It was in Chefchaouen that we first discovered Airbnb Experiences.

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For those unfamiliar, Airbnb Experiences is another side to Airbnb through which locals in cities across the world can share their cultures, passions, and specialties with visitors. The types of experiences vary drastically from place to place, but in almost any city you can find guided tours, cooking classes, bar crawls, and lessons in a wide range of skills, from surfing to beekeeping. 

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We stumbled upon Airbnb Experiences while searching for a local hammam, a type of bathhouse common in predominantly Arab countries where people regularly go to relax and socialize (besides just being a public bath, it was — and in many places still is — traditionally common to visit hammams before weddings or religious holidays, and to celebrate births, though many people visit once or twice a week anyway purely for good hygiene). Sam, our host in Casablanca, recommended that we try a hammam, as it is an integral part of Islamic culture. However, we missed out on the popular hammam under the Hassan II mosque (which may or may not have been because I was taking so many photos and videos of the minaret and the courtyard that I lost track of time), and so we resolved to find a local hammam in Chefchaouen after our long day of hiking in Akchour. 

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Fortunately, we came across a highly-rated Airbnb hammam experience from a young Chefchaouen resident named Anass. After we purchased the experience on Airbnb for what amounted to about $23 each, we were connected with Anass through the chat in the Airbnb app, where he gave us his WhatsApp number and agreed to meet us outside our riad the next day at 8:00pm. Because the men's hours at the two hammams he frequented recently changed to be delayed an hour later (if a hammam does not have separate rooms for men and women, then it sets hours during which it is open to each separately), he offered to show us around the city and to see the sunset in the meantime. 

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Upon arriving to the hammam, Annas laid out the supplies he had brought — mineral-rich clay soap, three exfoliating gloves called kese, and three combs — having tasked us only with bringing a swimsuit and towel. He guided us through the structure and etiquette of the hammam, and shared with us its significance both personally and culturally. Generally, traditional hammams like this one, he explained, consist of a cold room and a series of progressively warmer rooms that patrons advance through sequentially. Hammams larger than this one typically employ a number of attendants who administer massages and assist in bathing and exfoliating. Many newer hammams also offer more contemporary spa elements like steam rooms and pools. We used buckets to collect and dump warm water over our heads and to flood the tile floor to produce steam, scrubbing ourselves viciously with the kese and practically shedding a layer of skin. All the while, Anass described having fond memories of visiting the hammam weekly with his father, and explained that he now regularly goes with friends as a means of socializing. 

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By all accounts, the experience was technically over after we dried ourselves and changed clothes. As we would find, however, the evening was only just beginning. And here, too, is why I have become such a proponent of Airbnb Experiences not only as a platform for finding novel activities while you travel, but also for making friends in far-off places. 

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As Annas was around our age (slightly older, he was 25 at the time), we naturally got along well, and after our hammam experience, he invited us out for an impromptu Moroccan street food tour in the newer part of the city with his friend Ayoub. As you may recall from reading about Casablanca and Tangier, many Moroccan cites (and likely North African cities as a whole) spur new life at night, and the Blue City was no exception. Street corners and courtyards that were vacant only hours before became bustling hubs of young people clamoring around food carts, hanging out in the street in the absence of traffic. There was fire-roasted corn, hammas kamoun (chickpeas seasoned with salt and cumin), harcha (a savory pastry made of semolina and cheese), ghlal (a.k.a. babbouche; snails cooked in broth with aniseed, pepper, orange peel, and mint), harira (you know this one!), and avocado juice.

 

We tried them all. As we feasted, we exchanged with Anass and Ayoub about our lives. Anass, we learned, was in the process of applying to become a policeman, while Ayoub taught English classes, led the most popular Airbnb tour of the Akchour waterfalls, and was in the process of applying for a green card in order to be reunited with his American wife in New Jersey. After we finished eating, they brought us to a popular rooftop café overlooking the city, where we met more of their friends and enjoyed several glasses of mint tea. Notable was the absence of alcohol, which back home would be expected in a context like this but which here was cultural taboo, though people were not without their vices, particularly in the form of hash. We first talked lightheartedly, finding the many commonalities shared by young men across the globe that supersede race, religion, and political boundaries: movies, music, sports, and women, not necessarily in that order, though one far surpassing all the rest. 

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As the night wore on, though, we learned more about the struggles of young people in Morocco, so different from ours back home. In the Blue City, celebrated on social media for its unique beauty and charm, nearly all of Anass's peers work in hospitality, the leading industry in Morocco, despite holding degrees in law or finance — so acute is the absence of opportunity. Anass himself applies every year to the U.S. Department of State's Diversity Visa ("Green Card") Lottery, with hopes of emigrating to the States. I remember feeling struck by his optimism — a personification of the American Dream before my eyes — while in our daily routines at home we so easily fall prey to cynicism or malcontent, frustrated by the media, the economy, or the state of our democracy. We laughed as Anass's friend complained of his disdain for French tourists ("she refused to tip because I put the fork on the wrong side!"), but all the jokes were tinted grey, tinged with a light sadness and the recognition that Aidan and I would continue on our travels and return home while the others would remain indefinitely. When it came time to depart, we did as young people across the globe are fortunate enough to do to lighten the weight of the long goodbye — we followed each other on Instagram. To this day, I still check in with both Anass (now living in Qatar) and Ayoub (who was finally able to move to New Jersey to be with his wife) through social media, and marvel at our connected world every time they respond to my Instagram Story. 

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Chefchaouen certainly is a must-visit destination for its uniqueness, simplicity, and utter beauty, but it stands out in my mind because it is where I felt the deepest connection to people. Travel affords an opportunity to experience the sights and sounds of a new place, but it is incomplete without a depth of understanding into the people who call that place home. It is not always easy to engage with people who are so different from you — it requires vulnerability, no small amount of bravery, and an openness to serendipity — but the rewards are bountiful, in particular a renewed appreciation for humanness, those common experiences and feelings that transcend cultures and strike at the root of our shared lineage. The far-reaching imagination of children, the despair of burying a loved one, the nostalgia of visiting old friends, the apprehension in approaching a crush. 

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The inevitable slurp to get at the heart of a freshly cooked snail. 

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Chefchaouen may not be the particular place where you yourself find that sense of connection, but seek it nonetheless wherever you go. As we found over the course of our travels, Airbnb Experiences is a great place to start.