The Rhythm of Morocco | Photo Essay

I arrived in Morocco for the first time with my dad and my camera, not really knowing what to expect. What started as an unplanned trip turned into an unforgettable father and daughter journey, a week full of long drives, shared silences, and small moments that reminded me how good it feels to just be present and alive.

Our journey started in Marrakech, where we wandered through the city’s streets, met generous people, and tasted food rich with tradition. Every corner had something to discover, new colors, new faces, and stories waiting to be told. After a few days, we started our long 10 hour drive towards the Sahara Desert. The road felt endless at times, but it was beautiful. The landscapes kept changing slowly, from the busy streets to mountains, valleys, and open plains. Villages would appear out of nowhere, full of life and texture. We stopped often to take photographs, to stretch, or just to take in the silence. There was something grounding about that drive, watching the world change little by little, feeling both far away and completely present at the same time. Sometimes we would drive for hours without speaking, but it never felt like silence. Every kilometer brought a new landscape, a new rhythm, a new way of seeing.

As a photographer from Mexico, I felt something deeply familiar in Morocco. There was a warmth that reminded me of home, a mix of chaos and beauty that made me feel both far away and completely connected at once. I kept thinking about how two places so far apart could somehow feel familiar. Photographing there felt natural, I didn’t have to search for moments, they were unfolding everywhere around me. People moved with intention but never in a rush, and there was something truly human about that rhythm of life. It felt natural, unforced, like an energy that flowed quietly but never stopped, reminding me that beauty doesn’t need to be chased, it’s always there, waiting to be seen.

The colors throughout the trip were everything. Marrakech glowed in soft pinks and deep oranges, fabrics moved like waves of blue and red, and the markets were overflowing with fruit that looked too perfect to be real. The light was always changing; my camera became an excuse to slow down, to look closer, to really see. Morocco’s visual language felt simple, it just existed beautifully. My dad kept teasing me for stopping every few minutes to take photos, but I think he understood, there was something special about holding onto those fleeting moments, as if photographing them could make them stay just a little longer.

When we finally reached the desert, it felt like stepping into another world. The air was still, the noise was gone, and dunes seemed infinite. I woke up early to photograph the sunrise while my dad sat nearby. There was something so peaceful about that silence, it made me breathe slower and notice every little thing around me. The dunes felt alive, shifting constantly, never the same twice. Time moved differently there, the desert taught me to slow down and let time pass by. Standing there, surrounded by nothing but sand and wind, I felt a quiet kind of happiness, the kind that comes from simply being present.

One of the moments I’ll never forget was when we visited a nomad family near the edge of the desert. They invited us in for tea, and we spent the afternoon getting to know them while I photographed their animals and the quiet rhythm of their day. The family consisted of a 90-year-old grandmother, her daughter, a teenager, and a little kid. Watching my father interact with them made me feel grateful for this shared experience because it reminded me that the most meaningful travel memories often come from simple human connections. Seeing how they lived was deeply humbling, it made me reflect on how much we take for granted and how easily we forget to be thankful. Their generosity, even with so little, stayed with me, a soft reminder of how dignity and kindness can exist even in the simplest lives.

During the trip, I tried not to think too much about the photos. I didn’t plan or force anything; I just reacted to what was in front of me. Some moments were quick, others slow. I learned to wait, to let life move naturally, and to photograph only when something truly resonated. Looking back, the photos from that week feel like small fragments of time, not just images of Morocco, but pieces of what it felt like to be there and to travel with my dad, to see new things together and to experience everything for the first time.

This project is more than a travel diary. It’s a reflection on presence, on what it means to truly see. Photography, for me, is about being there, open to whatever happens. It wasn’t just about the places or the photos; it was about the feeling of being out there, present, open, connected. This trip reminded me why I started taking pictures in the first place: not to chase something perfect, but to keep memories alive, to remember how things felt. It was a trip that deepened not only my appreciation for photography but for life itself. It made me realize that truly looking, slowing down enough to notice, can change the way you move through the world.

In the end, Morocco wasn’t just a place I photographed. It was a place that changed the way I see. It taught me that presence is everything, that stories exist in the smallest gestures, and that sometimes the best memories happen when you stop trying to find them. Every time I look at those images now, I’m taken back to a specific feeling, to the sound of the desert, the wind, my dad’s quiet laugh, and the endless road ahead of us. A memory that will stay in my heart forever.