Once a year for four months, the pine and oak forests of the UNESCO-protected Biosphere Reserve, high up in the Transatlantic Volcanic Belt outside of Mexico City, come alive. Starting in early November, on the Day of the Dead, millions of monarch butterflies arrive after their 3,000-mile journey from eastern Canada and the United States to mate … creating one of the most majestic natural wonders in the world.
The butterflies clump together for warmth when the sun is hiding.
It all started in December when I realized I wanted to start off 2016 the way I wanted to end it — traveling and being inspired. I’ve always wanted to see the butterfly migration; when I was a child growing up in Ohio, the butterflies would sometimes pass through on their way to Mexico, and it was awe-inspiring to see football fields full of them — and I wanted to revisit that on a grander scale. I knew I had to go see the migration in Mexico.
From the balcony of my in Casablanca, life looks normal. (All Photos: Paula Froelich)
I’m sitting on the balcony of my hotel in Casablanca overlooking the beach and watching a group of teenagers play soccer. Women and children stroll by, and off in the distance you can see a surfer catching some waves. It all looks normal. But it’s not.
Two nights before, eight roaches slipped into Paris and, in an orchestrated attack, killed 129 people and terrorized millions around the globe.
Morocco, once a French colony, went on high alert. Their king was in the city at the time of the attacks. A day later, the king was back in Rabat, but the nervousness still permeated the country.
Riding around Marrakech in the sidecar of a motorbike, filming the city from an angle few ever get to see, courtesy of the fine folks at Insiders Experience.
I was in the country to speak at a conference and film my show, A Broad Abroad, when the attacks happened. At my hotel in Marrakech, people were glued to the television in the lounge, showing scene after scene of horror. It is not the first time I have been in a country after an international terrorism attack has occurred. I was in Jordan after the Tunisia attacks and in Mali when the civil war started. But this time was different. This time the attack was considered “fluid” (possibly orchestrated with the attack a day earlier in Beirut, which killed over 40 people and wounded 200 more). This meant there could be another attack, anywhere at any time. Morocco was of special concern as not only is it a former French colony, but it has had several citizens join ISIS in Syria, and the worry is those citizens could have returned and were going to sync up attacks with the ones in Paris.
It pains me to leave Morocco — an Arab, Muslim country in North Africa but still considered part of the Middle East — not just because Morocco is a lovely, safe country, but because I’m playing out the ISIL playbook.
That is what they want us to do — to hide; to cower in our homes, afraid to come out; to become xenophobes who are scared of anything different. For travelers to stay home so the countries whose economies are supported by tourism can fall into disrepair and chaos… making it easier for them to recruit. They want us all be afraid of different religions, because they have coopted what is a peaceful one and forcibly given it a new face of a monster.
But this is not the face of the country (and other countries in this region) I have experienced. Let me tell you the stories of the people I met.
There’s the 17-year-old surfer girl, who surfs every day because her brother, whom she was close to, died at sea. Every time she surfs she feels like she is with him. And her parents, who are conservative Muslims, give her their blessing, as they just want their daughter to be happy.
Kati Roumani is a historian who oversees the Marrakesh synagogue.
There’s the head of the Jewish society in Morocco, who practices his religion freely, without harassment and is friends with the king.
There’s the woman who oversees the only synagogue in Marrakech, who helps uphold of the 2,000-year history of Jews in Morocco.
Noor, on the left, is a transgendered woman who is a famed belly dancer in the region.
There’s the transgender belly dancer — the Caitlyn Jenner of the Arab world — who struggled for acceptance and to get her gender changed on her passport so she can one day marry. She is alive, well, and celebrated.
There are the women of the argon oil coop in Altima Sens in the Atlas Mountains, who work so they can support their family and not have to get married just to survive.
Kathy Krider, a former diplomat in the Clinton and Bush administrations, now owns and operates Rick’s Cafe in Casablanca.
And then there are the American expats who have moved here because they love this country so much and they can do business here without harassment.
These are the stories of Morocco and the Arab world.
They are not the ones that the disenfranchised, psychotics of ISIS would have you believe. Theirs is a myopic story of hate, of misogyny, of a warped dream — and they alone rule.
The sun sets on the road from Marrakesh to Casablanca.
It is a nightmare that I reject. It is one that 99.99999 percent of the world (including the Muslim world) rejects. And now is the time to put on your big girl pants, walk out your door, and stand up to this.
Morocco, I will be back. Sooner rather than later.
Proof that I really am a unicorn as, let’s be honest, only unicorns have rainbows emanating from their asses. (Truth number 1: It is really hard to get proof of unicornness. It can really only be done in Iguazu Falls, Brazil).
I’ve taken to wearing a wedding ring when I travel. It is a fake gold band on the ring finger of my left hand that most people assume marks me as married. I do this for several reasons. Most of all because, as the editor in chief of Yahoo Travel I travel a lot, often to countries where if you, as a woman, are not married you are either a virgin or a whore – and I am way too old to be a virgin. Countries where even the slightest gesture –a glance in someone’s direction or a smile when you say, “Thank you” can also mean: “OH MY GOD YOU ARE SO HOT PLEASE JUMP MY BONES NOW!” The ring comes in handy then.Continue reading →
Recently, I’ve been asked by several people, “So why did you give up your career and dedicate your life to traveling?” And, I point them to my essay, “Controlled Burn,” in the new Kindle Series, “The 10 Habits Of Highly Successful Women.” [Click HERE to buy now – you’ll love it I swear!].
In the essay I describe how (according to Amazon):
“[Paula Froelich] was a raging runaway star in the media world. But at the apex of her career, she had to blow up her life and set a controlled burn to learn what real success is.”
Because, yeah – despite looking like a big old success and supah-stah, deep down I hated my life and felt like a fraud. For several reasons outlined in the essay, but too long for this post. It was by taking a hot minute [read: four years] off and traveling that l that I got my bravery, boldness and self back. After the jump are select excerpts from the piece:
Someone is confused… “What do you Mean-o You-o Don’t-o Get-o My EYEtalian???? It’s Goddamn perfect-o!”
Last April, pigs flew. I boarded a cruise ship with my 74-year-old father. Let me rephrase that: I, who am terrified of boats and get seasick at the sight of water, went on an eight-day excursion from Barcelona to Monaco with a born-again, gun-collecting Tea Partier who [despite getting his uvula removed] snores like a drunken sow. And we shared a room.
[Ed Note: Seriously, do you know how many people die on cruises? The 2011 Costa Concordia disaster aside, every year during cruise season there’s like a story once a week about someone “accidentally” or drunkenly falling overboard – and don’t even get me started on the Norovirus… or the suicide rate of someone who has sat through one too many floorshows].
But then I was offered a cabin with a balcony (so I could always jump if need be) on the Azamara Cruise from Barcelona to Monaco. And before the Ambien I’d taken the night before could wear off, I was on the phone asking Daddy to go with me. When she found out, my older sister said what everyone else was thinking: “Have you lost your damn mind?”
BUT. Not only did the experience change our relationship for the better, we now have plans to do it once a year. And so, because I now think everyone should bond with their parents on a trip, I offer you some tips for how to travel with a parent:
One day you may find yourself in Bamako, the capital of Mali. I know – crazy, right? But never say never! And if you ever want to see Timbuktu (which I suggest you do), you will have to go through Bamako. Besides, as I learned the hard way, YOU JUST DON’T KNOW WHERE YOU ARE GONNA END UP! And, as some of you may be aware by now, one of my (many) mottos is: Poor Planning Pisses Me Off.
So, After the jump I present you with a list of fun filled, fabulously odd things to do in Bamako that may just change your life:
It’s that time of the year – where you have to use your vacation days or lose them – and why lose them? WHY? You worked your butt off all year and deserve a break. Besides, with this weather we’re having, you might just go crazy if you don’t skip off somewhere. Consider this a Public Service Announcement…. Broad style!
Because it’s last minute, I’m thinking cheap, fun and NO STAY-CATIONS! Especially not when it’s snowy out. Unless you live by a ski resort.
Germany’s Natalie Geisenberger (5thL), Felix Loch (6thL),Tobias Arlt (6th R) and Tobias Wendt (5th R) leap on the podium celebrating their first place in the luge team relay competition between second-placed Russia and third-placed Latvia teams at the 2014 Sochi Winter Olympics
Germans love to jump. They will jump in groups (above). They will jump solo (below).
Felix Loch of Germany jumps onto the podium after he won the gold medal during the men’s singles luge final at the 2014
And they will also travel specifically to get pictures of themselves jumping. Like Tobias – a 31 year old German computer engineer who liked to travel to “dangerous places and take pictures of myself jumping on famous things!”
I met Tobias when I went to Iraq – he was part of a motley crew of people who all decided to vacation in a semi-war zone. More on Tobias the jumper and my theory on Germans vs. The Samburu Warriors after the jump:
We’ve all heard it before. The “Ugly American”; The clueless dingdong who travels other countries doing the following: talking too loud; complaining about everything – especially cigarette smoke and the lack of a decaffeinated coffee; traveling with their own peanut butter to live on lest the local food poison them; wearing funny looking clothes; ignoring the personal space of anyone around them.
Now, in all honesty, some of these stereotypes are true. Take Daddy for example. My old man has a strict summer uniform of ecru Rockport Walkers, long white knee socks, tan pressed khaki short, belted at the waist, a short sleeve button down/golf shirt with a pen in the neck, sunglasses and a sweatband or fishing hat.
Daddy also has an endearing habit of going to European countries and talking “local like” – for example in Italy, a typical sentence would be, “Excuse-ay me-o, where-o can i get-o some damned pizza?” Or randomly saying things like, “Mamma Mia!” “Mangia, mangia!”
But he means well. He doesn’t complain. Much. There was that time in Italy where, while watching a pigeon defecate down the face of a statue of Mary. “Look at that!” he said. “That damned pigeon just taking a crap all over Mary’s face! Now if these damned Eye-talians had honored my good old American gun permit, I could’ve brought my Walther PPK over here and shot that heretic and we’d be having what they call squab-o for dinner! But nope – over here law abiding citizens can’t own their own damned guns. So the pigeons can just dump anywhere.”
No, my friends, after traveling the world, I have decided we Americans get a bad rap. Especially as there are other countries that deserve so much more vitriol! Find out which ones after the jump:
Along the old DMZ zone in Vietnam, the war is still being played out, this time between the tourists. The battle is played out in the pages of the Visitors Book at Khe San, the notorious battle site outside of Quang Tri where the Marines were under siege by the North Vietnamese for over four months in 1968 during the Tet Offensive. The government memorial proclaims a victory for the North Vietnamese Army – a notion disputed by Americans. Lying in the back, behind bomb remnants, pictures of Americans “fleeing in fright!” (boarding a carrier during Operation Charlie), and mannequins of VietCong women sewing a flag ala Betsy Ross, is the visitors comment book. Which reads like an international high school slam book:
“Never trust an American – they speak with fork (sic) tongue, Vietnamese, you guys rock!” – Jeff, from “The World.”
[Underneath the previous message]: “FUCK YOU,” – USA
Let’s be clear. Khe San was a horrific, long battle. And the wounds have yet to heal for many people [From militaryhistory.com: Lasting 77 days, the “siege” of Khe Sanh saw American and South Vietnamese forces suffer 703 killed, 2,642 wounded, and 7 missing. North Vietnamese losses are not known with accuracy but are estimated at between 10,000-15,000 dead and wounded].
It gets worse. For more fighting words and pics of the pages, continue after the jump.
