No, it’s not what you are thinking. I didn’t set off to North Africa in search of ”The Thriller’s” beauty secrets. I went to Morocco in search of the single woman’s empowering adventure. Of course, if I found some really cool beauty products along the way, even better!
I started my adventure with a newly divorced friend whose spirit for travel and adventure matched mine. Our first stop was Marrakesh. We made our home base here, as it seemed cosmopolitan enough for our taste, yet still there was a sense that “we were not in Kansas anymore.” We made our way though the labyrinth of souhks, better known as the shops that sell a variety of high quality crafts, as well as a fair amount of rubbish. We visited mosques, gardens, museums and the Djemaa el-Fna, a huge square in the medina that is illuminated at night with food stalls, snake charmers, storytellers and magicians.
(Oh don’t worry, there really is a Michael Jackson affiliation with this story…read on.)
Now, it was time to head out on a REAL adventure. Having done a bit of research about Essaouira, a charming coastal town that from all the travel guides, sounded a bit like Santa Cruz here in Northern California. I consulted a local tour guide as to what it would take to get there; “A couple of hours and a car and driver”, he said. And so, here we were in the middle of July (not the time to travel here, as it is bloody hot combined with the fact that we were riding in a 1974 flint stone-powered Mercedes) heading to our destination in the middle of the sweltering Sahara desert! At times we were so isolated, that, well, let’s just say that if we had have broken down, we would still be traveling back to Marrakesh by camel.

There was little in the way of modern civilization, as we know it. This was the land of the Berbers, whose villages were beautiful in their simplicity, but modest at best and certainly devoid of modern amenities. Just as I had surrendered to whatever travel fate that was to become us, our driver pulled over. He spoke no English and of course we spoke no Arabic but we tried to figure out by way of sign language what on earth was going on. Then, he pointed to what looked like ordinary olive trees except they were peppered with… GOATS! Not one, not two, but several goats just hanging out in the middle of the desert in trees. My first thought was this has got to be a staged photo-op for gullible tourists, but no tourists would have the sense to travel out here. Just as I was “coming to” and digesting all of this, a little Berber boy comes walking anxiously toward me with, of all things, a black baby goat! He made a gesture that he wanted me to hold this adorable little creature; I couldn’t resist. Praying silently that I would not be pounced upon by one of his relatives in the trees, I agreed to have my photo taken. As I handed this sweet goat back to the little boy, he was able to understand my question, which was: “What is your goat’s name?” His answer: “Michael Jackson.”
Oh, by the way, I did learn a beauty secret from the goats of all things. The reason they risk their lives to climb those trees is to eat the argon fruit, which is what these trees produce. Like our olive trees, this precious fruit is also made into an oil, which is then used in beauty tonics and skin softening oils. No longer the beauty secret of goats, you too can experience this pleasure by checking out my latest European import,
Les Bains du Marais products. Just in case the goat thing freaks you out, this oil has also been the skin care secret of many beauty women from North Africa to the Orient.