To Girl Travel: What Morocco Taught Me About Making Friends in Midlife

To girl travel!

That is what I said on the first night of my trip to Morocco, sitting at dinner in Casablanca with Dana, my stepmother of forty years, and two women I had just met, Ronnie and Lisa. We raised our glasses. I meant it with everything I had.

Eleven days in Morocco. Everything I hoped for and more.

Here is how it came together: Dana was signed up for a Jewish heritage trip through the Boca Raton JCC and she needed a roommate. So she asked me. That is the whole origin story. Dana needed a roommate and I raised my hand.

Part of why I said yes with excitement, not just willingness, is that one of my goals right now is to do more solo travel and to travel with other women. This was both. My husband Eric was not coming, which meant I was navigating an international trip on my own for the very first time. Airports, customs, a foreign language, a foreign country, all of it at 64.

I missed him. There were moments on that trip where I thought, Eric would have loved this. He would have loved the people, and they would have loved him. I talked about him constantly. But missing him and being glad I went were not contradictions. They were both true at the same time.

And something else happened that I was not expecting, even though I had been hoping for it. I became more me.

What Morocco Is

The program was called Travel with the J! A ten-night Jewish heritage tour through Casablanca, Fes, Marrakech, and Essaouira. We visited synagogues and Jewish cemeteries and historic Mellahs, the old Jewish quarters that still exist in Morocco's cities, mostly empty now, beautifully preserved.

Our main guide was Moktar, a Moroccan Muslim man who has spent years in education and training becoming an expert in Jewish Moroccan history, culture, and heritage. His knowledge of Judaism, Jewish customs, and even the Hebrew language surpassed most Jewish people I have ever met. And layered on top of that was his deep, wide knowledge of Morocco itself, its history, its people, its culture. He brought all of that richness to every site we visited, and he brought humor. He was genuinely a joy.

Our group leader was the energetic and joyful Pablo Duek, a Cantor from California, originally from Argentina, who brought spiritual meaning and context to everything we saw. Every gravesite, every sanctuary, every moment that could have been just tourism but became something more because of him.

What I did not understand before I went, and that I have not stopped thinking about since: Morocco has been one of the most protective countries in the world for its Jewish community. The king has actively preserved Jewish heritage sites. Muslim Moroccans tend Jewish cemeteries. There is a genuine, documented history of coexistence that goes back centuries.

And yet there are almost no Jews left. A community that numbered in the hundreds of thousands is now just a few thousand, mostly elderly. The synagogues are stunning and empty. I cried at a few of those cemeteries.

One evening at dinner in Rabat, a young man came to speak to our group from an organization called Mimouna, founded in 2007 by Muslim university students who decided that Jewish Moroccan heritage belonged to all Moroccans and committed to keeping it alive. A young Muslim man telling a room full of Jewish Americans that he has devoted his life to preserving our story. I am still finding words for that. You can learn more at mimouna.org.

The People I Met

Our group was almost entirely Jewish, all but two of us, and that shared identity created an instant sense of belonging I was not prepared for. We were strangers on Day 1. But not really strangers. We had a whole history in common before we had said a word.

On Day 1 at a Jewish country club in Casablanca (yes, that is a real thing), I met Ilana, a Jewish woman born there who spent years in Canada and has now returned with her family. She is living inside the very story I was trying to understand.

At a women's Argan oil cooperative I started talking to the young woman helping me fill my basket with way too many products. Her name was Latifa. We did not share a language, but I am expressive, I use my hands, I use the translate app. We found a way. When I mentioned I was a health coach, she lit up and started talking about her health goals. She left our conversation with one goal: no more soda. We are already messaging each other on WhatsApp.

In Essaouira I met Flora, a woman my age from London, a social worker vacationing with her adult son. I met her at a bar. I am that person, the one who chats up the woman sitting next to her. Before long I had her name, her story, her contact information, and a photo of the two of us. We are now in touch.

I got close to Ronnie over those eleven days, and to Julieta, Pablo's wife, a therapist, the kind of woman you meet and immediately think: I want more of her in my life.

And then there were Adeline and Iris. Adeline is 80. Iris is 86. Both on this trip, fully present, fully curious, fully delighted by everything, not watching from a careful distance but completely in it. They are my new role models for what is possible. I want to be them when I grow up. I mean that with everything I have.

What I Learned About Connection

When I am away from my usual context, away from my role as a wife, away from my work identity, away from all the ways people already know me, I relax into something truer. I am just me. And when I am just me, I am more open, more curious, more willing to go first.

The openness is not a travel thing. It is a choice. I made it every day on that trip, to be curious about the person in front of me, to not wait for them to come to me, to let people meet the real version of me instead of the edited one.

Latifa did not speak my language. Flora was a stranger at a bar. Ilana was someone I never would have encountered in my regular life. Every one of those connections happened because I decided to be present and go first.

You do not need Morocco for that. You need the decision.

Speed Dating as a Friendship Strategy

One evening before dinner, Margaret, Nanci, and I were at the bar having a glass of wine. One of us said: let's do speed dating. Not romantic speed dating. Friendship speed dating. You go first. Tell me about yourself. And we did.

A few minutes each. Who we were, where we came from, what mattered to us, what brought us on this trip. No agenda, no structure. Just: I am going to give you my full attention right now and actually try to know you.

I did versions of it on the bus with Karen, Cindy, Stephanie, and Lisa. Spontaneous and unplanned. We are sitting next to each other for the next hour. Let us actually use it.

Knowing we were going to be together for ten days made the investment feel obvious. The trip created an urgency we do not usually feel in regular life, because in regular life we think we have time. We will get to know her eventually. And then we do not.

What if you treated every potential friendship like you only had ten days? What if you invested twenty minutes upfront instead of waiting until you already felt close?

We have it backwards. We wait until we feel close enough to invest the time. But the investment is what creates the closeness. Speed dating skips the waiting. It says: I am going to show up for you right now, before I know you, because that showing up is exactly how the knowing happens.

I have been doing this at home since I got back. Before I even left for Morocco I got together for tea with a woman named Lois, who is 80 years old and remarkable, someone I had been meaning to actually know. We sat down, we talked, we gave each other real attention. I left thinking: I want more of that.

Here is the whole strategy: find one woman you have been meaning to get to know better. Reach out this week. Suggest coffee, tea, or a walk, no agenda other than I want to know you. When you sit down, go first. Tell her something real about yourself. Ask something real in return. Give it twenty minutes of actual presence.

That is it. You do not need Morocco. You need twenty minutes and the willingness to go first.

What This Season Is About

Making friends in midlife is something a lot of us are quietly struggling with. The research is clear: loneliness is one of the biggest health risks women face at this stage of life. And yet we do not talk about it, because it feels like a personal failure.

It is not. It is just life. The structures that used to make friendship easy are gone, and now we get to build something new on purpose, with intention, as the people we actually are right now.

I said yes because Dana needed a roommate. I raised a glass to girl travel on the first night. I came home with new friends, new podcast guests, a deep grief for a community I did not know I would fall in love with, a tagine recipe I am going to make over and over, and a clearer sense of who I am when I am just me.

That is what this season is about. And we are just getting started.

Listen to the Full Episode

Episode 28: The Trip I Almost Didn't Take: What Morocco Taught Me About Midlife Friendship

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Resources Mentioned

Mimouna Association -- Muslim-founded organization preserving Moroccan Jewish heritage since 2007

Travel with the J! -- Jewish heritage tours through the Boca Raton JCC

Rockin' Journeys -- Meet Pablo Duek!

About Dvora Citron

Dvora Citron is a Registered Nurse, National Board Certified Health & Wellness Coach, Lifestyle Medicine Practitioner, and the founder of Slant2Plants®. She hosts Sexy in Your 60s to bring women the real ingredients of vibrant aging through science, story, support, and soul. Her work helps women 50 and older create the health, confidence, and longevity they want in ways that feel realistic and sustainable.

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This content is for informational and entertainment purposes only. Nothing in this podcast, blog, or any related content constitutes medical advice, nor does it create a patient-client relationship. Always consult your primary care provider before making any changes to your healthcare routine.