Sometimes the most beautiful destinations show us their broken places first—and that’s exactly what we need to see.
We landed in Casablanca on a Monday afternoon, oxygen-deprived and still buzzing from Bad Bunny in Madrid the night before. The kind of tired that makes you feel slightly unmoored from reality, which, as it turns out, was perfect preparation for what was coming.
It’s June, no humidity, the kind of day that whispers promises of adventure. I’m imagining French-style markets where gorgeous food practically begs you to take it home. You know the fantasy—sun-dappled stalls, the scent of fresh herbs, vendors who become your temporary best friends over the perfect tomato.
Instead, we walked straight into a lesson I wasn’t ready for.
The Two Faces of Every Story
Here’s what they don’t put in the travel guides: Every destination has an Instagram face and a real face. And sometimes, if you’re brave enough to walk beyond the curated corners, you’ll meet both on the same day.
We made a right out of our hotel in the Golden Triangle. Yes, that’s actually what they call a fancy part of Casablanca and suddenly we weren’t in Kansas anymore. The wide avenues gave way to narrow corridors of squalor that hit me like a physical blow. Feral cats missing eyes. The smell of despair mixed with rotting food. Makeshift homes that barely qualified as shelter.
I kept looking forward. Not because I’m delicate. Trust me, I’m not. But I my soul wasn’t ready for the gravity of what I was seeing. There was a man mixing batter in a bowl, others watching his stirring like it was meditation. Or maybe just hope taking shape in flour and water.
My expectations crashed hard against reality. The scenes were rejecting everything I wanted this walk to a “tourist destination” to be. It hurt, deep down where privilege lives and rarely gets examined.
The Privilege of Walking Away
I joke that my head hit dirt when I was born in the Dominican Republic countryside, but at 60, I know privilege. My next stop after Casablanca? A mansion in Portugal for my birthday celebration.
What irony, right?
I’ve spent decades carrying guilt about wealth and the easy life I lived. But standing in those streets of Casablanca, watching people survive in conditions that would break most of us, I realized that the guilt doesn’t help anyone. What helps is staying awake to the contrasts, taking in the discomfort and remembering it.
We crossed the street three-quarters of the way through that neighborhood. We didn’t feel threatened. No one even approached us. We crossed because we had the priveledge of doing so. For that moment it was about removing ourself from it, while our hearts catch up with what we were seeing.
Finding Beauty After the Breaking
Here’s where the story gets interesting.
The day we landed, we made a left out of our hotel and down the side street and stepped into a little oisis of a neightborhood. There we found Lilou Cuisines a la Maison. There we met Hind, the owner and dish creator. There we spent a good hour feeding our souls and bellies and Hind was full of guidance for our stay, including where to get the best Moroccan food.
So after the disappointment at the Central Market, we were desperate for something beautiful, we went straight to Sqala—which happens to be the eating spot that easily pops up on tour guides every where but not a local favorite. We ended up there because I needed a guarantee. I needed to see the wealthy side of Casablanca before I could process the poor side.
Was that fair to Hind? Probably not. Was it honest about where I was emotionally? Absolutely.
La Sqala delivered everything I needed: beauty inside an ancient fortress, spectacular food, a chance to reset my rattled soul. From there, we found the coastline—think Atlantic Ocean from the other side—and suddenly Casablanca revealed its other face. Wide open spaces, manicured gardens, clean streets, cafes that could be in any cosmopolitan city.
The relief was immediate and unapologetic. I didn’t feel guilty about needing beauty after witnessing despair. I felt human.
The Reminder We All Need
By our final day, wandering through the pistachio-green perfection of DGHMIRA (Hind’s suggestion for the best Morrocan food) where we feasted on Tangine meatballs and poulette, trying on handmade caftans in a boutique that felt like a jewelry box, I understood something crucial: Casablanca was showing me the full spectrum of human experience in one city.
We need these reminders. All of us do. Especially when we get caught up in the small details of our privileged lives—the delayed flight, the mediocre service, the hotel room that’s not quite right. We can afford to worry about these things because of where we sit in the world.
Travel doesn’t just show us beautiful places. It cracks us open and forces us to hold multiple truths at once: poverty and wealth, despair and joy, our discomfort and our privilege. It reminds us that behind every postcard-perfect destination are real people living real lives—some harder than we can imagine.
The Gift of Seeing Clearly
That man stirring batter while others watched, that image stays with me because it was human. Raw. Real. A reminder that survival looks different everywhere, and hope takes whatever form it can find.
The feral cats, the squalor, the smell that made us cross the street, those are part of the story. Just like the fortress restaurant and the stunning coastline and the kindness of strangers who fed us impossibly good food.
Travel at its best doesn’t just expand our understanding of the world—it forces us to examine our place in it. To sit with discomfort. To acknowledge both our privilege and our humanity.
So here’s to the destinations that break our hearts a little. To the contrasts that make us squirm. To the reminders that shake us out of our comfortable bubbles and force us to see clearly.
Because when we travel with our hearts wide open, ready to witness both the beautiful and the broken—we don’t just see the world differently. We see ourselves differently too. And that’s when the real journey begins.
Pack your bags. But pack your courage too. The world is waiting to show you all of its faces—and you’re brave enough to see them all.
Your Casablanca Cheat Sheet
Because we’re not gatekeeping the good stuff, gorgeous.
Here’s everything you need to recreate (or completely avoid) our Casablanca adventure. We stayed at Barceló Anfa Casablanca in the Golden Triangle—and here’s the insider tip: make a right when you leave, not a left. Trust me on this one.
The food that saved our souls: Start at Lilou Cuisine La Maison (Lebanese, 4.9 stars, woman-owned perfection) where owner Hind became our unofficial Casablanca guru. For your tourist moment—and, we all need them—hit La Sqala inside that gorgeous fortress for tagine that’ll make you weep happy tears. Then venture to DMHIRA (another women-owned restaurant) in the pistachio-green building that looks like a jewelry box for an afternoon that’ll restore your faith in beautiful spaces.
For shopping with soul: Find Galerie des Mervilles owned by the fabulous Gita Zerhouni for handmade Moroccan fashion that’s actually wearable back home. The coastal reset: Head to Anfa Place Mall near El Hank Lighthouse in the Corniche area—this is where Casablanca shows off its stunning Atlantic coastline and reminds you why you came.
The reality check: We walked to Marche Central and learned that sometimes the journey teaches you more than the destination. Maybe take a cab if you’re not ready for the full spectrum of city life.
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