After hours of researching accessible hotels, activities, and attractions in Morocco, I’m both exhausted and excited—and I haven’t even left for the airport yet.
But in the Battle Between Accessibility and Enjoyment, Accessibility Wins
Sometimes I envy all travelers who can walk. They get to experience all the cool stuff—reaching every nook and cranny of a destination, provided security permits. They can pose for pictures and videos however they like. They can ride camels, jump in front of World Heritage sites, and wander into the old shops in the souks. For them, everything is just a Google search away. They can do all of this while rocking trendy bell-bottom jeans. But, above all, they can book trips with a single click and easily find packages that suit their budget.
It’s like being in a parallel universe, even though I’m on the same internet, the same airplane, and headed to the same destination—but never really *with* everyone else.
Perhaps, though, travelers might envy me because I explore destinations in a way few others do. My travel puts me face-to-face with the very core of a place. Whether I discover a hidden gem while searching for a ramp or experience unique hospitality that isn’t typically advertised, my journey feels different. It’s like being in a parallel universe, even though I’m on the same internet, the same airplane, and headed to the same destination—but never really *with* everyone else.
I go through countless extra steps before booking anything. I contact hotel owners, ask them to send photos of their property, and even share pictures of my wheelchair to inspire their creativity in solving accessibility challenges. I request measurements and then compare them against my own chair, measuring every inch. Hours are spent staring at images, trying to connect the dots of accessibility. And despite all this effort, sometimes I arrive only to find that the place, activity, or experience wasn’t to my taste or liking. But in the ongoing battle between accessibility and enjoyment, accessibility always wins.
But due to its inaccessibility, I had to settle for an apartment with an elevator. All the fun would now happen at ground level, leaving me isolated above—like Batman, watching from the shadows.
Occasionally, I crave familiarity in the places I visit. Morocco is one of those destinations—somewhere I long to explore for its Islamic history, bustling souks, and the chance to enjoy a flavorful halal meal that reminds me of home. I imagine finding modest clothing I can easily buy. Something about Morocco rings a bell, whether it’s from a movie, book, or even an old bottle of hair oil from the grocery store. Who knows why we choose the places we do? Perhaps it’s the place that chooses us. Maybe it’s the image of Chefchaouen, the blue city, luring me to touch its iconic walls and see if they leave a chalky residue on my hands. What stories do these walls hold? But will I stand at the foot of those endless steps, wondering what it would feel like to walk up them? As my excitement grows, so does my anxiety.
On all my trips, a cooking class is a must. But even before this journey, I’m already mixing a cocktail of excitement and anxiety, swallowing it in one go as I process my bookings. I’m planning a seven-day trip to Morocco, yet I couldn’t find a single accessible hotel in the blue city. For Marrakech, I chose a lively hostel in a prime location, imagining myself mingling with other tourists, making new friends, and enjoying local delicacies for breakfast. But due to its inaccessibility, I had to settle for an apartment with an elevator. All the fun would now happen at ground level, leaving me isolated above—like Batman, watching from the shadows.
Booking.com should hire a person with a disability to virtually monitor these hotels year-round and audit them to ensure accessibility.
Sweaty palms and sleepless nights now accompany the hours I spend digging through misleading travel articles by privileged travelers who gloss over the actual accessibility of places. Despite being listed as accessible on platforms like Booking.com. Many accommodations fall short, something I only discover after multiple exchanges with hotel owners. This back-and-forth is slowly replacing my excitement with anxiety. Travel platforms should invest in educating hoteliers about accessibility. Why can’t Booking.com create a short video course on accessibility that requires hotels to submit accurate dimensions, photos, and proof of accessibility before listing them? They should hire someone with a disability to audit these properties.
Morocco’s online accessibility information is scarce, and what does exist is often misleading. I wonder about the social and cultural perception of disability there. Will it be like Pakistan, where infrastructure is lacking but community members step in to help? It’s something I can only grasp once I’m there. No article or conversation can convey the spirit of a place—it’s something I’ll need to experience firsthand. Perhaps that’s what’s drawing me in: Morocco’s spirit, inviting me to explore and immerse myself in its essence.
Inclusion means being on the same level as everyone else—able to enjoy life’s choices and joys equally. I’ve booked a desert tour, and while I’m excited, I’m unsure if I’ll manage to ride a camel. Maybe just meeting one will be enough. I hear they have beautiful eyelashes. I also wonder about sandboarding—perhaps I’ll join in with the Tanoura dancers instead.
One thing I’ve learned is that nature rarely disappoints. The desert won’t see my disability or my wheelchair. But I wish it would notice my wheelchair and soften its sands, making them smooth enough for me to roll through, just for one night. I dream of sandboarding smoothly, without getting stuck. Somewhere deep down, I believe that’s going to happen.
As for the city, it’s about exploring it as it is. Will I be able to navigate the streets without worrying about steps, bumps, or rocks? Security isn’t my biggest concern—it’s whether I’ll even be able to reach the places I want to go. Will I be able to navigate the souks, visit every shop, and engage with vendors to understand their offerings? Will I be able to visit every museum, mosque, and monument? Will I be free to explore Morocco and take photos wherever I want?
I’m also eager to taste the local food—especially those tantalizing halal dishes served in big blue pots. I’ve booked a cooking class, not just to eat, but to bring back the skills and spices so I can recreate the memories at home. A fridge magnet would be a nice souvenir, to join the others on my fridge. I also plan to pick up books by local Moroccan authors. But will all these experiences be smooth as silk or will I just bring them all back as wishes in my heart?
I’m packing simple hijabs and tops, but I hope to buy some colorful skirts in Morocco. I want to blend a little bit of myself with a little bit of Morocco to create something new. Minimal makeup will be packed too—I want to focus less on vanity and more on absorbing everything around me. My goal is to fill my mental bucket with memories: facial expressions, flowers, rocks—anything and everything. That’s my motivation and my inspiration. Let’s see where it takes me. Because once I am there. Morocco would have to deal with me.
Read more articles related to travel and accessibility for travelers with disabilities.
