On December 31, 2025, I landed in Tangier, ready to ring in the New Year somewhere completely unfamiliar. I gave myself twelve days in Morocco with almost no plans other than renting a motorcycle, escaping, and doing a bit of remote work. Just enough research and plans to get by and have an adventure. That’s how I like to travel. Tangier pulled me in fast. I stayed in a small BnB inside the casbah (the area surrounding a North African citadel, typically in the old part of a city), stepping each morning straight into a buzzing bazaar. The architecture was beautiful, raw and worn, and the coffee and tea strong and abundant.
After the initial sensory overload, things slowed. Mornings became about mint tea with sugar at Al Amana Mini Coffee, overlooking the Strait of Gibralta. I could always count on the company of a cat or two at this cafe.. Serene af.
I planned to stay twelve days but left after seven. Tangier isn’t a beginner city, and the grit of my BnB and its surroundings wasn’t quite my vibe—my fault for not planning better. I’m simple. Put me somewhere with a camera (or four) and a little room to breathe, and I’m good. So grateful to be able to travel to Tangier, be a fly on the wall, and witness some amazing sights and meet some wonderful people.
The simplest things became my favorite. The BnB came with breakfast, and not just some continental spread tossed on a table —real food, cooked every morning by Mohammed, the father of the family who ran the place. Every day was different. Always abundant. Always delicious.
Tea and coffee were non-negotiable. Strong. Sweet. Refilled without asking. Breakfast was served on the rooftop terrace overlooking the Strait of Gibraltar. What a sight. And five times a day, the call to prayer rolled across the city, echoing off the old walls of the casbah, becoming the soundtrack to my mornings.
It was easily one of the highlights.
I spent most of my days wandering. No destination, no checklist. Just moving through the streets, stopping for coffee, then tea, then probably tea again. I’d duck into the sparse museums tucked near the casbah, quiet and almost forgotten, like they were waiting for someone to notice them.
Some neighborhoods were pure beauty — saturated blue buildings pressed up against bright white walls, the contrast almost unreal. Wonderful. And then a few turns later, everything shifted. Grittier blocks. Sparse. Raw in a way that didn’t invite you to linger too long with a camera in hand.
Real people. Real life.
