How We Found Transformation When The Dust Settled Under A Moroccan Sunset

Because sometimes, the best adventures start with a missing ID, a text battle, and a pause. Stella & Lucille at their finest. Morocco . Letter #20

Dear Ageless Wanderer:

You know, just when you think you've got all your ducks in a row, life decides it's time for duck-duck-goose—Moroccan style.

Just imagine, there we were, the dynamic duo of ageless wanderers, faced with a sudden plot twist in our Moroccan saga.

Hamid, our supposed guide extraordinaire, drops a bombshell. Next thing we know, we're navigating through a texting maze that felt like we were in some kind Moroccan haboub.

Lucille, ever the voice of reason amidst our whirlwind of "WTFs," puts the brakes on Hamid's unexpected request for my credit card.

"Hold up," she types, her fingers flying over her phone with the speed of a seasoned text-warrior.

"Why do you need her credit card?"

"We need to rent a car. And you don't need to park your car at the airport; you can park it behind a shop we know," says Hamid.

And just like that, we were in a tiff akin to a full-blown dust storm, Moroccan style.

*****

Dear Lucille,

"Absolutely not," I declared. My voice echoed my resolve as I metaphorically dug my heels in deep.

You know what that means, right? It means I'd anchored myself to the “Not” spot, steadfast and unmoved, no matter what.

I'm usually the queen of quick thinking—seriously, throw me a curveball and I'll probably hit it out of the park.

But this?

This was next-level quackers involving trust. In my book, trust is earned, not just handed over in a text.

The last-minute changes had me spiraling, envisioning some dramatic documentary on Netflix: "Vanished in Morocco: The Tale of Two Stupid American Elders."

Not exactly my dream claim to fame, you know?

And while I was juggling that mental mini-drama, another thought smacked me upside the head: If my granddaughter found herself in a situation like this, what would I tell her to do?

Probably something wise and calm, like, "Take a deep breath, stay grounded, and figure out the next step."

Hmm.

Maybe I should follow my advice?

So, I suggested we continue with our plan, without guides, and drive our little roller in search of the granaries.

“We can do this”, I said.

*****

Dear Stella,

I know your instincts are sharp. Razor-sharp. Borderline samurai.

But then our freshly-walletless guide called to say he could no longer accompany us. Apparently, being a certified professional means you need your actual certification, and his had vanished along with his wallet.

“No problem”, he said - he'd found someone even better: older, wiser, and presumably less prone to losing crucial identification. He'd even join the trip for free. A bonus guide!

What could go wrong?

And I believed him.

Maybe because I wanted to. Perhaps because I had a full-color, day-by-day, laminated itinerary, and I wasn't emotionally prepared to shed it.

To my credit, I had vetted him through a respectable chain of Moroccan whispers, including cousins and someone's dentist.

So far, so good.

You, on the other hand, went full MI6. "Two guides, one car, two tourists?" you said. "That's how documentaries start."

I argued.

You resisted.

I assured.

You spiraled.

I offered logic.

You countered with gut feelings and energy shifts.

At one point, I thought I'd lost you entirely to a rabbit hole named Worst Case Scenario.

So I did what any friend with questionable judgment and stubborn loyalty would do: I texted him, "No." A firm, clear, womanly "No."

And then he called and said he was outside.

Of course he was.

I went downstairs to meet him, strong-minded and assured, yet I knew it would still be a no, even though my own heart said yes.

I didn't mean to betray you. I just meant to talk. To explain that we were no longer taking applications for male chaperones. To be as gentle and kind as possible.

However, he then introduced the second guide. And dammit, Stella, he was charming. Not slick-charming. Dad-who's-good-with-tools charming.

So I came upstairs with a calm demeanor and a broken promise to you.

*****

Dear Lucille,

While you were downstairs handling things like a pro—saying "no" in the kindest, most diplomatic way possible (because we're classy like that)—I was upstairs having a little heart-to-heart with myself.

Then my gut told me your "no" would turn into a "yes.”

So I took my advice, and let me just say, the energy? It shifted.

You know that feeling when you go from frazzled to “Oh, I GOT!” this in two seconds flat?

Yeah, that was me.

In my mind, I was suddenly the star of a documentary called “The Credit Card Chronicles: Boundaries, Rental Cars, and Saying No Like a Pro.” (Catchy, right?)

Because here's the deal: if someone else is driving, they're renting the car, and we'll reimburse them later.

Simple.

Trust isn't something you just hand out in a text message; it's earned—preferably through thoughtful actions and maybe a little Moroccan tea over shared stories.

And as for our dear little roller skate of a rental car?

That baby was my responsibility, and there was no way I was leaving it behind someone's shop like a forgotten toy. Nope. We'd park it safely and soundly in the airport's long-term parking, where it belonged. Because, call me old-fashioned, but some things (and some cars) deserve at least a little respect.

So, yeah, while you were downstairs, having said yes and now trying to figure out how to tell me, I was upstairs setting boundaries, reclaiming calm, and internally high-fiving myself for sticking to the plan.

It just goes to show—you don't always need a grand gesture to shift the vibe.

Sometimes, you just need a pause, a solid plan, and a pinch of common sense.

*****

Dear Stella:

You were right to be cautious.

I was right to give it a shot.

We both came out ahead.

Two guides for the price of one.

We survived yet another adventure and lived to tell the story.

Now let's never speak of it again.

Pinky Promise

*****

In Summary:

As dawn broke, casting an ethereal pinkish-orange glow over the desert landscape that unfolded before us, we hoped this would be the laminated adventure we'd dreamed of, complete with all its imperfections and surprises.

Reflecting on the twists and turns that brought us here, Lucille and I shared a look—a look that said, "Love ya, Sista!"

Life, with its unexpected detours and surprise endings, somehow brought us exactly where we needed to be. Not only geographically, but also spiritually and emotionally.

And so, dear fellow wanderers of the world, let this tale be a reminder: it's on these types of adventures where we discover the resilience and boundless spirit within ourselves.

May we all find our calm, and may we face every "WTF" moment with a steadfast heart and a cheeky grin.

Until our next letter, where we share the adventures of having two guides for the price of one.

XXOO Stella and Lucille