Reshare
Revisiting the writing retreat I gifted myself last year.
Maybe it’s because I just visited the location for the next Sober Glow retreat. Or maybe it’s because the night we returned, my husband called out that I had to watch the trailer for the most Mia movie ever. As he replayed the Netflix trailer for me, I was so amused to see that it was a movie about a woman who goes on a writing retreat in Morocco, and not only that, it was filmed at the exact place where my retreat was held. How fun!
It was so sweet that I felt called to reshare my piece on the writing retreat I gifted myself last year.
PS The movie is pretty terrible. However, being transported back to that place and time made the lack of entertainment worth it.
PPS There were no Hemsworth brothers at my writing retreat. Give me my money back, please, and thank you :)
Look for my favorite view in the trailer!
This is a very long piece with pictures and videos, and it would be best to read it at the URL rather than in your email box.
Unfortunately, this trip was sandwiched between a natural disaster (the Morocco earthquake) and a human disaster (Hamas/Israel/Gaza). I have decided to leave my thoughts on those matters out of this particular piece. Below is simply my experience traveling for a writing retreat.
I hope this finds you warm and well.
March, 2020. Yellowknife, Canada. Image by Erin Merritt
March 3rd, 2020, the day I returned from the last retreat I hosted. Then the world shut down, and it took all of my plans for more alcohol-free adventures.
During our world break, I decided that before I hosted another retreat, I would treat myself to a retreat as a guest. I imagined somewhere off-the-grid, tropical, hot, and sexy, which is something I would want to offer my own guests after having just experienced -40 up in Canada.
I came across a writing retreat business in the early days of lockdown, and I loved how there was such a strong yet tangible purpose to gather that wasn’t just your typical yoga retreat. I never thought I would go on it because I never considered myself a real writer, but I was inspired by this concept of bringing a more tangible aspect to the AF retreats. However, we were in the middle of a pandemic, and no one was really going anywhere, so I pocketed the potential ideas and moved on.
After starting this Substack account and holding myself accountable to you, the reader, I knew I needed to take my writing more seriously and show it some respect. Since I have never had formal training in writing, I consciously started focusing on learning more skills, and I circled back to the fascinating idea of a writing retreat. I looked at a few offerings but chose the company that first introduced me to this concept.
However, they had yet to put any information about their next retreat online besides a few hints. It didn’t take much, but I figured out their website and found the unpublished sales page promoting a country I had been dying to go to but never had a real opportunity to: Morocco. I was sold, and my planning began.
What was supposed to be a five-day writing retreat turned into a nineteen-day whirlwind. There were no direct flights from LA to Marrakech, and most flights had a ridiculous layover with a price tag pushing 2K. I knew I could find a better plan. I just had to play around a bit.
Scroll down to get all the details and personal takeaways from another incredible sober experience…..
THE PLAN
London two nights
English countryside one night
Marrakech seven nights
Ourika Valley writing retreat five nights
Paris two nights
FLIGHTS
Round trip from LA to London via Virgin Air
London to Marrakech via Ryan Air
Marrakech to Paris via Air France
Paris to London via Air France
Total on flights < $1100 vs. that 2K price tag to fly straight to Morocco
Of course, the total trip price increased with the number of days and hotel stays, but I increased the value of my time and experience tenfold. It’s all about value for me.
LONDON – the Calm.
Since I was alone in London, I opted to stay in an inexpensive hotel in a great area. Here. The best part of this basic (but clean and quiet) hotel was it had a connected pub with a free and unlimited espresso machine that I took full advantage of. The location was perfect for me and my needs for this particular trip.
I spent two nights in London, walking and wandering for miles and miles, seeing everything I wanted to see while soothing jetlag. I had lunch here, saw some great art here, and generally just enjoyed my alone time without any agenda.
For some pre-trip planning, I used this site and this YouTube channel.
I love traveling alone and have done it more often than not, single and married.
One of my favorite aspects of being alone, especially over multiple time zones – is the lack of pressure from others to do something specific. Yes, I will research the shit out of any place I travel to, but that’s so I know all my options. I rarely commit to anything like purchasing tickets or making reservations, especially within two to three days of landing. I intentionally used London as a soft landing to get through my jetlag peacefully. It worked well.
Once I landed, I made my way to the hotel via the tube (easy and inexpensive), showered, and immediately headed out into the pouring rain to see the King. After multiple hours of walking around the parks, the palace, and the shopping districts, I grabbed a quick healthy bite here and returned to the hotel to get some sleep. The following day, the sun was shining, and London was gorgeous. I wandered around that whole damn city, and it was exactly what I needed. It turned out to be one of the more manageable time transitions I have had while traveling abroad.
Years ago, my oldest childhood friend married an Englishman and moved to the countryside north of London. We planned to meet, and she would travel with me for a few days. I spent my last night in England at her cottage, straight out of the movie The Holiday. I can’t recall ever staying in a more quaint home.
MOROCCO – the Chaos
We flew Ryan Air from Stansted to Marrakech. Oof. You get what you pay for. Before boarding our 6 am flight, I looked around and saw so many young girls who clearly had been out partying the night before and were on the verge of vomiting. And so many young men, clearly still drinking. On the flight, we had the pleasure of sitting behind two rows of these boisterous young men, and I have never felt so old. I also couldn’t help but wonder why on earth this group of beer-guzzling men (remember, it was 6 am, and they were getting after it) would choose a Muslim country to go do whatever it was they were going to do. To each their own - but I was still curious.
I stayed here for seven nights. Initially, I was to stay here and here. But the first riad lost my reservation, and the second sadly had some structural damage after the earthquake, and I had to cancel my stay a few days before I was to arrive. This was a great reminder of the perks of having done a lot of research and being prepared. Always have a Plan B (as well as plans C, D, and E).
There are hundreds of riads and a few trendy hotels, like here, and then there are the big box boring hotels. Or you can live like royalty here and here.
Restaurants: Here, here, here, here, here, my favorite here and a cooking class.
What I really wanted to do but was unable to here.
And my favorite place, the place I would return to again and again.
If you have time, take a trip outside of the city and sit under the night sky in the Sahara desert, or if time is short, the Agafay desert. But be mindful of what tour companies you pick – or you may be in for a crazy ride. Just take my word for it. Do this vs something like this - because you will find yourself surrounded by approx 200 other people, all having been duped into thinking they were getting a private guided tour of a magical Agafay desert sunset. Trust me.
Many people told me that Essaouira was a wonderful visit as well. When you travel to Essaouira from Marrakech, you will see all the goats in the trees.
I don’t think I would travel to Marrakech and not take advantage of staying in a traditional riad. It’s like staying in a private home, and you have a lot of opportunities to spend time with people from the community. One of my sweetest experiences during my stay would not have happened elsewhere. I was the only guest at the riad on my last night in Marrakech. Dinner was cooked for me by the night watchman, and we sat together on the roof while we ate, talked, and watched the sunset. It would have been romantic had it not been an entirely platonic and genuinely sweet exchange between two human beings.
My friend and I hired three separate private tour guides. The first guide was hilarious and a smooth talker. He showed us around the medina and took us deep into the souks, which I highly recommend because you get to see the actual happenings. The souks can be confusing, overwhelming, and even dangerous if you are not paying attention, i.e., donkeys, motorcycles, and theft. No matter where you travel, you have to be smart. No matter how comfortable you are as a traveler, it would help if you kept your head on a swivel and your eyes up. This guide quickly told us how safe Marrakech is, and he believed it so much that he flashed us his wallet from his back pocket in hopes we would feel secure, too. I just thought that was odd.
Our second guide was a soft-spoken young man who kept reminding me how “deep” we were staying in the medina. He was not shy about showing his concern for our safety. He had a completely different take on women visiting the medina and gave us many tips for staying safe while experiencing it all.
While we appreciated it, we also wondered how two locals could have totally opposite opinions of their city.
Our third and most memorable guide was a proud Berber. He took us around to the popular sites, and we did all the touristy things. He was more than happy to break up the monotony when we told him of our interest in checking out the inside of the lux hotel La Mamounia and its gardens. His driver took us straight there, and the three of us jumped out of the car and walked right up to the security gate. What happened next wasn't anything we expected, least of all our proud Berber guide.
We were greeted with hesitation as we approached the gates and the five or so security guards standing around it. Our guide spoke to the guards in Arabic, explaining that we were tourists and wanted to see the inside of the hotel in case we wanted to change hotels. The last part was a stretch since we had no intentions of changing hotels. During this conversation, the guards stiffened, and our guide raised his voice. The main guard grabbed our guide and took him aside for private words. My girlfriend and I stood there smiling at the remaining guards while sharing apprehensive glances. After a much longer than necessary conversation, our guide returned to us, and we were allowed to go through the gates. Once inside, we had some privacy, and our guide told us what was happening. In this explanation, we quickly learned about Berber culture and how they are the stewards of Morocco and how this hotel and the guards are not only disrespecting the Berber culture and our guide as a Berber man but also embarrassing all of Morocco in front of two women from another country. It wasn’t that they didn’t want us entering the hotel, but they didn’t want our guide in the hotel. As one could guess, this disrespect towards our guard ran much deeper. And the more they tried to deny him access, the more upset he became. Once we knew the full story, we tried to turn back because none of this was worth a fight. But now he insisted that we see what we wanted to see.
Our guide was beyond upset, and I could tell he was holding back with his words and actions because he had two paying customers watching the whole situation go down. We were about to ask more questions when several men in suits approached us and grabbed our guide. As he was being escorted away from us, he righteously shouted for us to look around, and he would find us outside the gates when we were done.
And then he disappeared behind a large red velvet curtain.
Stunned at the situation yet very impressed with our guide's pride and tenacity, we did as he said and headed off to explore quickly. On any other day, we would have basked in the beauty of the hotel gardens, but given the circumstances, we didn't see it that way. We felt terrible for having put our guide in that situation, and once we met up with him, we showered him with apologies, all of which he swatted off. We ended our tour with a few more Berber cultural tales and lessons that you would never find on any itinerary. It was fantastic.
After three days, we saw all we wanted to see, and we took our 47yr old asses out to relax. The Beldhi Country Club is roughly 20 minutes outside of the city limits and was just the oasis we needed. Quiet grounds, romantic olive trees, sparkling pools, and zero Americans. At one point, my friend, annoyed with the cute, chain-smoking French man having a long and exaggerated phone call, looked over at me and asked, “Aren’t you intimidated?” I looked around at the couples conversing softly with one other and a few small children jumping in the pool with their well-mannered excitement and words I did not understand. I think my friend was referring to the fact that no one there spoke English. I looked up at the olive tree branches covering the sky above me. “Quite the opposite, I feel completely at home,” it was, in fact, the most comfortable I have felt in a long time.
I spent the remaining days alone in Marrakech by that pool, reading and writing and preparing for what I thought the writing retreat would be like while Joséphine Baker lulled me in and out of naps. With two weeks in beautiful Morocco, the time alone at that pool, lounging under the olive trees, was by far my favorite.
The Writing Retreat - Ourika Valley, up against the Atlas Mountain Range.
Writing retreat with Trust and Travel
Location – Kasbah Bab Ourika
I had no idea what to expect at the writing retreat. Would I magically know all the English language rules after five days? No. Would I become a fabulous writer? Again, no. Would I learn some tools to take with me for the next time I sit down and have no idea how to write? Yes, yes, I would.
It was very important for me to go into this retreat as open as possible with a group of strangers. I read my words out loud to the group (terrifying) every chance I was given. I listened to the amazing words from women all over the world. I listened to conversations about things I knew nothing about and learned so much from those women. I went to sleep when I wanted to sleep. I tended to my needs rather than feeling like I had to experience everything offered. I felt free and very much myself.
I love a good scheduled day, and this retreat was definitely on a schedule. Each morning, I woke, went straight for the coffee set-up, and pulled a journal prompt left by our hosts. I would either go back to my room to write (I opted for a single room) or find a spot in one of the many nooks on the grounds of the hotel. Mornings also offered optional yoga classes followed by breakfast. After breakfast, our first workshop would begin and would last two to three hours, followed by lunch and some downtime, which typically meant pool time for me. The second workshop would be in the late afternoon, with time left to freshen up and meet for our nightly candlelit dinner under the stars. Some might not like the tight schedule style of this retreat, but since it is a skill-building retreat and we were there to learn, I assume anyone who would sign up for this kind of retreat would understand this.
Along with Erin and Jade, the two hosts, Leslie Jamison, author of The Recovering, was a guest teacher. Initially, I had no idea Leslie would be there, so it was a sweet surprise when Erin emailed me directly informing me. Knowing Leslie was joining quieted some of my concerns about the potential of being surrounded by a lot of heavy drinking. I’ve heard the stories of some very trendy yoga and movement retreats being filled with problematic drinking. And it wasn’t that long ago when I did a backcountry trek in Canada and found myself the only non-drinker in a cabin for two days full of massive drinkers. So my antenna was up. Surprisingly, Leslie and I were not the only non-drinkers on this retreat. There were five of us, and they were all impressive woman. One, in fact, will be dropping her first novel on recovery at the end of next year, and I will be first in line to purchase it.
UPDATE: First in the Family by Jessica Hoppe is now out in the world!
Classes and tools covered on retreat:
What’s in a name
Lyrical Essay (I loved this)
The Landscape of Feelings - taught by Leslie
Mapping exercises - great tool for getting into a story
Write a letter to a stranger
The Business of Writing
Short Story
Character creation exercises
MASH style exercise (remember the game MASH?!)
Poetry
Poems vs Prose
Travel Writing and the problems around it
Story vs. experience
It's wild how you can have an idea of something and be so wrong about it after you get to know it. This goes for people, ideas, opinions, and anything. What I thought this retreat would be was different from what it was. The location, the timing, the venue, the hosts, and the lessons were all lovely, yet none of it compared to the connection between the diverse group of humans who showed up. I laugh now because, as a host of retreats, I know this is where the magic always resides. The set and setting are one thing; the people are everything. So many unique connections that have nothing to do with me came from strangers signing up for one of my crazy retreats. That means a lot to me, and it feels wonderful to be a space holder and a participant in these spaces.
And I intend to do both more often.
Personal takeaways:
It's really powerful to share yourself with strangers.
Listening is the kindest act you can give someone.
Always go above and beyond to make sure my guests feel comfortable.
Crossing multiple time zones may not be the best idea for retreats where you need to be fully functional mentally.
Hosting retreats in areas where the possibility of stomach sickness is high may not always be the best idea either.
Always pack GSE. It has saved me multiple times. And saved me this time as well.
Always opt for your own space if you can.
The best way to join a retreat where you do not know anyone is to be 100% yourself, no matter what. Show up as you and only you.
Always pack a bikini.
Once you are packed. Remove and put away half of it.
Having a medicine bag will come in handy for many people. Once a nurse, always a nurse.
Traveling in a Muslim country as a non-drinker is pretty easy. You will not need to worry about seeing spring break behavior all around you. And the adventure of it all will keep you busy.
Thoughts straight from my journal unedited:
If there is one thing I am learning here on this retreat is that craft is one thing, but keeping my wild is where my magic is at.
Go out and meet more writers. Go to book signings. Say hello, tell them how their book moved/inspired me. Writers need to hear this from their readers. Remind them that people are reading their words.
Practice. Write a lot so you can find what you want to say in less. It’s what you don’t say that can be the most powerful. For example, see the Atlantic article about the author's growing up in a crack house.
Descriptive writing can be your entryway (trailheads, windows to look through) into something random and weird. Follow them or at least note them.
Being on a writing retreat doesn’t mean I will do my work there. There is a place to learn, ponder, and practice new ways and new entry points. This is to be taken home and developed in my own time. It doesn't happen on Day 1 (mia!!!) or two or even on day five. Just like nursing, you didn’t learn to be a nurse in nursing school. It takes time living and breathing and working as a nurse to be a good nurse. To practice and hone the skills. And it’s true for both nursing and writing- you must want to do it, to be good, and (mostly and) to enjoy the work itself.
PARIS - The Ghost
Ahh, Paris. Initially, I was going to take the Eurostar from London to Paris for a week before heading to Morocco. Unfortunately, the Rugby World Cup was happening, and the prices were soaring. So my girlfriend and I opted to go to Morocco together and earlier than I expected.
Yet, I still managed to get there post-retreat, literally for 36 hours.
Once I navigated my way through CDG and customs, I met up with my private driver. Even with all the attitude he gave me, it was worth it. I landed after dark, with limited time, and I didn’t want to fuck with the train system. The first order of business after checking in was eating! At nearly 11 pm, I took my exhausted ass out for escargot, a salad, and some NA beer. I must tell you, not one person batted an eye when ordering NA. And in case you were wondering, the same thing happened in Italy. We spent two weeks there, and not a single person gave me shit for not drinking. So, if you are worried, I believe this lifestyle is catching on. Or at least pestering people for not drinking is super fucking cringe these days (a wink and thank you to my Gen Z friends).
My husband and I will be returning to London and Paris in the next few weeks, and I will have a lot more links upon my return. But for now, here are a few to help you plan your next trip, along with my encounter with a French ghost.
I stayed in the popular arrondissement Le Marais on the right bank.
Hotel de JoBo – the staff was absolutely the loveliest.
I did not go to any museums.
Stopped at this famous home goods shop.
I only had a coffee break in the sunshine here because it was packed with people; the energy felt good and it was very pretty.
This Airbnb was where I originally booked myself. Great stay for a single person traveling alone.
Also loved this romantic Airbnb. Keeping this one in my back pocket.
On the second night in Paris, I was fast asleep at 2:00 am when the light above my bed turned on. As I woke, I looked around, confused as to what had happened, turned off the switch, and rolled over. It turned on again. I turned it off. And then again, it went on. This time, I sat up, looked around my room, opened my curtains, and looked in the bathroom, but I couldn’t figure it out. I looked outside and into other windows, but nothing seemed to be out or flashing. I returned to bed, turned off the light again, and a minute later, it turned back on. At that point, I was pissed because I had to get up in two hours for my flight. I yelled out, “I see you, I get it, haha, hilarious; now, can you please stop fucking with me so I can go back to sleep.”
Side note: yes, I believe in ghosts, and I have had enough encounters to know one when I feel one.
And as soon as I asked the ghost to kindly leave me alone, the lights flashed on and off about 10 to 15 times and then went out. And that was it, and I went right back to sleep. I wasn’t scared, though I wish I had asked the front desk about it. I know Paris is notorious for ghosts. Does anyone else have a ghost encounter in Paris?
See you so soon, sweet Paris…..
Loved it ! So much information. Thanks
Can’t wait to experience one of your retreats. Is that happening any time soon ?