By Ana Catarina Ribeiro.
It was the summer of 2005, twenty years ago. I was a pre-teen that just moved to Morocco due to my father’s work obligations. A few days after our arrival, we were visiting Marrakech. The frenetic energy of the city captivated me. The constant blaring of car horns, the screeching of tires as vehicles drove fearlessly, the whinnying of horses and donkeys pulling carts laden with goods. In the square, the delightful and complex aromas of fresh fruits, olives, spices and traditional leather lamps or babouches for sale, wafted from the stalls in the souk. The loud and poignant Arabic phrases shouted by the vendors in their hijabs to attract costumers to their stalls, while others hurried by, sipped tea on terraces, or tried to convince tourists to take pictures with their imposing camels, dancing monkeys or majestic snakes. Oriental music emanating from nearby bars and portable radios, punctuated by the resonant call to preyer from the nearby mosque. The bright colors and intricate symmetrical patterns on clothing, carpets, furniture and walls… all of that contributed to the vibrant atmosphere.
Everywhere I looked, something caught my attention and I was astonished by all the sounds, colors, smells and movements that were unfamiliar to me. I remember feeling excited, picturing myself on an adventure, eager to explore this entirely new world. I wanted to see, point at, touch or hear as much as I could. That’s how I saw them.
Amidst two stalls, an old man with a patch over one eye was seated in a wooden bench, leaning against the wall. Next to him, on a similar bench, sat a used white shoebox made of cardboard. Curiously, the box appeared to be moving on its own. I approached the box carefully, driven by curiosity yet apprehensive of the old man’s one eye intense gaze. I imagined him as a wise sage who had lived many lives and could discern my deepest desires just by laying his eye on me. However, as I drew closer, instead of sharing a wise thought, he pick up the box and revealed its contents to me. Inside were approximataly twenty tiny turtles, all climbing over and smashing into one another in a desperate attempt to escape their cage. It was the most wonderful and saddening sight I had ever seen in my youg life. Some of the turtles were so small they could fit in the palm of my hand. I felt a mix of awe and sorrow. How could a wise old man keep so many baby turtles in such distress, without water, in a cramped shoebox? Shouldn’t he be selling tea herbs or offering life advice?
”He’s selling them because, most likely, he has no other choice. He needs money to survive,” my father said.
That’s when it hit me. Before we moved, everyone at home had told me I was lucky to live abroad in an exotic country. They said I would be fortunate to live by the sea, in a warm sunny place with beautiful sights like pristine beaches, camels and towering palm trees. The magazines I read depicted a country rich in culture, with friendly locals, and group tours in the desert. No one had told me about the non-touristic reality. But in that moment, the truth struck me hard, and I began to see it everywhere. The old man, wether wise or not, was also a poor man, struggling to survive in a developing country, taking advantage of the high tourist demand for any kind of attraction to do so. A country that was once a French colony, and was now a kingdom marked by disparities, slow economic growth and an emerging mass tourism sector. It was not a fairy tale, nor merely an exotic two-week escape. It was a wonderful country with a rich and complex past, a vibrant culture and locals filled with untold stories.
As the new editor-in-chief, I aim to bring these stories to life and share them with you, just as I would have loved for someone to share them with me as a kid. I want you to truly discover the real beauty of a region through its locals’s beliefs, its history, and authentic traditions, rather than just its white sand beaches or touristic spots. I want you to experience genuine travel when you visit a country or read our magazine. I offer you authenticity, integrity, culture, knowledge and captivating stories rather than mere touristification.
Welcome to the true tourism (online) magazine. Here you will feel as though you are discovering an entirely new world and a completely new way of traveling on every page.
This article is part of the practical work carried out by the students of the Master’s in Travel Journalism.
