nathalie shushan

I never liked the idea of resorts. I find charm and authenticity to be more appealing than opulence, and resorts have a tendency to reduce a spectacular place to one that can suit the highest number of people in the most general of ways. That’s not to take away from their value in the world. They remove the need to make decisions in a way that’s deeply relaxing. In fact, I felt that my mom deserved exactly the kind of rest that a resort could offer. The sprawling grounds with pools of all shapes and sizes had their own beauty – and, of course, not having to consider which food we could or couldn’t eat on Passover in a foreign country was invaluable. Still, I quickly ached for a change of scenery once we’d settled in.

The morning after the first seder, my mom and I staked out a space that we’d come to regard as our own for the remainder of our stay. It was a seating area around the smallest pool nearest to the ocean. After spending a couple of hours laying in the sun, I walked over to the refreshments and ran into the friend we’d made the night before. I had enjoyed her company so much that my face lit up at the sight of her. Babette, who was traveling with her husband and son from Hong Kong, was magnetic and kind. When she mentioned that her husband, Andre, had heard about a local restaurant where fishermen bring their most recent catches to the table before being grilled and served, I needed no convincing to join. We exchanged numbers and I received a Whatsapp message shortly after with an invitation to meet at the lobby at 1:15.

My mom and I, both consistently late to everything we do, managed to meet Babette and Andre in the lobby exactly on time. We all got into the taxi that waited outside and made our way off the resort ground into the village of Taghazout. It was the PCH of Morocco, with the Atlantic Ocean glittering to our left, becoming more expansive as we drove around the bend of the shore onto cliffs overlooking the sea and past restaurants set up on the sandy beach.

The resort was a beautiful confinement but I couldn’t ignore the feeling that the world was opening itself up to us again. I felt free. I basked in the warmth of connection with our new friends and in the magic that had brought us to the same place from different corners of the world. I already loved Babette’s energy, admired her linguistic precision, joined in her laughter. I appreciated Andre’s determination and self-assuredness. My mom and I shared their excited sense of adventure (driven by the pursuit of a culinary experience, no less). It was one of those moments that feel significant as they happen.

After the scenic drive, we made it to an unassuming restaurant called Piers dans l’Eau with tables set up along the shore. Moroccan hospitality is unparalleled but the staff at this restaurant was the most accommodating I had experienced. They were warm, inviting and gave generously of their energy. It seemed to be in response to Andre and Babette, who expressed clear excitement and exuded an inviting elegance that made people feel seen in a powerful way. Staff rushed to pull out our chairs, ensured that we were comfortable and sheltered by bright orange parasols from the strength of the sun. They brought cold water and laminated menus while my mom and Babette went to put their pieds dans l’eau, giving Andre and me a chance to look at the menu and connect. In a short but unhurried time, Andre told me about his business, his love of art, writing that he’d done. I explained to him that I was searching for clarity about what I wanted in the next season of my life. We learned that we were traveling for the same reasons (deep work fatigue and a gnawing feeling we couldn’t ignore that, “if not now, when”). We met each other with sincere curiosity.

Babette and my mom returned from the sea, shoes in hand, both content with their bit of exploration. The women all sat back and smiled while Andre leaned forward to peruse the menu. The salty sea air and the smell of fresh fish nudged at my appetite, which had deserted me immediately after the break up and threatened never to return. I looked at the menu with quiet curiosity.

Eventually, two men walked over to the table with a platter of whole fishes, displaying the freshest available options. Andre made a varied selection and thanked the servers excitedly. Our salads were served shortly after, followed by platters of beautiful grilled fish. I was moved by the simplicity and the freshness. I wiggled my toes in the sand as I took small bites. The fish was as soft as butter left in the sun. Taste is the first thing to leave when I am deeply in my sadness and the flavor brought me a little bit closer to life. I could feel the a space in the hollow of my chest fill with warmth as I recorded the memory of the moment.

We ate past our fill, enjoying the food too much to stop when we should have. One more bite of sole led to one more bite of snapper, over and over until we couldn’t fit another into our bodies. I felt full in my body and my soul, deeply satisfied by the entire experience.

After a pause to sing our praises of the meal, Andre ordered a platter of fruit for the table. He and my mom each ordered a coffee and Babette and I ordered mint teas. The fresh mint was bright green, leaves vital, with a strong, sweet aroma. The waiter picked a sprig off the plate dropped it into the metal teapot to flavor the tea that had been brewed. He poured it into a small crystal glass, spout high above so the stream of tea was loud and fragrant, before pouring the tea back into the pot and doing it once again for good measure. I loved the ritual of it. I picked up the glass and inhaled the scent deeply before taking my first sip.

We all left the lunch content and feeling free. My heart felt full from the experience and from the opportunity to get to know our new friends better, to spend time in their presence. I was full of gratitude. I returned to the resort, fortified, reminded that there was genuine life out there.