My life of adventure, travel, and even ending up in Morocco is a story of destiny.
I was born into a multiracial family with a Japanese mom and a German dad, so I grew up enjoying different foods, hearing other languages and getting used to cultural differences. And, of course, I heard stories of ancestors who had had the travel bug way before it ever bit me.
Let’s start with my Japanese great-grandfather. He came to the USA from Japan as an agricultural worker. Eventually, he answered a help wanted ad in a newspaper – someone was looking for a cook to travel with him around the USA. That person happened to be Buffalo Bill! He hired my great-grandfather, and this was his ticket to seeing the whole United States. Eventually, Buffalo Bill wanted to take his show to Europe, at which point my great-grandfather quit to return to Japan to find a bride. Once he got married, the newlyweds moved back to the USA, where they settled permanently.
My German great-grandfather had a love for travel and a passion for discovery. To this day, I have a collection of letters that he handwrote on that wonderful old Air Mail paper. He described his travels, the people he met, the foods he ate, etc. And his son, my grandpa, got the love of travel from him. He even worked for the Union Pacific Rail while aspiring to be a Hollywood actor. He took my sister and me on our first train trip on the Starlight Express. We rode the rails from LA to San Diego and spent the night at the historic and posh Hotel, del Coronado. I felt like a princess! (I still feel like a princess, but that’s a story for another blog).
Now let’s talk about my mom, who was the real seed planter. My mom had never left the state of California for the first 44 years of her life, yet she was obsessed with world history with a preference for everything European. Her favorite countries to study were England, Italy, and especially France. (This is why she named me Nicole and my sister Brigitte). My childhood home was filled with shelves with National Geographic magazines, books about European history and art, miniature replicas of statues by Michelangelo, and copies of paintings by Da Vinci. I was dead sure that my mom was European in a former life. My mom also loved the French language so much that she felt the need for my sister and me to speak it, so every Saturday morning, we missed watching cartoons to go to Madame Francoise’s house for lessons. It made absolutely no sense. You live in California; you study Espanol, not Francais! Alas, this was an introduction of things to come in Europe. Who could have predicted at that time that I would end up living in France for ten years and then working in France and Italy as a tour director for 24 years?
Growing up, we didn’t travel much. We would have an annual vacation in San Diego and Yosemite, but that was pretty much the extent of it….and then destiny worked her magic. When I was 18, my family relocated to Paris, France. My dad worked for Disney, and they needed him to work on the then “Euro Disney” project. My mom was ecstatic. As for me, I went reluctantly and suffered terrible culture shock. I enrolled at the Sorbonne to study French and at the American University in Paris to study Art History. This was when I realized that the universe had been grooming me from birth to enter this new chapter in my life. I loved the ten years I spent in Europe.
And now, for Morocco. My first glimpse into Islamic culture happened when I was 6 years old and in the bathtub. My younger sister and I used to take a bath together when we were kids. After we were done playing in the tub, mom would come into, soap us up, and shampoo our hair. Then she would tell us to stand up, raise our hands, and shout, “Allah be praised!”. We had no idea what we were saying, but it would make her laugh every time. Then as a teenager, I went to the only Moroccan restaurant in LA at the time called “Marrakech” in Sherman Oaks. I thought it was so cool to sit on cushions on the floor, share dishes with my companions and watch belly dancers. It was so exotic….but not authentic Moroccan. Now I know that the food I had was primarily Middle Eastern. And the belly dancing? Nope, not Moroccan, either.
My first journey to the Maghreb was in 1996. I was living in France then, and Morocco was just a short flight away. I had easy access to an exotic land that conjured up images of camel caravans, harems, kasbahs and oases, spices markets, etc., and I jumped on the occasion. When I arrived in Marrakech, I immediately felt at home, as if I had been there before. I would hear and see the name “Allah” everywhere, which would immediately take me back to my childhood bathtub, and I had that “Aha!” moment. Fast forward to 5 years ago when I was leading a group tour in Morocco and met my sweetie pie, Adnan. Now I live in this beautiful country with my Moroccan family, and I know that I am exactly where I was meant to be.