, the coach was nice and comfortable, the road was great, and everything went smoothly. In the end, I was only a few hours behind my original plan, which was very good and reassuring.
In Meknes, I got a room at a hotel in the centre of the new part of the city, and it turned out to be a pretty decent hotel. Now, looking back on this trip from the perspective of the year 2025, it seems to me that I was both crazy and brave. I didn’t have any reservations apart from the one in Casablanca – I was choosing hotels based on descriptions from a guidebook I carried with me, and then I would just show up and ask for a room. There was a room for me in all the places, but I also realised that this was an expensive way to travel and I adjusted that approach during future trips. So, it goes to show – you should learn something from every experience.
On the other hand, I didn’t regret staying here, for a few reasons. The first was that I felt I had already had enough “trauma” at the start of this trip and I needed to feel comfortable when I went to sleep.
The second reason was an absolutely wonderful and kind receptionist I met there. When I was checking in, I had to write down my occupation, which is translator/interpreter. That’s how it all started. This kind man told me that we were colleagues, since it turned out he had also studied English at one point.
We started chatting a bit and he mentioned that he had once translated a story from Arabic into English. I was thrilled and asked if the translation had been published, because I’d love to buy a book like that. It turned out it hadn’t been, but he promised to bring me the story the next day so I could read it.
For now, I left my things in the room, captured the view from the window, and since it was around 5 in the afternoon, I headed out for a short walk through the newer part of the city.
Meknes, a detail
The new part of the city is separated from the old one, known as the medina, by an area that resembles a relatively green valley and from what I’ve read, there’s a river flowing through it, but I didn’t actually see it. In any case, medina is the name for the old part of a town in North Africa, typically enclosed by walls, and there is definitely such a part of the city here. I planned to visit it the following day.
For now, what mattered to me was that I was close to a pedestrian street, so I took a short walk there.
Meknes, a detail
Although the Moroccans, in their effort to erase the influence of France and the colonial era, have changed the names of some streets, from what I can see, this pedestrian street is still called Rue de Paris even in 2025 – which means “Paris Street.”
The pedestrian street leads towards Avenue Hassan II and that avenue is the route that takes you towards the valley or river I have mentioned earlier and further on to the old part of the city, i.e., the medina.
Meknes, a detail
Here, I came across a restaurant the name of which is especially funny to anyone who speaks Serbian. It translates as a slang for: “I f..k.”
Meknes, a detail
But there were also various restaurants and cafés, many of which had tables and chairs set up outside. What stood out, though, was that there were no women sitting there. I had no intention of challenging or questioning local customs.
Meknes, a detail
There were also shops and the ones that sold food drew me in the most. I passed by a store with sweets displayed in the window and they all looked absolutely fantastic.
Meknes, a detail
Still, I was craving something savoury, so I got a piece that looked like a thin cornbread. First, they cut off a slice, then filled it with cheese. At that time in my travels, I paid less attention to food, so I don’t actually know what this dish is called.
Meknes, a detail
Since it was still daylight, I continued my walk and eventually reached an intersection with a beautiful fountain in the middle of a roundabout. From there, I could see the medina, and what stood out was a large minaret with a square base, something typical for Morocco.
Meknes, a detail
Since the temperature was very pleasant and I felt inspired, I even walked to the entrance of the medina. There, I saw a "tower" with a square base (more like the remains of some fortification).
Meknes, a detail
I ventured a little into the old town, but not too much. It was more important for me to get a sense of the area and the main streets for orientation, rather than having any intention of sightseeing at that moment. It was also important for me to figure out where I would need to go the next day in order to catch transportation to Volubilis, a very significant archaeological site in Morocco.
For now, I decided to head back towards the hotel, with the intention of finding an internet café to stop by.
A little later, I was already in bed, nicely showered and in my pyjamas. This is important because the previous night, I had to improvise since my backpack with my belongings hadn’t arrived. I managed and it was fine in the end, but this way was much better.
Even though I had slept 10 hours the previous night and napped for another hour, I was still tired because it had been such an exciting day, full of movement and uncertainty. What was good, though, was that I had completely recovered from the slight hint of a cold, but I still thought I needed more rest.
I also reflected on everything I had seen on the first day. The strongest impression I had was that Morocco was much greener than I had imagined. Certainly, the country includes desert areas – in the east and south – but what I had seen in the relatively close proximity to the Atlantic Ocean was completely green.
My plan for the next day was to wake up early, have breakfast, and then walk to the other side of the medina (or maybe take a taxi) in order to go to Volubilis – a UNESCO World Heritage site with Roman ruins. My plan for the afternoon was to explore the medina in Meknes and see what I could from the royal palace.
With these thoughts in my mind, I slowly drifted off to sleep.