The Space Between

For the women who wander—finding beauty and sisterhood in alleyways, side streets, and corners of the world . Morocco . Letter #12

Dear Stella,

Okay, I know you’re just across the hall, and I could pop over and share this story with you, but what about our readers? That’s why I’m writing this short account of a new rhythm I’ve discovered. The quiet art of finding beauty in between moments.

It started during those peaceful stretches when you’re off buying your morning coffee. I know, I know, you’ve given it up now, but I’m talking about the good old days, back when you still enjoyed that daily pleasure.

You always had your favorite vendor on our walk from the Dar into the wider souks, or whatever path we’d chosen for the day. You know how narrow the alley can be, and then - suddenly - it opens wide. The place you liked has just enough space for a broad swath of people to pass each other: locals, travelers, motorbikes weaving through, handcarts stacked with baskets (of baskets!) heading toward restaurants, donkey carts hauling cement bricks for the endless construction.

The donkeys are like postcards, but they vanish the moment I reach for my camera, swallowed up in the sea of people.

So while I wait for you as you wait for your coffee, I watch.

And the watching has become its own small devotion.

What draws me most are the older Moroccan women, dressed in their djellabas and headscarves, with only their faces showing. They often carry baskets, and I imagine them doing their daily shopping. Life hasn’t been easy for women anywhere, and I doubt it’s been easy for them. You can see it etched in the lines on their faces, in the small hunch of their shoulders, and in the slow determination of their walk.

But oh, they are beautiful.

Serious, yes. But so beautiful.

I stand slightly to the side, watching as one approaches. Almost always, within five feet, she senses me….my gaze…and glances up. That’s my moment. I smile.

And every time, every single time, she smiles back.

Not just a polite smile, but one that reaches her eyes, eyes that shine with something bright and simple and true. In that instant, there’s an exchange: a silent agreement that we are the same. Different cultures, yes. But women who have known marriage, childbirth, sorrow, and joy. That quiet understanding only women seem to share.

Was I being intrusive? The smiles prove me wrong.

So now, waiting for you in the alleys of the Medina has become one of my favorite parts of the day.

Because I leave those moments feeling full. Filled up in a way I didn’t even know I needed.

And later, when I tell you about it over mint tea or while we’re brushing the day’s dust from our sleeves, I get to live it again, this time with you. Your laugh, your quiet nod, the way you always say, “You and your quiet ceremonies…” It makes the moment feel even more complete.

Maybe that’s the secret of travel, not just the places, but the pauses. The stillness between destinations. The unexpected ways we connect: through a smile, a glance, or the simple joy of waiting in an alley while your friend buys coffee.

XXOO

Lucille

Thanks for walking with me through this little moment in Marrakech.
If this ritual reminded you of a time or place of your own…one of those quiet, meaningful pauses, we’d love to hear it. Let’s keep the conversation going in the comments. If you have read this far, please give us a like and maybe share with a friend. :)