I Came In Like A Wreckin’ Ball. It was Skoura-y
I still can’t believe we left The Sahara… engaged.
The proposal was everything… intentional, unforgettable, and entirely us. Yes, I proposed. No, we were not barefoot in the sand under the stars. It was planned down to the detail thanks to our exclusive proposal planning with help from the phenomenal Adventures by Disney team (special shoutout to Jennae), I was able to orchestrate the perfect moment in the middle of the desert without raising suspicion. It worked. He said yes. And the rest? Well, it sparkled.
The next morning, we met at a fossil workshop to begin our journey out of the desert and toward Skoura. It was one of those fascinating little places packed with prehistoric finds—trilobites, ammonites, petrified coral—where you suddenly remember just how ancient this land really is. We browsed, we shopped, we geeked out over fossils. One moment you’re admiring an extinct sea creature, and the next you’re back on a bus with a ring on your partner’s hand and marble on your mind.
Yes—Carrara marble. Gleaming, imported, wildly out of place and yet somehow exactly what we’d come to expect from Morocco, a country where luxury often shows up in the most surprising ways. We all fawned over it, naturally.
Then came lunch.
Tucked inside a village oasis, surrounded by swaying palms and low-slung adobe buildings, we stopped for a midday break with friends—one of those warm, laughter-filled meals that feels more like a celebration than a pit stop. The local restaurant was charming, and the staff could not have been more welcoming. You could tell how proud they were to share their home and cuisine with us.
And then... the fish broth struck again.
Now, to be clear—I’m not allergic. But I am haunted. Every time I let my guard down, there it is: lurking in a sauce, hiding in a vegetable, secretly flavoring a bowl of couscous. I felt like Bethenny Frankel in Cartagena, clocking fish-based danger before it could strike. Luckily, this time I caught it early and politely skipped the veggies. Crisis averted.
After that, it was back on the road. Bellies full (well, mostly), hearts happy, and still glowing from the night before. Skoura awaited—an oasis of a different kind, with its own blend of history, hospitality, and hidden surprises.
Oasis Living: Arrival in Skoura
After winding our way through ancient terrain, marble markets, and one surprise fish broth too many, we finally rolled into Skoura—a lush, palm-filled oasis town known for its historic kasbahs and quiet beauty.
Our home for the night? The stunning Ksar El Kabbaba, a fortress-like retreat that made an immediate impression. The structure itself feels like it grew right out of the landscape—earthy, regal, timeless. It’s the kind of place that whispers history through its walls and invites you to exhale. We were beyond fortunate to be assigned the Lmachware Suite, which felt more like a private hideaway than a hotel room. A few other guests were, let’s say, mildly envious—but credit where credit is due… this was the result of Adventures by Disney’s signature magic. Their relationships and thoughtful planning always show up in the best ways when you least expect it.
By now, we were six days into our Moroccan journey, which meant one thing: the collective realization that we were running out of clean clothes. Within moments of check-in, everyone disappeared into their rooms like laundry goblins, furiously stuffing well-worn outfits into laundry bags and whispering silent prayers to the hotel staff. It was luxury meets logistics—and honestly, very on brand for this trip. It was a quiet night of relaxation and an early bedtime at Ksar El Kabbaba. We awoke to a soft drizzle and the kind of chilled morning air that makes you want to wrap yourself in a blanket… or hop on a bicycle and channel your inner Von Trapp moment “Moroccan Style.” Guess which path we took? Doe a deer, a female deer. Yes, we rode bikes. Through the oasis. For five miles.
Now, let’s be clear—I am not what one might call graceful. But miraculously, I managed to stay upright the entire ride, even as we weaved through palm groves, past small farms, and soaked in the slow, serene rhythm of Skoura. The ride ended with one of the most heartwarming experiences of the trip: tea with a local family.Being invited into someone’s home for tea is a profound gesture in Moroccan culture, and this moment—simple, genuine, beautiful—reminded me of how hospitality speaks louder than language. While some in our group didn’t share a common tongue with our hosts, warm smiles, generous hugs, and our extraordinary multilingual guides built a bridge over any gap.
From there, we traveled to visit a local potter—affectionately known as The Happy Potter (and yes, he truly is and was fully embraced). This was no mass-production ceramic showroom. This was primitive pottery in its most authentic form. We watched him begin with dried, pulverized clay, add water, and expertly mold it by hand into stunning pieces. I was entranced for his demonstration…and then… I moved.
To be specific, I tried to step into a small outdoor seating area. Unfortunately, what I actually did was trip, and in doing so, I demolished one of the potter’s freshly made creations. Now, before you clutch your pearls—it was small. But still. A full-on bulldozer moment. The potter’s response? Pure kindness. He was more concerned about me than the pottery. He laughed, crushed the remains into a ball of clay, and said he would start again anyway. Honestly? Brilliant marketing strategy…I had to but something after that. I think the whole experience was capped off with the daughter, his protege in the making. She has ZERO tolerance for his interactions. She was all business, and I’m glad she didn’t catch my number. The Happy Potter snapped a photo to commemorate the day the "Bulldozer Named Billi" came to shop.
Robyn was instantly at my side with supplies to clean me—and my pride—up. Mustapha emerged from the house holding what I thought was an ice pack. It wasn’t. It was a package of frozen beets. Flash forward to the next day, when those beets thawed and were spotted lying on the floor, looking suspiciously like a murder scene. For a moment, I truly thought something had died.
From there, our group visited another historic kasbah, but Mother Nature had other plans. The river—long awaited by locals for irrigation—was rushing down from the mountains, and roads that were dry beds just hours before began to flood. We quickly rerouted to a windy, outdoor BBQ lunch (FRENCH FRIES were there—hallelujah!), and enjoyed every bite between gusts of wind and river-watch updates. As the water crept into areas typically used as roads—including ones historically leading to Mecca—we made the call: it was time to move. Because in Morocco, the journey is never just about where you’re going… it’s also about how you get there.
That evening, we returned to Ksar El Kabbaba for dinner accompanied by local musicians—who were, let’s say, livelier than anyone expected. Dinner was in waves and we quickly ate to save ourselves from the loud presentation. We love you, but wow it was loud. We capped off the night with late-night bottles of wine among new friends. We got to meet the owner, and several staff members came to see us. They were stuck at the kasbah because of the flooding. Luckily they would be safe! Then we realized we had a flurry of organizing. Laundry, souvenirs, emotions. Because the next day… we head to Marrakech.
