As with life, change is the nature of business. It’s much like two lepers armwrestling. Just when you think you’ve got it together, it all falls apart.
5. What kind of challenges did you face from competitors and how did you overcome them?
In the beginning, there was no competition.
Not because I was brilliant. Because I was alone. The only madman offering private, customized Morocco tours in a world of bus groups and package deals. I had the entire market to myself—not because I’d conquered it, but because nobody else thought it was worth conquering.
For those first golden years, every inquiry came to me. Every Google search. Every travel agent recommendation. I wasn’t just the best option.
I was the only option.
Then the settlers arrived
Success has a scent. And apparently, mine smelled like opportunity.
Competition started appearing like mushrooms after rain. New companies. New websites. New promises of “authentic Morocco experiences.” Some were legitimate operators who’d seen the same gap I’d found. Others were… let’s say “optimistic amateurs.”
But here’s the thing about being first: you don’t just get market share. You get something more valuable.
You get a track record.
By the time competitors showed up, I had years of satisfied travelers. Professional memberships with ASTA, USTOA, every legitimate travel organization that mattered. Endorsements. Certifications. Bonds and licenses from more states than I cared to count. Industry recognition.
I’d built credentials that would take newcomers years to match. Walking into that marketplace, they looked like Nigerian princes promising oil fortunes. I looked like a gritty roughneck in a baseball cap who’d been actually drilling wells for a decade.
It wasn’t even a fair fight.
Then Facebook happened. Instagram happened. The world changed.
Suddenly, everyone with a smartphone and a Moroccan contact could call themselves a “tour operator.” The fly-by-nighters descended like locusts. Gorgeous photos. Impossibly low prices. Promises written in sunset filters and hashtags.
The market became a race to the bottom.
“$50 a day!” “Cheapest Sahara tour!” “Why pay more?”
And people listened. Because in the age of Groupon and flash sales, price became king. The loudest voice, the lowest number, the best deal—that’s what won attention.
I could have panicked. Could have slashed prices. Could have joined the race down the cliff.
Instead, I did something different.
I stopped competing on price and started competing on something they couldn’t copy:
Trust.
Because here’s what I’d learned: Travel isn’t a commodity. It’s not toilet paper or printer ink where the cheapest option wins. Travel is an investment—of money, yes, but more importantly of time. Of that precious vacation time you can’t get back. Of once-in-a-lifetime moments that either become treasured memories or cautionary tales.
When your Morocco tour operator ghosts you after you’ve paid. When the “luxury riad” turns out to be a hostel with delusions. When your guide doesn’t speak English and your driver doesn’t show up—you can’t get that week back. You can’t refund your time.
So I stopped selling value.
I started selling reliability.
Bonded. Licensed. Insured. Twenty-five years in business. Thousands of satisfied travelers. Real addresses. Real phone numbers. Real humans who answer when you call. Professional guides who’ve been with me for years, not random cousins recruited last week.
I built my marketing around one simple message:
“Yes, you can find it cheaper. The question is: do you want to gamble with your vacation?”
The fly-by-nighters came and went. Flash-in-the-pan operations that lasted a season, maybe two, before disappearing when the first customer complaint turned into a legal nightmare they couldn’t handle.
I’m still here.
Because while they were competing on Instagram filters, I was competing on something unbeatable: showing up. Day after day. Year after year. Crisis after crisis. Through 9/11 and financial crashes and pandemics and political upheavals.
The competition taught me my greatest strength wasn’t being the cheapest.
It was being the one still standing when everyone else had fallen.
And that’s not something you can copy with a good hashtag and a pretty sunset photo.
That takes putting in the miles. Making the mistakes. Learning the lessons. Building something that lasts.
You know—the hard way.
The only way that matters.
