A Camel Ride, Four Cups of Mint Tea, and the Hotel Showdown- Spain & Morocco Part 9
I recently went on a trip to Spain and Morocco that turned out to be one of the hardest experiences I’ve had in a long time. Over the next few weeks, I’ll continue sharing the lessons and stories that came out of it. My intent is not to rehash the drama, but to explore the human experience when life doesn’t go the way we planned.
Sometimes the most beautiful growth hides inside the messiest moments.
These posts will be written in a more personal, I/Me storytelling style, but no matter where you live, where you’ve traveled, or what you’re walking through right now, I think you’ll find a piece of your own story in mine.
They’ll be a bit longer than usual, but don’t worry, here is the link to the audio version if you’d rather listen.
I enter the air-conditioned lobby, and the employee at reception eagerly greets me before I arrive at his station.
“Hi,” I respond much less enthusiastically while faking a smile. Although I am happy to finally be at the hotel, I won’t feel better until I eat, shower, and regulate my nervous system from the overstimulation of the day.
“How are you today?” he overzealously asks in a way that seems like he’s being sincere and not going through the motions of a perfunctory greeting.
I don’t know if it’s his perceived genuineness or me being too exhausted to keep of the fake happy façade, but I tell him the truth, “Not good.”
I can tell by his smile immediately disappearing that that wasn’t what he was expecting to hear. The recovering people-pleaser in me feels the need to over-explain now that I feel responsible for ruining his cheery mood.
“I had a long trip here. It was only supposed to be four hours but the car kept breaking down and my driver wouldn’t call a new driver and then we broke down again and I took a taxi the rest of the way here but my driver didn’t give him enough money so I paid him more because I just wanted to be done with the trip because it took over eight hours to get here and I’m so tired and hungry and just want to relax.”
I realize I’m rambling, so I get to business. “Also, I have two separate reservations because I tried to book an extra night to my original reservation, and that room wasn’t available, so I booked a different room for tonight. So, I’m not sure how that works.”
Stop rambling. Just get to the point.
“The reservations are under Angie Hawkins,” I say as I hand him my passport.
He efficiently pulls up my reservation. “Ahh, yes. I see you have the superior room for tonight. One moment.”
He furiously types and then analyzes something on the screen before saying, “Ms. Hawkins, I can upgrade your other reservation to the superior room for your entire stay at no extra cost. That way you don’t have to switch rooms, and you can get some rest.”
Holy shit! I think this is the first good thing to happen to me on this trip!
“Thank you so much!” I say matching his initial overzealous energy.
After settling in my room, I take a shower, order room service, and then crash.
I finally feel comfortable.
I feel hopeful and excited for the first time on this trip as I wait for my ride to the desert for a camel ride.
I’m proud of myself for protecting my peace and leaving the surf retreat a day early. I’m so thankful that the hotel employee gave me a free upgrade. I’m excited to do something stereotypically Moroccan today.
I booked this camel excursion online, and the description was vague, so this is a wild-card situation, but I’m okay with the uncertainty. After everything I have been through on this trip, I don’t feel like there is much that could happen with a camel ride that could be that bad.
The van pulls up, and I get in. There are already three other people in the van. Nobody is talking, and I am okay with that.
Shortly into the drive, the couple in the back starts talking in low voices, so I can tell that they are together. Then, the young guy next to me turns to me and asks, “How long have you been in Morocco?”
I tell him the Cliff Notes version of the surf retreat. And we make cordial small talk until we arrive at the desert camel stable.
As I look at the roped-up camels, I immediately feel bad about riding them. These poor animals carry people like us around all day. It’s no better than being a circus animal.
Our guide is cool and immediately takes us in and gives us Moroccan-style robes and head dresses to wear, fully immersing us in the dog and pony show effect of it all. He then proceeds to take a ton of pictures for us before we even mount the camels.
He leads me to my camel first. Her name is Fifi, and she doesn’t look lively or happy.
Why did I do this?
I immediately resolve to give her a ton of love as an energy exchange for letting me ride her.
Once the other three are on their camels, we start our ride through the desert, which is really their sectioned-off, groomed property in the desert. The guide, Ahmed, is super nice and informative. He even weaves camel shapes out of palm leaves for the other female and me.
Ahmed is also taking a ton of pictures of us riding the camels, which is a nice bonus.
At the end, we dismount our camels, and Ahmed and his assistant offer us tea. It’s hot outside, and it’s hot tea, so I don’t really want any, but Ahmed is saying how great it is, so I guess I’ll at least try it.
Holy shit, this tea is amazing.
It’s sweet but not too sweet, with a hint of mint.
“Oh my God, this is so good!”
“Have you not had Moroccan tea yet?” Ahmed asks.
“That’s just it, I have. I was in Imsouane for a week, and the tea there wasn’t like this at all. It was actually kind of gross. Why does this taste so good?”
He explains the ingredients and the process that creates froth. He points out the froth in our glass cups and explains that it is a tell-tale sign of good Moroccan tea.
The tea is so good that I down four cups. I am still wearing the robe, so now I’m sweating profusely, but I don’t give a shit. I love this tea.
In the van on the way back, I talk to the guy more. I learn that he is from Brazil, living in Portugal, but on his way to move to Los Angeles to live with a girl that he just met a few months ago when she was on vacation for a few weeks in Portugal.
“Are you nervous about the move?”
“No, why would I be?”
Oh, I don’t know, probably because you don’t even know this person, and now you are moving across the world to live in the same home as her. What could go wrong?!
Maybe I’m being negative, but I feel like I am being realistic. But because it isn’t my life, I don’t outwardly rain on his parade and let him finish talking about how excited he is.
After the driver drops me off at the hotel, I am so excited to take a shower because I am sweaty from drinking all that hot, frothy tea in the hot desert sun.
I enter my hotel room, and I can immediately tell from the unkempt bed that housekeeping has not been here, which is weird because I saw them a few doors down when I left this morning. I look at the time, and it’s 1 pm.
That’s odd.
When I call the front desk, I can tell by her voice that the girl who answers is young, although not as happy and cheery as the guy from yesterday. And once I explain the situation, her vibe turns down even more.
In a stern tone, she informs me, “You were supposed to check out of that room this morning. Your reservation is for the standard room. If you want to stay in that room, you need to pay for an upgrade.”
This can’t be happening. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.
Because I didn’t fully regulate my nervous system from yesterday, I am already at the cusp of crashing out only about a minute into this conversation. Her energy is harsh, and I don’t want to meet her energy because I might end up going Chicago on her.
I calmly explain to her that the guy yesterday offered me an upgrade.
“Well, Emery’s shift doesn’t start for two more hours. I can talk to him then.”
“Okay, well, can you at least deliver fresh towels to my room so I can take a shower while we wait for him?”
“No. You shouldn’t be in that room.”
I am going to punch her in the face.
I slam down the corded phone and walk with a Chicago stride to the lobby. I don’t know what I am going to say or what I am going to do, but all I know is that we are going to sort this out right now. Not two hours from now, when he starts his shift.
I will be damned if this mean girl thwarts my shower.
Luckily, there is no one else in the lobby. I immediately march up to her station. I know this is her because her young face matches the voice on the phone.
“Hi, I’m Angie from room 382. I need clean towels so I can take a shower when I get back to the room. And I’m not moving rooms. You need to call Emery right now so he can tell you that he upgraded my reservation.”
She is not happy about this, but I don’t give a shit. Luckily, she complies and calls Emery. After an approximately thirty-second conversation with him, she hangs up and tells me, “It’s okay to stay in that room.”
“Thank you. Can you please send housekeeping?”
“Yes, I will call them now.” She is definitely still not happy, but she immediately puts the call into housekeeping. I stand in front of her until she completes the call and then go back to my room to wait for housekeeping to turn over the room.
I don’t think I have gone one entire day on this trip without something going askew.
I want to go home. I hate this.
(To be continued in Part 10)
Glow Tip:
Self-Advocacy, Nervous System Safety, and Knowing When to Hold Your Ground
In the desert outside Marrakesh, I went from camel rides and perfect mint tea to a hotel showdown I did not see coming. After being promised an upgrade, I was told I didn’t belong in the room at all. Exhausted, overstimulated, and one “no” away from shutting down, I didn’t feel that old urge to shrink, over-explain, and smooth everything over.
For years, I let other people’s tone, mood, and behavior dictate my own. I stayed quiet to keep the peace, even when it cost me my energy, comfort, or sense of safety.
But that day, I remembered the one thing fully in my control: my response.
I couldn’t change her attitude, but I could advocate for myself because I knew I deserved the upgrade I was promised. I could speak clearly, hold my boundary, and choose action over people-pleasing, whether it made her comfortable or not.
Self-love isn’t about avoiding conflict; it’s about protecting your peace, honoring your needs, and trusting your own voice, even when your nervous system is tired.
When you practice small acts of self-advocacy, even on the verge of a meltdown, you stop abandoning yourself and start standing in your power.
That’s what it means to shine from the inside.
Video version: https://youtu.be/QPCLkY3Z_xg?si=Z-18T0zrX3iO0svR
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If a camel ride, four cups of mint tea, and a hotel showdown taught me anything, it’s this:
Your glow doesn’t disappear. It just gets buried under moments where you abandon yourself.
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Your next chapter starts with one brave yes.
With love and fire,
Angie
