These are possibly the most surprising words that my wife Diana has ever spoken, so allow me to add some context. 

We had the opportunity to tag along with a few family members on their trip to Malaga, Spain. Although I’ve never considered a trip to Europe (since there are tons of places within the U.S. that I’d still like to go), as I approach my 48^th year on the planet, I jumped at the chance – with some encouragement from my wonderful wife.

I’ve heard that traveling changes you, and I 100% concur. Up until now, most of my wanderings occurred in Caribbean destinations. Safe and beautiful all-inclusive resorts, where being pampered for a week was exactly what I wanted and needed. Reliable, buffet style food. Unlimited drinks. Protected excursions on catamaran boats, snorkeling and kayaking, always under strict supervision. Ahh…paradise. 

Now, I hope I don’t come off as being ungrateful because I was anything but that. In fact, with the hustle and bustle of everyday life, it was something Diana and I looked forward to and it always felt very much needed. Especially since we usually went with friends. 

Keeping that in mind – and being so inspired by recently watching a documentary about the late, great, Anthony Bourdain – I was determined to make the most of my first European trip. One that would not be in a comfortable resort being pampered and waited on, but in a foreign land, unsupervised, with no real agenda except to drink up every ounce of culture that I could. 

I knew that avoiding everything “touristy” would be impossible, but as this was my first European trip, I assumed that even the oft-frequented stops would be unforgettable; much like as someone coming to the States for the first time and seeing the Liberty Bell or visiting New York City. It was both unavoidable and probably necessary to experience the full spectrum of each locale. 

We currently reside in California, so the logistics of the trek to Spain was going to be a long one. Diana, always with a meticulous nature, had planned for us to leave San Diego and take a train to LAX where we would board a 13-hour flight to Istanbul, Turkey, before taking another four-hour flight to Malaga, Spain (Ouch!). This was seemingly set in stone until a few days prior where, amid the already exhausting process of moving, we decided to hop on a five-hour flight to Montreal, stay the night, and then onto Spain in the morning. 

We arrived in Montreal in the early evening, just in time to watch the Stanley Cup Finals in the birthplace of the sport and the NHL itself. With only a few hours during the next morning to explore our neighbors to the north, we happened upon a beautiful city during a jazz festival. We took in all we could until our early afternoon flight to Spain, trying hard not to look ahead and just enjoy the moment. Montreal was a great pit stop and we hope to return in the future to explore it to a greater extent. It still felt a bit like we were home, or at least not far from it – which is technically true.

We boarded Air Canada shortly after noon and made our seven-hour flight to Malaga, Spain. Upon landing, and Uber we’d arranged drove through the Spanish countryside, allowing us to absorb breathtaking views, the first of thousands to follow. Then we arrived in the beautiful coastal city of Marbella. It was there that we met up with Diana’s Aunt Sarah, her husband Ron and their son Will, the latter who was studying abroad and the whole reason for the trip (congratulations Will!). Along for the ride as well was Diana’s brother Ronnie, who is like a brother to me and would be celebrating his birthday while on the trip.

Our first day was unbelievable – even without doing anything at all. I felt like a voyeur watching locals who were just living their everyday lives in the way they always have. The pace of the people, the food, the smells and the fashion, were things that I had seen only on television; and we all know how sterile that medium can make life seem. Having no possible way to “blend in” to our new environment (we might as well have had Hulk Hogan’s theme song “Real American” playing in the background as we walked), we were greeted with handshakes, fist bumps and smiles, everywhere we went. Apparently, that’s all you really need to feel welcome in a foreign land. I hope that we do the same here.

Back to Diana’s cousin Will. He is smart – wicked smart, like in the scene of the movie Good Will Hunting (isn’t it ironic, don’t ya think?). Lucky for us, Will has a thirst for geopolitical history, making him the absolute perfect tour guide to have in a place that dates back to 7^th century BC.  Seeing the incredibly old buildings, cobblestone streets, and ancient places of worship was astonishing. But having Will there to go into the details of every change throughout the county’s past answered the “how and why” of it all. Even though I had brushed up on some history before leaving on the trip, with Will as the narrator it made it all seem very real. And it was – were standing where it all happened. How do you like them apples?

Will suggested as our first stop Ronda, a town about an hour away from where we were staying. Around the city are remains of prehistoric settlements dating to the Neolithic period, which I learned was the final division of the Stone Age, around 10,000 BC (um…what?). It was in Ronda where I first laid my eyes on the oldest objects that I had ever seen, other than the stars, earth, and the moon. 

Not only filled with a rich history, Ronda was also a bustling area with everyday people just trying to make their way through life. Oh, and it’s spectacularly gorgeous. Fortunately for us, everywhere we went would be that way. I can try to compare it (if hard pressed) to the hills of California, the stunning size of the Grand Canyon, and the vastness of the Napa Valley (if you haven’t visited any of those places, please do – and they’re much closer than Spain!). It felt old and primal. Even the “newer” buildings were older than anything I had ever witnessed. We wandered, walking the ancient streets and sampling some absurdly delicious food. We took our time, not knowing or caring about what the clock actually read, as we didn’t have a tour bus or a chaperone waiting for us. I felt buzzed. And as I think about it now, I still do. We even ran into a great friend of ours from California who just happened to be in Spain, as well. Hi Tracy! The evening ended back in Marbella and a fabulous dining experience at Plaza de Los Naranjos.

The next day’s agenda was to go to the Rock of Gibraltar. Before this, I had only seen the image of this magical place in a book, or in a Prudential commercial. I was also informed that even though Gibraltar is on Spanish land, it’s a British territory, so we had to go through customs. I didn’t mind another stamp on my passport and considered it my first time to Britain, even though that’s a bit of a stretch.

Gibraltar is huge. Surrounded by mostly flat land, the 1,400-foot rock is hard to miss. It’s home to rugged trails, caves, beaches and curious monkeys who are far from domesticated. They’ll remind you that you’re in their house and may try to take your water bottle or rummage through your backpack while you’re still wearing it!  There weren’t many railings or places off limits, so you had to stay on your toes. Nothing was flat and my legs were on fire, in the best way possible. At the very top of the rock, we took some slow, deep breaths. Standing on the British territory, looking at Spain in one direction, and at Africa (where we would be just two days later) in the other. I looked at Diana and said, “How the hell did we get from Delco, to here?” 

I’m still not sure.

We went to Caminito del Rey the following day. With its stunning landscapes and murky green water, it was another example of the magic of Spain. I took some pictures but tried my best to take in the experience with my eyes, knowing that my iPhone could in no way capture its majestic beauty with any justice. Like many places along the journey, it’s about a feeling. 

The next day stands out in a way that I can’t quite describe. I’m most likely not doing a great job explaining any of this, but again, it’s a feeling; kind of like describing the way I feel when I hear Edward Van Halen play his guitar. I don’t think I can put it into words, but let me give it a go…

We found ourselves on a ferry, leaving Spain behind and heading toward Morocco, in Northern Africa. The one-hour jaunt had my head – again – buzzing.  As we watched the morning fog dissipate, the continent of Africa came into focus. It was early, and quite quiet on the ferry as we all took in the moment, the silence only breaking to hum a few bars of Toto’s 1982 hit song “Africa,” as we get closer, because it would be a crime not to (at least in our world). 

The next few hours changed me. Maybe it changed all of us. We again had no plans in Morocco except to take in as much as we could before Diana and I separated from the rest of our family. We were off to spend the evening in Casablanca while they were heading back to Spain. 

Arriving in Morocco, we were approached by a man who sensed that we obviously hadn’t a clue what we were doing. After we told him our situation, he offered to squire us around Tangier, Morocco, and show us as much as he could before we had to leave. Of course, we were a bit wary of being had or taken advantage of, much like you’d be in any unfamiliar situation where you have no control. 

Greeting us with a smile and gentle eyes, we trusted Youssef Sedraoui to be our tour guide for the next few hours and is now a friend and ally that we have on the other side of the globe, which is crazy cool.  Will, being hesitant as we all were at first, felt instantly at ease when Youssef started educating us on the deep, vast history of Morocco. And Youssef was equally excited that someone could keep up with his knowledge of the subject of Moroccan history, especially a 22-year-old kid from the United States. Walls were instantly broken down as he told us about King Mohammed VI, and Morocco’s history with the USA. 

Spending most of my Upper Darby education dreaming of being a rock star and living in my own head, I learned more in the next six hours than I ever could’ve in school. I was there. This is where it all happened thousands upon thousands of years ago. People lived their lives here before Christ. Again, deep breaths and trying to take in the moment. We saw American, French, and Moroccan flags, side by side, everywhere we went. It made me feel good about humanity, which I don’t think I have in a while. 

Youssef took us to a few places before we ended up on the edge of the continent, where the Atlantic Ocean meets the Mediterranean Sea. It was spectacular. It was there that we stopped for some mint tea, a staple in Morocco. After we were instructed on the proper way to construct and pour this minty beverage, we all quickly realized that it didn’t quite agree with us. A bit of uncomfortable stomach pain was a reminder we were in a different world. It was a small hiccup that was quickly erased when we headed down the road a bit and Youssef said, “Do you guys wanna ride some camels?!?”

When in Rome. Yes? Please go on…

Thirty minutes later I found myself on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean, looking at my wife, her aunt, uncle, cousin, and brother, riding camels on a Moroccan beach. Six months ago, we were all together celebrating Christmas in Delaware County, Pennsylvania, and now we’re in North Africa riding camels on the beach. A bit touristy? Probably. But am I coming all the way to Morocco and passing up on this opportunity? Not a chance. The exuberance and laughter coming from our group, as well as the men coordinating this whole adventure (who didn’t speak our language or know where we came from, but again, smiles…) made this one of the favorite moments in my life. I wish I could’ve shared it with everyone that I love. And yes, the camel ride settled Diana’s stomach. No need for any antacid. Just a camel. 

A few more stops during the day were just as memorable. Youssef took us to a wonderful place for a genuine Moroccan lunch, along with a beautiful surprise birthday cake for Ronnie. We sang “Happy Birthday,” our way, and then their way. No matter the language, the sentiment was the same. Happy birthday brother.  

As this unforgettable afternoon was nearing the end, Youssef not only gave us a recommendation of the best place to eat in Casablanca, but he made a reservation for us. He told us that we must go see the Hassan II Mosque, and that it was magnificent. He was, again, correct.

After a quick bullet train ride Diana and I arrived in Casablanca and had dinner at the luxurious Rick’s Cafe. A very elegant restaurant that was a stark contrast to its rundown urban surroundings. We had an unforgettable meal while listening to a jazz trio. It was perfect. We passed on the cab so we could walk the two-mile trek back to our hotel, mostly in silence, while looking at our surroundings and periodically looking at each other, saying again, “How did we get here?” We went to bed exhausted and eager for the next day. 

Waking up with only about three hours until we had to go to the airport and head back home, we went straight to the Hassan II Mosque. We were in a world quite different than ours. Different cultures, rules, laws, and religions. I thought we might feel uneasy because of that, but we didn’t. The mosque was a true testament to the craftsmanship of humankind and was the most beautiful man-made structure that I have ever stood inside. Built in six years from mostly Moroccan material and workers, it was as marvelous as the landscape of Ronda or the grandness of Gibraltar. 

Like with everything on this trip, the pictures don’t quite capture it. We were welcomed there – no matter who or what we might pray to – to enjoy such an exquisite palace of worship. It felt good. We saw all kinds of people there from all ends of the earth. Plenty of smiles.

As I write this, I’m on a plane back to our current home in San Diego. I’ll admit that my ignorance to foreign cultures kept me from wanting to travel much outside of the United States. Additionally, as I said, there are still so many wonderful places inside our own beautiful America that I’d love to visit, see and feel. But it’s true, the trip has changed me. 

I’m extremely grateful for being born at the time and the place that I was. And as I think about other people’s human experience, the time and place where they were born, it makes me thirst for more and more: more knowledge, more experiences, more food, more smells, and many, many more smiles.

I must thank Diana’s Aunt Sal and Uncle Ron (Rondo), for extending an invitation to which we couldn’t say no. I’m grateful beyond words.

Many times during the trip I thought about Anthony Bourdain. If he had possibly been in the same place I was, and how he might’ve felt. Was it good for him? Or did it drive him crazy like every other kind of addiction? Because I believe that traveling can be just that –addicting. 

For my remaining time on this planet, I vow to keep searching. For what, I’m not sure. But a fire has been lit inside of me and I have no interest in putting it out. I want to feed it. Plus, I don’t think our tickets to Istanbul are refundable, so.…

No reservations.

…except for the one that Youssef made for us. 

Thanks, friend. 

“Travel isn’t always pretty. It isn’t always comfortable. Sometimes it hurts, it even breaks your heart. But that’s okay. The journey changes you; it should change you. It leaves marks on your memory, on your consciousness, on your heart and on your body. You take something with you. Hopefully, you leave something good behind.”

– Anthony Bourdain