The crowd spilled out into Jamaa Lafna Square like a waterfall into a lake. One moment, we were elbow to elbow in a narrow walkway, and the next, I found myself thrust into the bustling and vivacious town square.
Traveling alone, I found myself very suspicious of the people around me, nervous of any pickpockets who might attempt to steal my cash and identity. My hostel was situated just outside of the city center, in what must have been a residential area, as there were no shops to be found, and very little foot traffic. My antennae went up, the heckles on my neck raised.
Kammy Hostel is centrally located right outside of the labrynth of bazaars and souks. There are no doors to the rooms, and no lockers. However, there is a nice sense of community that convincingly reassures travelers that their belongings are safe. Regardless, distrustful as I am, I did end up hiding my most important valuables (passport, plane tickets, etc) underneath my mattress.
My trip to Morocco was one of the most incredible experiences of my life – never before had I embraced such spontaneity and (dare I say) reckless abandon in my entire life, and never had I felt more alive. I never want to forget the desert, the spices, the people, the magic…