Chasing Light & Life in Morocco & Norway

After losing my dad at the end of 2023, I began to feel the impermanence of life for the very first time. I'd spent nearly two decades living exactly as I wanted—traveling to 35+ countries, living in different cities, and always having a family to come home to. For the four years my dad battled cancer, I put that life mostly on hold, leaving behind sunny Southern California for gray and gloomy Ohio. When that inevitable moment of his passing came, I'm just glad I knew myself well enough to know a shortcut to some semblance of happiness: travel, write, take photos, and eat really good food.

I booked a two-week trip to indulge in two of my favorite things:

Eat my way through Morocco.

Photograph landscapes and the Northern Lights. 

Morocco had been high on my list for years, and when Roads + Kingdoms announced their culinary tour through the League of Travelers, I knew I'd found the people I wanted to experience it with. Luckily they still had room for one more when I reached out, even though the trip was less than two months away. But it was also peak aurora season. I’d been wanting to photograph the Northern Lights in Lofoten for several years, but my dad's health kept me close to home with each passing winter. I looked for photography specific trips in Lofoten, and somehow found a Nomadict trip led by Ronald Soethje that wasn't sold out.

For about ten seconds I debated which one to sign up for. Then, in typical "I can do it all" Kim fashion, I started entertaining the idea that maybe I could do both. I mean, the dates lined up perfectly, with the Lofoten trip beginning the day after the Morocco trip ended. I just needed to leave Morocco one day early to allow for travel time.

So I booked them both, because life is short.

MOROCCO

League of Travelers is one of those things you want to tell everyone about, but at the same time you want to tell no one about (kind of like a beautiful viewpoint you're careful not to geotag on social media). But who am I to gatekeep? If you've never heard of Roads & Kingdoms or their League or Travelers, you've probably at least seen some of their founders, curators, journalists, or trip leaders if you've ever watched anything with Anthony Bourdain. They take small groups on trips alongside chefs, journalists, and well-connected locals, to explore destinations through unique food experiences. Plus, in collaboration with Chef José Andrés, they donate five percent of their net proceeds to World Central Kitchen. If you know me, you know I won't hesitate to book with a company who prioritizes making a positive impact in the world.

I've been to 35+ countries, mostly solo. But lately I've been gravitating towards these niche group trips because they're always full of interesting, like-minded people, and provide a much deeper experience than anything I could ever plan on my own. I got to explore Marrakesh, the Atlas Mountains, and Essaouira on a beautiful, delicious tour of Morocco alongside those who call it home. Not only did we have our expertly informed R+K crew with us the whole time, we also got to learn all about food alongside Anissa Helou, a chef and food writer I was not familiar with before this trip, but had grown such respect for her expertise and no-holding-back energy she brought to the group. We also got to shop the Medina with Chef Bana, a local legend who prepared us a traditional lamb tanjiya, and take cooking classes with Najla El-Rhazi, a well-known Marrakesh woman who runs popular market tours and cooking classes.

The trip was full of memorable moments, like checking into my own private two-story villa in Olinto, and getting a tour from the owner Prince Fabrizio Ruspoli di Poggie Suasa, a French-Italian aristocrat. But the most memorable day for me was the traditional lamb slaughter and cookout we attended on a rooftop in the Atlas Mountains. It was there, with Mt Toubkal, the highest peak in the Arabic-speaking world rising in the distance, we got to participate in something that felt very real.

There was singing, dancing, smiling, and laughter. The sounds of the ceremony and celebration echoed far from the roof and through the walls of the town. We didn't just watch, we joined in.

Sometimes these things feel like a super awkward curated performance of locals putting on a show. But this wasn't that. This felt like a ritual and a party we were actually part of, not simply observing. Every family at the house, including our drivers and their friends, all joined in on the singing and dancing. Neighbors came to their rooftops to join from afar. Later, our host told our group leaders how happy he was to host us. They used to have more frequent celebrations, but after years of COVID and a 6.8 magnitude earthquake just five months earlier, those celebrations had been fewer and further between. He was just as grateful to have a reason to host and celebrate again as we were to attend.

When it was time for the slaughter, I wasn't sure how I was going to feel about it. Especially in my grief-stricken state, standing a mere 10 feet from an animal as it took its last breath.

As we marched down the stairs to the area where the lamb would lose its life, our footsteps and heartbeats in sync with the drum, my thoughts began to race. I started to wonder if lambs could think like humans, and if so, what was going through its head. I mean, a group of men were singing and walking in a single file, leading it to a special room where a handful of westerners looked on—some of us with our phones out, recording. Did it think it was going for a walk? Did it leave its lamb friends thinking it would return to see them again?

Then, the cut to the throat.

To my surprise (and maybe a little horror?), I was enthralled. It suddenly became very fascinating, almost like a lesson in anatomy, as we watched two men drain the blood and systematically dismember it. It was so much cleaner than I thought it would be, the skin peeling off almost like it was just a heavy sweater turning inside out. The way they unraveled the intestines, pushing out waste like boba from a straw. The way they draped the caul fat across their shoulders like a shawl. I stayed until the very end, when they took the lamb inside to prepare it for our feast, and I returned to the rooftop party.

In retrospect I wish I had taken more photos in Morocco. Since it wasn't my normal outdoors environment I'm used to shooting, I had kind of written it off as an iPhone-only trip for the first few days. But during the rooftop cookout, I was so grateful for the two photographers on our trip who both had an eye for people, and seemed immune to the social awkwardness I carried. They jumped right into the action and captured those moments of celebration. I eventually grew the courage to follow their lead, and for the first time ever I took photos of people—and left with a couple shots I was actually proud of (pictured above). It was so liberating to let go of my awkward "can I take your photo?" energy.

This experience opened my eyes to a new challenge—shooting portraits and people in action. I used to write it off as something I'm simply not interested in or good at, but now I view it as something I'm just uncomfortable with because it's new. I 100% need to pursue and develop that skill set.

There was a calming presence about Morocco. Maybe it came from hearing the call to prayer echo through the towns, or the carefully laid out itinerary that culminated by the sea. Maybe it was from all the mint tea and simply being around a group of kind, like-minded people. Or maybe it was because I was a world away from home—a place that had been so synonymous with pain and sadness in recent months—reminding myself of just how beautiful life can be.

And then it was time to leave.

NORWAY

Two taxis, four flights, one airport hotel, and one completely separate change of clothes later, I finally made it to Lofoten for a complete 180 experience. I had just come from a relaxed, luxurious trip where every need was catered to, and I ate like royalty for every meal. Now, I was jumping into a shared fisherman's cabin with little sleep, and lots of grab-and-go packaged food. But we had a perfect weather window and a very active aurora, so we dove right into chasing light all day and half the night, every day and every night. It took me a couple days to get used to the lack of sleep, but the energy gave us the perfect taste of a professional outdoor photographer’s lifestyle.

There's a reason Lofoten shows up in so many photographers' portfolios and Instagram feeds. Day or night, everywhere you look there's another shot perfectly composed by nature. The lighting was almost always beautiful, shifting constantly with the weather and mood. And as soon as the sun goes down, the aurora often comes out and starts painting the sky with colorful bursts in every direction. It really is a landscape photographer's dream.

Over the past five years I've been investing more and more into my photography. I upgraded my camera body, bought new lenses, and have taken several trips just to shoot. The hands-on experience of learning out in the field alongside other photographers has helped improve my skills more quickly than any trip I've taken on my own. There's something about being with other photographers and getting a taste of how they see the world, how they frame a shot, and the story they're trying to tell that is so helpful while learning.

Ronald was an expert guide, and a great choice for someone to explore Lofoten with. He made sure we didn't waste a single second of our limited time there, even when we wanted to nap or relax. I had a few "ah-ha moments" learning things from him in just a week that I'd been studying for years. I left this week-long workshop with dozens of photos I was super happy with—so much so that I ended up selecting a handful to edit, print, and sell at my first holiday pop-up shop and finally launch my online photography store.

When the sun went down, the beauty only ramped up. Aside from landscape photography, chasing and photographing the Northern Lights has been a borderline obsession of mine ever since I first saw them in Iceland in 2013, before I even knew how to operate a camera. I took my first dedicated trip eight years later to Alaska, where I learned how to chase and shoot the aurora with another professional photographer. On this trip we were so fortunate to see the lights on full display most nights.

The first night we saw them, I was by myself on a beach, watching a faint aurora begin to appear over a mountain. I began to cry uncontrollably. There was something so powerful and moving about seeing something so big come to life before my eyes, while feeling the pain and sorrow of death so deep in my soul. I don't think I've ever appreciated the aurora more than in that moment, because I knew just how lucky I was to be there, in Lofoten, on that beach, that night, watching that particular show.

There were so many beautiful moments in Lofoten that reminded me what it's like to be alive. To connect with other like-minded humans while pursuing the passions, interests, and moments that light us up, together. Plus, any place where I can be blown away and humbled by nature is truly my favorite place to be.

Some people turn to religion during times of hardship. I'd say that my religion feels a lot like tapping into my own personal connection to humanity and nature. In connecting with others through shared human experiences and feelings that break language barriers, and surrounding myself with the beauty of the natural world.

In a way, this two-week trip was an adventure in finding my way back to myself—through travel, photography, food, and shared moments with strangers (aka those who weren't deep in the throes of grief with me). Re-emerging into the world after years of limited travel due to family circumstances and COVID lockdowns, I'm glad I felt so called to explore these regions for different reasons, each of which deeply resonate with different parts of myself.

Before my trip, a few people told me "don't run from your grief." But I knew I wasn't running from anything. I was dealing with my grief—every single day, in the house I'd been living in all the years my dad was sick, surrounded by the same people who were going through the same stuff I was. For me, since I was no longer able to run towards my dad, one of the people I love most, I decided to run towards the experiences I love most. I knew I would still feel my grief, but I would also be reminded that it's still such a gift to be alive.

This sort of intentional travel is what helps me feel I'm living a more aligned, meaningful life. It's so important to me to feed my soul with the things that speak to me, even if those things don't make sense to anyone else.