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Traveling is getting to know the unknown. I’ve had my experiences leaving behind my previously known world, but the first noteworthy adventure that comes to mind is always Morocco. Traveled all over Europe looking for something I wouldn’t find there. In order to find answers, I had to reassess my own values and references. Morocco has a strong popular culture, completely different from anything I’ve ever known living mostly in the urbanized southern part of Brazil; travelling quickly to one or another Latin American country and in two more prolonged periods in Mediterranean and Nordic Europe. Barely crossing the border between Europe and Africa, I found diverse values from the ones we’re used to. Good and welcoming people who charged very little and offered a lot; who related to the World in a way unlike anything I've ever seen. Don’t get me wrong: they’re not naive. They’re, instead, very aware of the demagogy that permeates the monarchic system, but still find within themselves the courage to open up to tourists who are not always equally open to new experiences; to those who seek comfort only, who run away from their own original lives wanting someone to polish their shoes. The Moroccan people are masters at welcoming tourists as if they were locals, and showing them around through their people’s eyes. Only those who really want to, can see it. I’m not talking about any transcendental idea. Even thinking differently, they’re people as usual: with all the complexity this statement brings. A trader at the Almedina in Marrakesh cursed me only for taking a picture of his stand without previous warning, as a good (or lame?) inexperienced traveler. On the other side, I was invaded by the characteristic smell of spices that gives Morocco it’s special atmosphere, and had the Brazilian music cheered on as I played the guitar among travelers from all around. It’s the mixed feelings that marks out new discoveries. Everything was very simple, and yet made with so much passion. From food to clothes; from trade to culture. We, westerners, are not used to this like the Berber people are. We’re trained to pay for perks, to overpay for the things made with care. Within our logic anything cheap is poorly done, and this is how our gradual system works. We were taught to choose between putting money into an enterprise or bracing ourselves for a bad experience. Morocco gave me a lesson in humility. One night, along with Brazilian friends, I was guided through the desert propped up only with confidence on a tour guide I had never seen before, but whose eyes were full of solidarity. At any moment he could have left us there, amid the dunes of Merzouga, lost, in search of water as in some “The Adventures of Tin Tin” comic book series. He didn't. He guided us through the night masterfully between the bluish and repetitive landscape, (how? I can barely understand,) to the crest of one of the highest dunes. From there we could see the most starry night I’ve ever seen. We all shared that unique moment, which will probably never be equaled in any of my future stories. Basically a painting by Jackson Pollock, made of stars and gas stains over a black canvas, crowned our heads (yes, it was starrier than Van Gogh’s). Finally, he took us safely back to the sand-covered fortress/hostel. I don't remember his name. It was not important. Our names were not important. As the classic (and thus very cliché) song by the 70’s band America says: “in the desert you can’t remember your name.” It felt good to be out of the rain. I never expected having to go so far from home to understand that the kindness of humble, passionate about life and nature People is greater than we usually imagine, and I guess that's what we all, in a deeper level, seek. What Morocco taught me was to find this treat wherever I am, whether in a cinematic desert or in the daily life at the suburbs anywhere in the World; and even in my own backyard. I searched for Morocco, but found something else. I’m so glad for it.