The Men of Morocco were Stunning

Marrakesh was nothing short of wild. Beautiful, frustrating, inspiring, sweaty, and—if I’m being honest—a little chaotic.

We traveled with 15 remarkable men who rolled with every twist and turn. Together we shared belly laughs, memorable meals, and once-in-a-lifetime moments: a sunrise hot-air balloon ride and a camel trek across the Sahara that I’ll never forget. (The men of Marrakech were stunning and from the reports I got from those who had massages or went to the hammams, most of the Moroccan men were not exactly always straight acting.)

Now, let’s talk challenges. Google Maps tricked us into thinking we could drive right up to our riad. Nope. Instead, we dragged luggage through a labyrinth of cobblestone alleys, dodging scooters, donkeys, mini-cars, and the occasional cart piled with God-knows-what. Every outing required a third-mile hike just to reach our van. Marrakesh traffic is survival of the fittest—single file or risk a bumper to the hip.

Then there was culture. A few in our group got side-eyed for PDA or flamboyant behavior. What feels natural at home drew stares there. We had to do some course-correction to blend in. And yes, we worried about the porn on our laptops. (Pro tip: no one checked.) But apps like Grindr? Off-limits. A giant red warning box literally told us we could be arrested for using it.

The streets themselves were… an experience. Cats everywhere (holy, revered, adorable), but also their poop. Add in donkeys doing their thing and a little less city sanitation than we’re used to, and, well—you watch your step and hold your nose. And don’t get me started on the leather industry. Once you learn how hides are processed, it’s hard to ever slip on that jacket the same way again.

Highlights? Plenty. A new local friend who turned a day into pure magic. Meals that wowed us—and a couple that fell flat. That’s the gamble of travel. Next time, I’ll personally scout restaurants before bringing a group. Lesson learned.

And here’s the truth: this wasn’t your classic GoNaked trip. There wasn’t much nudity. The luxury was more rustic than refined. This was a retreat for the adventurous, the hardy, the “I’ll-sleep-when-I’m-dead” travelers.

Still, I wouldn’t trade it. Travel forces you out of your bubble. It shows you other ways of living while making you appreciate what you already have. Marrakesh cracked me open in ways I didn’t expect. And that’s the point, isn’t it?

So here’s my invitation: keep stretching. Keep wandering. Keep expanding your own borders. You’ll come home changed—and maybe, like me, a little more grateful.